“He! he!” cried Rube, at this moment galloping up; “he! he! that Injun’s as savagerous as a meat axe. Lamm him! Warm his collops wi’ the bull rope; he’s warmed my old mar. Nick syrup him!”
“Let us look to your wound, Monsieur Haller,” said Seguin, alighting from his horse, and approaching me, as I thought, with an uneasiness of manner. “How is it? through the flesh? You are safe enough; if, indeed, the arrow has not been poisoned. I tear—El Sol! here! quick, my friend! tell me if this point has been dipped.”
“Let us first take it out,” replied the Maricopa, coming up; “we shall lose no time by that.”
The arrow was sticking through my forearm. The barb had pierced through the flesh, until about half of the shaft appeared on the opposite side.
El Sol caught the feather end in both his hands, and snapped it at the lapping. He then took hold of the barb and drew it gently out of the wound.
“Let it bleed,” said he, “till I have examined the point. It does not look like a war-shaft; but the Navajoes use a very subtle poison. Fortunately I possess the means of detecting it, as well as its antidote.”
As he said this, he took from his pouch a tuft of raw cotton. With this he rubbed the blood lightly from the blade. He then drew forth a small stone phial, and, pouring a few drops of liquid upon the metal, watched the result.
I waited with no slight feeling of uneasiness. Seguin, too, appeared anxious; and as I knew that he must have oftentimes witnessed the effect of a poisoned arrow, I did not feel very comfortable, seeing him watch the assaying process with so much apparent anxiety. I knew there was danger where he dreaded it.
“Monsieur Haller,” said El Sol, at length, “you are in luck this time. I think I may call it luck, for your antagonist has surely some in his quiver not quite so harmless as this one.
“Let me see,” he added; and, stepping up to the Navajo, he drew another arrow from the quiver that still remained slung upon the Indian’s back. After subjecting the blade to a similar test, he exclaimed—