“Then what did you do?” asked Dick.
“Well,” continued Toma, “I want water very much. I think ’em me ’bout little creek I cross night before. Long way off that creek. Part time I walk hold on trees, other time I crawl. I get tired an’ think no use. Too weak to get there. But after I lay still little while, I feel better. Then I go on some more. After very long time I come to creek. I very glad then. I crawl right over an’ lay down in water. I drink not too much at first, then after while some more. I began feel better. I stay mebbe one hour at the little creek then I come on here.”
“And that’s all you can tell?” gasped the factor.
“Yes, I say everything I know.”
“Did you see the man that struck you on the head?”
“No see ’em,” answered the young Indian.
“Where did you leave your gun?”
“Somebody take gun. Take money too. Everything gone when I wake up.”
“This isn’t a bullet wound on your head,” Dick told him. “It was made by some sharp instrument.”
“Knife,” guessed Toma. “Place where I thought I hear partridge only little way behind me—not more than fifteen feet. What I think happen, man creep up that far an’ throw ’em knife.”