"One leg no good," Keokotah said, and took another bite from the meat in his hands. "I fell," I explained. "Not you." He pointed into the brush where I had fought the panther. "Him." He chewed for a minute. "No catch deer, catch you." "You mean that cat had a bad leg?" I struggled to sit up. He motioned for me to be still. "You stay. You much scratch. I fix." With gentle fingers I felt of my wounds. Where the flesh had been torn by the panther's talons my wounds were bound with some kind of poultice. It had not been a dream, then. My wounds had been treated. "I'm obliged," I said. "Are you a medicine man, too?" He chuckled and gave me a wry look. "No medicine man. All know." He showed me the slender trunk of a young pine no thicker than two of my fingers. Then he indicated the inner bark of the plum. He had pounded them together with some wild cherry bark also, boiled the concoction, and made a poultice. "You no come. I know something wrong. I come to look." He pointed. "I find him. He dead.
