Those only who have been placed in peril sufficient to extinguish the
last gleam of hope, and have suddenly been relieved by a mysterious
interposition of Providence, can fully realize the feelings with which
the wounded hunter saw himself rescued from an ignominious death. True,
he was weak and faint from a wound which was, perhaps, mortal; still it
was a great consolation to feel that he should die among those who would
bury him, and perhaps bear a message to friends in a far-off land. With
such thoughts uppermost in his mind, the young man, by great exertion,
raised himself upon his elbow, and turned his head in the direction
whence his deliverer might be expected; but, to his surprise and
disappointment, no one appeared; and after vainly attempting to regain
his feet, he sunk back, completely exhausted. The wound in his side had
now grown very painful, and was bleeding freely; while he became
conscious, that unless the hemorrhage could be stanched immediately, the
only good service a friend could render him, would be to inter his
remains. In this helpless state, something like a minute elapsed, when
he felt a strange sensation about his heart--his head grew dizzy--his
thoughts seemed confused--the sky appeared suddenly to grow dark, and he
believed the icy grasp of death was already settling upon him. At this
moment a form--but whether of friend or foe he could not tell--flitted
before his uncertain vision; and then all became darkness and nonentity.
He had swooned.

When the young stranger recovered his senses, after a lapse of some ten
minutes, his glance rested on the form of a white hunter, of noble
aspect, who was bending over him with a compassionate look; and who,
meantime, had opened his dress to the wound and stanched the blood, by
covering it with a few pieces of coarse linen, which he had torn into
shreds for the purpose, and secured there by means of his belt.