Ottiby made his way to the stern where he held the rope fastened to his canoe, by which it was being towed. Though he had been near to death he seemed perfectly at his ease now, with no regard of what might have happened if the travelers in the speedy Dartaway had not come along. But that he was not ungrateful was shown by his quick thought in the matter of Jerry.
The motor boat was moored in a little cove but, even before it was made fast Ottiby had leaped ashore and disappeared in the woods.
“Looks as if he was running away,” said Ned.
“No danger,” replied the professor. “He’s going for the plant, I believe.”
The professor was correct. In about ten minutes Ottiby returned. In his hand he held several long roots. Mr. Snodgrass tried to discover what they were, but the chief knew only the Indian name for them, and they were a species of plant with which the scientist was not familiar.
“Me make foot feel no pain,” said Ottiby as he took the roots and rolled them into a compact mass. This he wet in the river and then he pounded the fibers with a wooden club he had picked up in the woods. When he had the roots into a sort of rude plaster he laid it on Jerry’s foot, over the wound.
“So like Indians do,” Ottiby said. “Wait while then can cut and no feel.”
In about five minutes Jerry exclaimed.
“It feels as if my foot was going to sleep.”