Juanita withdrew to the farther side of the wigwam, and seated herself with her back toward them while Light-of-the-Morning did her work.
The task was performed a trifle roughly, but with dexterity and skill, and the applications proved very cooling and soothing to Rupert's wounds, which before had tortured him with a sensation of dryness and burning heat.
He returned warm thanks, Juanita acting as interpreter.
The squaw nodded, her grim features relaxing in a slight smile, as of pleasure, that her labors were appreciated; then pointing to Rupert's medicine case, lying by his side, asked what it was.
Juanita repeated the query in Spanish, and translated Rupert's answer into Apache, which she had learned to speak with tolerable fluency.
The squaw then asked for some medicine for a sick child in the camp, whose ailment baffled her skill.
Rupert was a good druggist, and had sufficient knowledge of medicine to prescribe for the child when he had heard what were the symptoms; also the proper remedy was in his case, and he gave it. The result was satisfactory, and raised him in the esteem of the whole village.
Squaws, pappooses, a few lads and young girls, and a sprinkling of old men were all that were in it at this time, the braves having gone again upon the war-path. This Rupert learned from Juanita.
In a few days he was able to crawl out from the wigwam and lie on a bearskin, which she laid for him underneath a spreading tree. He found the pure mountain air very delightful and invigorating, and from that time his recovery was rapid.