"I know it all," replied Keith. "I am not afraid of the Medicine Man. There stands with me One greater than he, who will help me. He is my Master, my Great Chief, Jesus, whom I serve."
"And the pale-face is not afraid?" repeated Shrahegan in surprise.
"Why should I be afraid? What good will it do? It will not cure your brother, and I know Shrahegan will help me."
"Shrahegan will help; he will do all he can. But remember, the Indians are much excited, and, if the boy die, Shrahegan can do but little to help his pale-face brother."
"And if the boy gets better?" queried Keith, "what will your people think?"
"Pale-face will be safe," came the evasive reply.
"Good. Now we must get busy."
By this time the condition of the sick lad was very serious, and Keith knew that whatever was done had to be done quickly and wisely. Therefore as soon as the youth was removed to another lodge, he brought forth his little medical companion, which Shrahegan had rescued from the Indians, made a careful selection, and rapidly prepared the medicine which he thought best to administer.
But before laying a hand upon the patient he fell upon his knees and poured out his soul to the Giver of Life for help and strength in the time of trial.
Then the fight began, a fight not only for the life of one person, but for the souls of all those around him, sunk in the darkness of vice and superstition.