I50

Just then he glanced at Samp standing mutely re-
garding him with such a human look in his pleading
eyes, and he could but smile as to another boy.

“Come, old trusty!” he said. “I’m ready for
you!”
~ With impatient, eager bounds, the dog led the way
farther into the woods. Phil followed at a brisk,
steady pace. He had tramped about half a mile when
Samp, leaping forward, then back, as if to make sure
his master would follow, turned aside into a little
glen thickly surrounded by trees. At a glance, Phil
saw a long dark object lying along the ground, the
head raised, but the entire form motionless. For an
instant his fingers closed over the revolver at his side
as he whistled softly to Samp; then he advanced, and,
entering the glen, saw by the clear moonlight that it
was the figure of a woman which lay there alone in
the still, deep forest. As Samp licked her white
cheek, he thought he heard a soft moan.

The next instant Phil was kneeling beside a dying
girl, whom he now saw plainly was no other than the
cherished daughter of Nomantic, the old Indian chief.

He knew at once that according to traditional cus-
tom of the Indians, the girl had been left there to
die. Yes, he understood the fact at once. She had
sickened in the morning, and as her sufferings grew
more intense, the chief had consulted a doctor at the
village, a Pale Face. But the physician not caring to
visit the camp, had written a prescription, and the
medicine had done no good, and towards night it had
become apparent that there was no more hope for her.
So with loud cries and moans from the women, and
bitter grief on the father’s part, he had, according to
the tribal custom, borne her in his strong arms to this
sheltered spot, piled high a pillow of summer leaves,
and withdrawn from a sight he had no strength or
courage to witness.

Phil’s young heart had never known before any
such great solemn ache as this. He wished he had
waked the other boys. He thought of sending Samp
back for them. But then, what could they do?

“ Ginger blue!” he ejaculated. “What can a fel-
low do in such a case as this? I wonder” —for at
the instant of his boyish exclamation the remembrance
of Davy’s bottle of ginger flashed across his mind,
and clapping his hand to his breast pocket, there it
was, sure enough.

“Probably it won’t do much good,” he soliloquized,
“but I guess I'll try it.”

Raising her heavy head carefully, he poured a little

CAMP HAMPERFORD.,

of the liquid into the girl’s mouth. There was a con
traction of the brow, a struggle, and it was swallowed.
Phil waited a few moments, then repeated the
action.

“Well, you haven’t killed her yet,” he said to him-
self in an encouraging tone; and justthen she moaned,
Phil fancied, and not as feebly as before. He laid
her head softly back, waited several moments, then
again raising her gently, administered at intervals
several swallows until a decidedly good dose of the
hot mixture had been taken; and this time, to his un:
speakable gratification, as he laid the pretty head
back on its leafy pillow, the great black eyes opened
languidly and looked into his face.

“Going to live, I do believe,” thought the boy.
“Bless that little goose of a Davy and his ginger!
Wish the little chap could see how his ‘lucky stuff’ is
working now.”

Glancing up at the moon, he was surprised to find he
must have been absent from camp a full hour, but he
could not think of leaving his deserted patient. Poor
child of the forest !

A great restful feeling of relief was creeping over
Phil, moreover, unmistakably the young girl was re-
viving. She probably was to live. The eyes had
opened wider now, and at last they fixed on his face.

“ Do you feel better?” asked Phil, bending towards
her, and smiling half shyly.

She moved her lips, and made what sounded like
a little affirmative moan.

“A little more of Davy’s lucky ginger,” thought
Phil; and this time, although taken with some diffi-
culty, it was evidently taken intelligently. In the
course of another half-hour the girl could move her
head and hands, and after a while Phil helped her
to sit up, resting against a tree, while he rubbed
her hands and bathed her forehead — with ginger.

He was all unconscious, however, that at this time
two piercing eyes, keen as a hawk’s, far-seeing as an
eagle’s, were watching his movements. Even the
sagacious Sampson had failed to prick a silken ear
at the stealthy advance through the thicket of the
dusky form creeping along like a panther on all-
fours. ;

But suddenly now Sampson sat upright, every
nerve alert and quivering. Turning quickly, Phil
saw but a few paces off, the tall, erect figure of a
plumed and painted savage. The form was that
of Nomantic, but the features, even at that neaf
distance, were indistinguishable.