! No-t'ing."

Mandy took the knife from him, and, after boiling it for a few minutes,
proceeded to cut away the ragged, mangled flesh and skin. The Indian
never winced. He lay with eyes closed, and so pallid was his face and so
perfectly motionless his limbs that he might have been dead. With deft
hands she cleansed the wounds.

"Now, Allan, you must help me. We must have splints for this ankle."

"How would birch-bark do?" he suggested.

"No, it's too flimsy."

"The heavy inner rind is fairly stiff." He ran to a tree and hacked off
a piece.

"Yes, that will do splendidly. Get some about so long."

Half an hour's work, and the wounded limb lay cleansed, bandaged, packed
in soft moss and bound in splints.

"That's great, Mandy!" exclaimed her husband. "Even to my untutored eyes
that looks like an artistic bit of work. You're a wonder."

"Huh!" grunted the Indian. "Good!" His piercing black eyes were lifted
suddenly to her face with such a look of gratitude as is seen in the
eyes of dumb brutes or of men deprived of speech.

"Good!" echoed Allan. "You're just right, my boy. I couldn't have done
it, I assure you."

"Huh!" grunted the Indian in eloquent contempt. "No good," pointing
to the man. "Good," pointing to the woman. "Me--no--forget." He lifted
himself upon his elbow, and, pointing to the sun like a red eye glaring
in upon them through a vista of woods and hills, said, "Look--He
see--me no forget."

There was something truly Hebraic in the exultant solemnity of his tone
and gesture.

"By Jove! He won't either, I truly believe," said Allan. "You've made a
friend for life, Mandy. Now, what's next? We can't carry this chap. It's
three miles to their camp. We can't leave him here. There are wolves all
around and the brutes always attack anything wounded."

The Indian solved the problem.

"Huh!" he grunted contemptuously. He took up his long hunting-knife.
"Wolf--this!" He drove the knife to the hilt into the ground.

"You go--my fadder come. T'ree Indian," holding up three fingers. "All
right! Good!" He sank back upon the ground exhausted.

"Come on then, Mandy, we shall have to hurry."

"No, you go. I'll wait."

"I won't have that. It will be dark soon and I can't leave you here
alone with--"

"Nonsense! This poor boy is faint with hunger and pain. I'll feed him
while you're gone. Get me afresh pail of water and I can do for myself."

"Well," replied her husband dubiously, "I'll get you some