of gratitude. His attitude was as
indifferent and matter-of-fact as if he were one of the Mayorunas. When
his smoke was ended he began inspecting his bad foot.

"Let's see that," said Knowlton, dropping on one knee. "Looks pretty
sore. Yes, it's more than sore; it's infected. How'd you get it,
anyway?"

No answer. Knowlton probed his face keenly. Rand straightened out his
legs, wriggled his toes, and scowled.

"Queer!" muttered the lieutenant, rising. "He looks as if he actually
didn't know how he got that wound. You'd think he'd remember that much,
anyhow. I sure am afraid his head is all scrambled up."

He went to the canoe, returned with his meager medical kit, and knelt
again.

"Now listen here, Rand. I don't know how well you understand me, but I'm
taking the chance. This foot has to be opened up and cleaned out.
Otherwise you're going to have serious trouble with it. I'm going to
hurt you. If you raise a row you'll get an anaesthetic--a swift punch
under the ear. Better sit still and make no fuss."

With which he went to work. He did a thorough job, and there was no
doubt that it hurt. But Rand gave no trouble, nor even a sign of
pain--except that he dug his fingers into the dirt.

"Good boy!" the amateur surgeon approved, when he finished. "You're a
Spartan--if you happen to remember what that is. Now we'll move on. But
before we go, wash your face good and hard. Get that tribe paint off.
These Indians with us don't like it. You're no Indian, anyhow; you're
white, like us. Savvy? White man. Wash off paint!"

He rolled up his kit and returned to the canoe. The Mayorunas, men and
women, were entering their own craft. Rand sat motionless a moment,
McKay and the Brazilians watching him keenly. Slowly then he got up of
his own accord, limped to the water's edge, and began to scrub his face.

When he desisted the marks still showed, for the red dye clung
stubbornly to his skin; but they were fainter than before. The other men
eyed him thoughtfully, none speaking. He settled himself in his former
place, curled up, and began to doze.

"A queer fish!" Pedro said, softly. "Is he crazy or not?"

"Hanged if I know," replied McKay. "He's no maniac, anyhow. I'd give
real money to know just what his mental condition is. But we can forget
him for a while. I'm going to let you fellows sleep by turns now. I had
some sleep last night; you've had none at all. Merry, your eyes need
rest. You curl up in the bow and snooz