The chief consulted with a few of the braves, and in a few moments, to the great joy of Congo, he announced their decision to send the largest deer and some sweet corn dried on the ear; but said that they would take no money from their white brothers. “It is a gift,” said Running Water. “Speak no more of it. Four of my young men shall carry it.” But here arose another difficulty. The bearers of the provisions would discover, and report, that the strangers were unarmed, and if the Indians were evil-disposed they might pursue them and attack them before they could get in their boats, or at least before they could obtain a safe offering. Doubtless, also, they had canoes moored somewhere on the shore, with which they could give chase upon the water. These thoughts occurred to the sagacious negro, and he tried hard to avert the danger by proposing to take a single quarter of the venison to his friends, and then return to get another, which, he said, would be enough to last them several days until they came to where food was plenty. He would not trouble “de gemmen” to carry it for him--not at all. But Running Water was equally polite, and would hear of no such arrangement. His young men were idle. Three at least of them should go with his guest, each carrying one quarter of the venison, while Congo might, if he chose, shoulder the fourth himself. He seemed very amiable--his eyes gleamed with a soft, genial light, and it was easy to doubt that he was acting in perfect good faith. Finding it useless further to protest, Joe acquiesced in his plan, trusting to his white friends to foresee and in some way to avoid the danger--if danger there were. The quarters of a large buck--which had been skinned and cut up where it fell--were quickly selected, and the three porters, being designated by the chief, at once took their stations near their respective loads, prepared to shoulder them, and to follow Congo as soon as he was ready to start. “Good-by, den, cap’n,” said the negro, extending his hand to Running Water. “Ef you come my way, gib me a call, sah, and I’ll be glad to see you.” “Wait!” said the savage, who was not yet ready to let his visitor depart, for he had given orders to have a patient brought in, to obtain the benefit of his healing powers. In a few minutes, a tall, olive-colored lad was led in, and was conducted up to Joe, evidently in a state of considerable apprehension. “Him sick,” said the chief. “Burn, burn now, by an’ by shaky--shaky with cold--un’stan’?” “Goodness gracious--yes! He’s got the fever an’ agur, I s’pose.” “Cure him!” said Running Water. “Wot! I cure him!” “Yes--you wise man--medicine man,” repeated the other persuasively. Joe laughed and reflected. It could do no harm to encourage this notion, and might do some good. He happened to have in his pocket a corkscrew, and he was pretty sure that the Indian had never seen such a utensil.