Unheeding her words, he went on in a feeble, whispering tone:
“I’m so helpless. Have I been very ill?”
“Yes; you have been very ill. Please do not try to talk; the effort will hurt you.”
Leaving his side, she brought a cup of gruel from the fire—where it had been warming upon the coals—and insisted that he drink it. Like a fretful child, he pushed it aside and whimpered:
“Answer my questions—answer my questions!”
Seeing that he was growing excited, she said soothingly:
“Drink this for me, and I will answer your questions. Take it all—that’s right. Now, what do you want to know?”
“Where am I—at Wildcat Creek?”
“No; you are at the village of the Miamis, upon the Mississinewa.”