Half an hour later he heard the shout which brought him quickly to where Wabi was holding the partly unconscious form of Rod in his arms.

It took but a few moments to carry the injured youth to camp, and not until Rod was resting upon a pile of blankets in their shack, with the warmth of the fire reviving him, did Wabi vouchsafe an explanation to the old Indian.

“I guess he’s got a broken arm, Muky,” he said.  “Have you any hot water?”

“Shot?” asked the old hunter, paying no attention to the question.  He dropped upon his knees beside Rod, his long brown fingers reaching out anxiously.  “Shot?”

“No—­hit with a club.  We met three Indian hunters who were in camp and who invited us to eat with them.  While we were eating they jumped upon our backs.  Rod got that—­and lost his rifle!”

Mukoki quickly stripped the wounded boy of his garments, baring his left arm and side.  The arm was swollen and almost black and there was a great bruise on Rod’s body a little above the waist.  Mukoki was a surgeon by necessity, a physician such as one finds only in the vast unblazed wildernesses, where Nature is the teacher.  Crudely he made his examination, pinching and twisting the flesh and bones until Rod cried out in pain, but in the end there was a glad triumph in his voice as he said: 

“No bone broke—­hurt most here!” and he touched the bruise.  “Near broke rib—­not quite.  Took wind out and made great deal sick.  Want good supper, hot coffee—­rub in bear’s grease, then be better!”

Rod, who had opened his eyes, smiled faintly and Wabi gave a half-shout of delight.

“Not so bad as we thought, eh, Rod?” he cried.  “You can’t fool Muky!  If he says your arm isn’t broken—­why, it isn’t, and that’s all there is to it.  Let me bolster you up in these blankets and we’ll soon have a supper that will sizzle the aches out of you.  I smell meat—­fresh meat!”

With a chuckle of pleasure Mukoki jumped to his feet and ran out to 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.