But spasm after spasm took place after this, and while the body was drawn up with cramp, and the muscles knotted and hard, the features were fearfully contorted.
By Roland's directions chloroform was now poured on a handkerchief, and after this was breathed by the sufferer for a few minutes the muscles became relaxed, and the face, though still pale as death, became more sightly.
More rum and more rubbing with the antidote, and Mr. Peter slept in peace.
About sunrise he awoke, cold and shivering, but sensible.
After a little more stimulant he began to talk.
"Bitten by a snake, have I not been?"
"Mr. Peter," said Roland sternly, "you have narrowly escaped the death you would have meted out to poor Brawn with your cruel and accursed arrow.
"You may not love the dog. He certainly does not love you, and dogs are good judges of character. He tree'd you, and you sought revenge. You doubtless have other reasons to hate Brawn, but his life is far more to us than yours. Now confess you meant to do for him, and then to make your way down-stream by stealing a canoe."
"I do not, will not confess," cried Peter. "It is a lie. I am here against my will. I am kidnapped. I am a prisoner. The laws of even this country--and sorry I am ever I saw it--will and shall protect me."
Roland was very calm, even to seeming carelessness.