At the last three magic words the aged squaw rose and hobbled quickly
forward.

"Take boy him tent," directed the Indian woman.

"I can walk," remarked Tom.

"No; they take you. Heap better," commanded the woman.

Instantly Mr. Thurston and Rutter took hold of Tom, raising him
into their arms. Through the flap of his tent they bore him,
depositing him on his cot. The Indian woman followed them inside.

"Now you go out," she ordered, with a sweep of her hand. "Send
him cookman. Hot water---heap boil."

Thus ordered, Jake Wren came on the run with a kettle of boiling
water. The Indian squaw received it with a grunt, ordering that
bowls and cups be also brought. When Wren came the second time
he lingered curiously.

"You go out; no see what do," said the squaw.

So Jake departed, the squaw tying the flap of the tent after he
had gone. Then, from the bosom of her dress she drew out a few
small packages of herbs. The contents of these she distributed
in different bowels and cups.

"I'd like to see what the old witch is doing, and how she's doing
it," declared Rutter in a whisper.