Joy can be most painful; for I felt an acute pang through my breast, as
from a blow of a dagger. When I moved my finger across the cap of my
knee, it was quite free from inflammation, and perfectly sound. Again
there was a reaction. "Ay," thought I, "'tis all on the ankle. How can I
escape? Is not the poison a deadly one?" I dared not throw away the
blanket and investigate further. I felt weaker and weaker, and again
covered my head to sleep.
I did sleep, and when I awoke this time I felt myself a little
invigorated, though my lips and tongue were quite parched. I remembered
everything; down my hand slided; I could not reach my ankle, so I put up
my knee. I removed the scarf and the poultice of master weed. My
handkerchief was full of a dried, green, glutinous matter, and the
wounds looked clean. Joy gave me strength. I went to the stream, drank
plentifully, and washed. I still felt very feverish; and, although I was
safe from the immediate effects of the poison, I knew that I had yet to
suffer. Grateful to Heaven for my preservation, I saddled my faithful
companion, and, wrapping myself closely in my buffalo-hide, I set off to
the Comanche camp. My senses had left me before I arrived there. They
found me on the ground, and my horse standing by me.
Fifteen days afterwards I awoke to consciousness, a weak and emaciated
being.
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