All three paused and listened. For a moment all was still; and then the suppressed groan of distress was heard, as though the sufferer were seeking to keep back the outcry that was forced from him.

"There it is!" whispered Howard, pointing to a clump of bushes near the edge of the river.

"It strikes me we had better leave!" replied Elwood, looking forward to the canoe as if fearful that that would be taken from them and all escape be thus cut off.

"Do you sind the dog forward and let him smell out the difficulty," suggested Tim O'Rooney.

Terror stood there between the boys, his head raised and his whole appearance indicating that he had scented something unusual, but was awaiting orders before advancing upon it. The Newfoundland looked up as if asking for directions. Elwood simply pointed toward the brush and the dog galloped to it. Instead of entering, he stopped by it and gave a low growl of discovery.

"What is it, Terror?" asked Howard.

The brute whined and ran to his masters and then back to the bushes.

"It maybe a trap to catch us," said Elwood. "I prefer very much taking to the canoe and getting away from the island."

"But it may be some one suffering and needing help. He may perish if we leave him here."

"Yez spakes the truth," said Tim. "The blessed Father would never forgive us if we should desart one of his creatures when he needed hilp."

Tim now advanced straight to the bushes, paused, and then parted them and looked in. He was heard to mutter something to himself; then he came back.

"It's an Injin, a-layin' on the ground, a-groanin' and a-rollin' over. I guess the poor fellow has got his last sickness, and we can't help him any."

All feelings were at once merged into that of pity. The three advanced and parted the bushes. There, sure enough, lay an Indian apparently nigh unto death. He turned his black eyes up to the white people in a manner that would have melted the heart of a Nero. He lay doubled up on his blanket, with his gun a short distance from him. He belonged to the Pah Utah tribe, although their hunting-grounds are further to the southwest. This fact, as a matter of course, was unknown to our friends.

The first impression was that he had been badly wounded, but a second glance showed that he was deadly sick.

Elwood Brandon had placed his hand upon the dusky forehead, and the heat and throbbing temples told him at once that he was possessed with a burning fever.

The poor Indian muttered something unintelligible, but which bore some resemblance to the word "Shasta," and he made a motion toward his mouth and then threw his head back and imitated the act of drinking.

"He must be suffering with thirst," said Howard. "How shall we manage to give him water?"

"God save the poor fellow! I will soon fix that!" exclaimed the kind-hearted Tim, rising to his feet and hurrying to the river's edge. Here he speedily constructed quite a capacious cup of leaves, and carefully filling it with cool water he as carefully carried it back to where he lay.

"Now, me good felly, just tip up his noddle and we'll make him faal aisy."

Elwood carefully raised his head, and the trembling sufferer eagerly reached forward for the cooling fluid. It was placed to his parched lips and swallowed hastily, when he immediately motion............