I am amused now when I remember how great was our emotion on approaching this unfortunate.

My first thought in turning the man over on to his back, and ascertaining that at last he breathed, was one of great joy and thankfulness.
"Thank God," I said to myself, "I have at last found a white companion--one who will put me in touch once more with the great world outside." The burning rage that consumed me (you know my object in following the tracks) died away in pity as I thought of the terrible privations and sufferings this poor fellow must have undergone before being reduced to this state.

My desire for revenge was forgotten, and my only thought now was to nurse back to health the unconscious man.
First of all I moistened his mouth with the water which Yamba always carried with her in a skin bag, and then I rubbed him vigorously, hoping to restore animation.

I soon exhausted the contents of the bag, however, and immediately Yamba volunteered to go off and replenish it.

She was absent an hour or more, I think, during which time I persisted in my massage treatment--although so far I saw no signs of returning consciousness on the part of my patient.
When Yamba returned with the water, I tried to make the prostrate man swallow some of it, and I even smeared him with the blood of an opossum which my thoughtful helpmate had brought back with her.