Charley next cut off small branches of cedar and placed them under the unconscious little fellow's head and back so that he might rest as comfortably as possible. This done, he sat back breathless and exhausted and waited impatiently for Walter's return.

Captain Westfield surveyed the young physician's work with hopeful admiration. "If Chris lives, it will be you as has saved his life," he declared.

"He has saved mine more than once," Charley replied, "but I am afraid he is not going to live. I don't like this deep stupor he has fallen into. I wish Walter would hurry."

Walter had been hurrying as fast as he could, and he soon appeared bearing a hatful of ripe palmetto berries. His riddled shoes and bleeding feet told of reckless running over the sharp rocks.

Charley smashed the ripe berries between two stones, catching the juice in his cap. Chris' teeth were tightly set, but he managed to pry them apart with his knife blade and forced some of the sticky liquid down his throat.

"I don't know whether it will help him or not, but I am in hopes it will," he said, as, tired out, he sat down by the little fellow's side. "Those berries make a powerful tonic and stimulant, and I believe that is what is needed. The poison seems to have deadened the heart's action and brought on that stupor. A few minutes will tell whether it is going to do any good."

It soon became evident that the rude remedies were performing their mission well, the sufferer's pulse, which had grown slow and feeble, quickened, and his little face began to lose some of its ashen hue.

As soon as he became sure that a change for the better was taking place, Charley arose from his brief rest.

"I am going to find help," he declared. "We must get him to some place where he can have proper attention. How far do you think we are from Judson, Captain?"

"Not more than twenty miles to the north of it, I judge. Maybe not more than ten miles. But you must not dream of starting yet awhile, lad. You must rest for a bit, an' have something to eat first."

"And I am going with you when you start," Walter declared. "Something might happen to you amongst those slippery rocks and awful bog holes. The Captain can do all that can be done for Chris while you are gone."

There was no disputing the wisdom of both suggestions and they busied themselves with the first proposition, the finding of something to eat. This demanded more time and trouble. Another trip had to be made down to the water and considerable searching was necessary before they could collect enough of crabs and shell fish to make the full meal that their hunger craved. Their rest they gained while their dinner was roasting in the coals.

Their rest, meal, and Chris' steadily improving condition, put them all in better strength and spirits, and the boys were cheerful when they bid the old sailor good-bye and made their start in search of help.

"We'll be back as soon as we can get back, Captain," Charley said, "but you don't want to worry if we take longer than you expect."

"I reckon, I'll keep too busy to have much time for worryin'," the old sailor replied. "Jes' be careful, lads, an' get back as soon as you can."

He watched until the rank marsh grass hid the two lads from sight, then busied himself with making the camp a little more comfortable for himself and his sick companion. Chris' welfare was the first thing to claim his attention. With his sheath knife he cut armful after armful of marsh grass and added it to the rough couch Charley had fashioned for the little negro, converting it into a soft, comfortable bed. The low-hanging cedar boughs formed a kind of rude shelter over the little lad, but the captain was not entirely satisfied with it. The rainy season was near at hand and heavy showers might be expected at any time. A thick layer of marsh grass placed over the lowest cedar limbs quickly made the covering more to his satisfaction. This done, he paused for a brief rest and to decide what should be his next task. Although, he knew that the port of Judson could not be more than twenty miles away, he realized that, owing to the necessarily slow traveling amongst the sharp rocks and bog holes, it might be at least three days before the boys could succeed in getting back with help. His duties, then, would be the care of Chris, the providing of food for them both, and the gathering of firewood. Water was luckily plentiful, there was an abundance of it in a cup-like depression near the center of the island.

In a Northern country with no weapons but his sheath knife, these tasks would have seemed almost impossible of accomplishment, but the captain was not discouraged. The first thing, of course, was to see that the little negro's marked improvement was not checked. Heating more stones in the fire, the old sailor piled them around the mound of mud covering the wounded leg. Then, as the berries Walter had brought were nearly exhausted, he decided that the next thing of importance was to lay in a fresh supply. He found the trip to the mainland slow and dangerous. Where the way was not strewn with sharp-pointed rocks, it was dotted with forbidding-looking sink holes of soft, slimy mud. Rank-growing marsh grass covered the whole, making it extremely difficult to pick out a safe passage through the dangers. At last, however, he gained the mainland where he found the oily black berries growing in greatest profusion. He gathered his jacket full of them and then sat down on a fallen log to rest a minute and look around. It was an inviting spot in which he found himself. The land rose up from the marsh to form a high, sloping bluff through which trickled a stream of clear, reddish water.

The bluff was covered with a dense growth of palms, satinwoods, bays, rubber trees, and low-ground palmettos. It was an ideal place for a camp, and the captain eyed it regretfully, wishing that it was possible to bring Chris there from the little marsh-surrounded island. But that was impossible until the little fellow was able to walk and he dismissed the idea with a sigh. He was just gathering up his jacket of berries to leave when a noise in the undergrowth close at hand made him sink back to his seat on the log. The brushes before him parted suddenly and a large deer stepped out into an open place not twenty feet from where he sat. For a full two minutes, he and the timid animal remained motionless, looking directly into each other's eyes, then the old sailor pulled out his sheath knife and sprang for it with some wild notion of securing it for food, but the deer leaped lightly away a few steps and stopped again as if in deepest wonder and curiosity. The captain sheathed his knife with a sigh. "I reckon, you don't know how wicked men are," he addressed the graceful animal. "Guess you ain't ever seed many men or you wouldn't be so powerful tame. Some steaks from you would taste right good, but you ain't aiming to let me get close enough for that. Well, good-bye, old fellow, I hope I'll meet you again sometime when I've got a good gun."

Saying which, the old sailor picked up his burden and headed back for the island, the deer gazing after him in innocent-eyed wonder.

He had nearly reached the little camp when a scream from Chris sent him forward at a run, regardless of rocks and sink holes.

The scene that met his gaze as he burst into the little clearing chilled him with horror and dismay.

Attracted, no doubt, by its warmth, two huge, swollen-looking moccasins had crawled up on the little heap of mud and now lay with their flat, ugly heads within a few inches of the little negro's trembling body.

"Don't move an inch, Chris," he shouted, as he broke off a dead limb from a cedar tree.

The caution was useless, for, bound as he was, hand and foot, Chris could only lay and stare in horror and helplessness.

A couple of well-aimed blows from the stick killed the two poisonous, sluggish serpents, and, dragging them to the edge of the island, the captain pitched them out into the marsh.

"They ain't very pleasant visitors," he remarked as he returned to his helpless companion, "but I reckon, they've done you a heap of good. You was laying like a dead man when I went ashore and now you look right pert and lively."

"Dey's too sudden an' powerful medicine," grumbled Chris. "Dis nigger might jes' as well die as be scart to death. Golly! how my leg does burn and smart. Please take dat stuff off ob hit, Massa Captain, an' unloose my han's."

But the old sailor feared to remove the mud poultice, dreading another relapse. However, he untied the little negro's hands, upon his promise that he would lie still and not move. He was delighted with the change in the little lad. Whether the shock from the snakes, or, what was much more probable, the continued effects of the palmetto juice had done the work, the stupor which had frightened them all was entirely gone, and the patient soon declared himself decidedly hungry.

Cutting a stick and laying it within Chris' reach so that he would have the means of protecting himself from other possible visitors, the Captain departed in search of food.