e water. Supporting him in her
arms she assisted him to the bank, and the cause of his weakness became
apparent, in a stream of blood that flowed from his leg, severely
wounded by the jaws of the alligator. Canondah hastened to Rosa.

"Your white brother has been bitten by the water-snake," said she, "and
you see that Canondah has only her gown."

Whilst speaking, she untied the silk 'kerchief from her friend's neck,
then stooping down, she gathered, with the quickness of thought, a
handful of a certain herb, broke a young palma christi across her knee,
and took out the delicate, fleshy substance found under the bark of that
tree. Returning to the stranger, she filled the wound with the pith,
overlaid it with herbs, and bound it with the handkerchief. The whole
was the work of an instant, and so rapid and decided were Canondah's
movements, that Rosa's neckerchief was tied round the leg of the
stranger before the blush that its loss occasioned had faded from the
cheek of its owner.

When the bandaging of the wounded limb was completed to Canondah's
satisfaction, she again stepped into the water, and carefully examined
the boat in which the stranger had arrived; then returning to her
patient, she gazed steadfastly at him for a moment, returned a second
time to the boat, and finally, approaching Rosa, whispered in her ear a
few words which brought a paleness like that of death over the young
girl's countenance. In her turn, Rosa gazed earnestly at the stranger,
the contraction of whose features, and the dull glaze that overspread
his eyes, betrayed the highest degree of exhaustion. His ashy-pale
complexion, sunken cheeks, and hollow eyes, bespoke long privations and
severe suffering; he looked more like a corpse thrown up by the waves,
than a living creature. His hair, bleached by the action of seawater,
hung in tangled locks over his neck and forehead, and the original
colour of his apparel could only be guessed at. He appeared very young,
and his features, allowance made for their emaciation, were by no means
disagreeable, as he sat leaning against the trunk of a cypress-tree,
through the branches of which the sunbeams played upon his countenance,
and lit up its suffering expression.

"Our white brother's canoe," said Canondah, "is that of the chief of the
Salt Lake, but he is not one of his warriors."

"He is perhaps what they call a sailor," remarked Rosa.

"No," replied Canondah, in a decided tone. "Look at his