Now, savages know little of the laws of health and abuse what they
know, but in the matter of herbs they can be trusted. The herb drink
which they gave me had virtue, for I woke with my head clear. A gourd
of water stood beside my pallet, and I drained it and called lustily
for another. A man pushed aside the skins and came in. It was Pierre.
Pierre, alive, clothed, and with every hair of his flamingo head
bristling and unharmed! He answered my cry with a huge smile, and then
because he had a gypsy mother in the background of his nature, he put
his great hands before his face, and I saw tears pushing between the
fingers.
That made me fear ill news. I half rose, and would have shaken his
tidings out of him like corn out of a bag. But the pain of my shoulder
sent me back again with my teeth jammed hard together.
"What has happened? Out with it!" I cried.
But Pierre was inarticulate. He came to my pallet and mumbled
something between tears about my shoulder.
--"and the master with no clothes but a dirty Indian's!" he finished.
So I was the cause of this demonstration. I patted his hand.
"But your escape, Pierre? Where are the other men?"
"Master, I do not know.
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