“Put some water on the fire, Neil, just a little, to heat quickly. We must do something for this hand.” Louis spoke anxiously. “Le Murrai has tried to poison you, Walter. Perhaps I can suck it out like snake venom.”
Without hesitation he put his lips to the scratch and sucked. He spat in the fire, and wiped his mouth with the end of his neck handkerchief. “The gum is too sticky, and we have nothing to draw the poison out, no salt pork for a poultice.”
“Make the scratch bleed,” suggested Neil. “Open it with your knife.”
“This black stuff must be cleaned off first,” objected Walter.
Cold water made no impression on the sticky substance that smeared Walter’s palm. Louis tried to scrape away the gum, then he sucked the scratch again. But he had to wait for hot water to really dissolve the gummy stuff and cleanse the hand. When every trace of black had been washed off, Louis drew the sharp point of his knife along the scratch, making a clean cut, deep enough to bleed freely.
In those days little was known about antiseptics. All three boys, however, were familiar enough with the treatment of snake bites to understand that poison must be drawn out as speedily as possible, either by sucking the wound or letting it bleed freely. They knew also that a clean wound was apt to heal more readily than a dirty one. Even the Indians recognized that fact, though their ideas of cleanliness were not much like ours. Louis would have torn a strip from his handkerchief to bandage the injury, but Walter felt that a colored and not too clean cloth was not the best dressing. He decided to leave his hand unbandaged, letting it bleed as much as it would and the blood clot naturally.
At first Walter could scarcely believe that Murray had deliberately tried to poison his hand, but Louis had no doubts. “I have heard of such things among the Indians,” he said, “and le Murrai Noir is more Indian than white. He would not be above revenging himself that way or any other. If he is really friendly to us, why did he act as if he had never seen us before? He knew us certainly, though our names were not spoken. As he went towards the door, he put his fingers in his fire bag. I saw him do it, but thought nothing of it. He had seen you get that scratch. You know it is not like Murray to shake anyone by the hand.”
“That surprised me, I admit,” conceded Walter.
“Truly he had a reason. He hated you always after that affair of poor M’sieu Matthieu.”
“Do you suppose he has learned that we reported the loss of the pemmican and told about his bundle of trade goods?” Walter asked thoughtfully.