, who is very wise, will save Yuara to
draw many a good bow if Yuara will do as he says. Let Yuara breathe
deeply, that the spirit of life remain in him to fight against the demon
of death. Even now the poison rushes out of the arm of Yuara."

"Yuara cannot live," was Yuara's cool reply. "Where once the poison has
entered, there follows death."

"Is Yuara then a coward, that he will die without a fight? Then he is no
Mayoruna, for no Mayoruna is a coward. Let Yuara die if he will. His
comrades shall carry to their _maloca_ the tale that, although the white
man would have saved him, he died like an old woman, because he had not
the will to live!"

Fire shot into the eyes of the prostrate man. He ground his teeth and
struggled to rise and throttle the insulting Brazilian.

"No, not that way," Lourenco went on at once. "Yuara can fight the death
demon only by drawing into himself the air in which is the spirit of
life. The wise white man has stopped the poison at the place where the
cloth is tied, and he knows the air spirits will help Yuara if Yuara
will breathe deep and long. If he will not, then the white man's
medicine cannot save him. Yuara's life or death is in his own hands."

In his heart Lourenco had faint hope that the injured man would live.
But he knew the rest of the cannibal tribe must soon hear the tale of
this incident from the three now present, and he was preparing an
excellent excuse for the failure of McKay to save him. Whether Yuara
lived or not, the Mayorunas now would know that the whites had done
their utmost for him, and that very fact might make a vast difference.

Yuara, though his eyes still flamed, sank back under McKay's restraining
weight and obeyed orders. After the first couple of breaths he settled
into his task and his chest rose and fell rhythmically.

"Here's yer salt, Cap. What'll I do with it?"

"You come here and hold this tourniquet. Don't let it slip! Merry, fill
this chap's mouth with salt. Lourenco, tell him to hold it as long as
possible, then swallow it. Now, Merry, fix up a good strong salt
poultice. The rest of you make camp. We've got a stiff fight on our
hands, and we can't go farther until we've either won or lost."

The Brazilians glanced at the sun shadows and remained where they were.
According to their experience, Yuara should be dead within ten minutes
at most. Time enough to make camp when they knew how this venture would
result. The Mayorunas also stood fas