where the ribs of the doe were slowly broiling over the fire. They were
already done to a rich brown and their dripping juice filled the
nostrils with an appetizing odor. By the time Wabi had applied Mukoki's
prescription to his comrade's wounds, and had done them up in bandages,
the tempting feast was spread before them.

As a liberal section of the ribs was placed before him, together with
corn-meal cakes and a cup of steaming coffee, Rod could not suppress a
happy though somewhat embarrassed laugh.

"I'm ashamed of myself, Wabi," he said. "Here I've been causing so much
bother, like some helpless kid; and now I find I haven't even the excuse
of a broken arm, and that I'm as hungry as a bear! Looks pretty yellow,
doesn't it? Just as though I was scared to death! So help me, I almost
wish my arm _was_ broken!"

Mukoki had buried his teeth in a huge chunk of fat rib, but he lowered
it with a great chuckling grunt, half of his face smeared with the first
results of his feast.

"Whole lot sick," he explained. "Be sick some more--mighty sick! Maybe
vomit lots!"

"Waugh!" shrieked Wabi. "How is that for cheerful news, Rod?" His
merriment echoed far out into the night. Suddenly he caught himself and
peered suspiciously into the gloom beyond the circle of firelight.

"Do you suppose they would follow?" he asked.

A more cautious silence followed, and the Indian youth quickly related