The cold applications prescribed by Wienersdorf for the inflamed wounds of his compatriot gave him effectual relief. Johannes and La Cueille constructed a covering of branches and leaves to shelter the patient from the rays of the burning sun. Shortly after their departure Schlickeisen opened his eyes and looked around; but when he tried to move a cry of pain escaped his lips. His companions bent over him, renewed the cold applications, gave him water to drink and by nursing him with all possible care rendered his sufferings sensibly lighter. When they found that his fever had abated they bathed his entire body with the cool river water. This process removed the blue pigment with which he seemed to have been painted all over and laid bare his white skin, in which innumerable little punctures were discovered. Harimaoung Boekit opened his eyes in astonishment when he saw the skin of the European. He bent over the patient and examined him minutely, at the same time casting an enquiring glance at Johannes, La Cueille and Wienersdorf. They all understood this look and felt that some violent revolution was taking place in the mind of the Poenan. Wienersdorf immediately tore open his jacket, and in the circle of these four men huddled around the patient, exposed his own shoulder to the Poenan chief. When Harimaoung saw the white skin from which the katiting had become wholly effaced, he murmured: “Olo bapoeti!” a white man. The son of the forest sat for a moment as if paralyzed, covering his eyes to hide the violent emotion raging in his soul. But the conflict was only momentary. The adventure upon the raft in lake Ampang came before his eyes. He remembered how Wienersdorf and Schlickeisen had saved him at kotta Djangkan when tied, like a wild animal, he was being dragged away by his foes. Wiping his forehead as if to remove an unwelcome thought he lifted his head, cast a look at Wienersdorf and taking him by the hand, whispered almost inaudibly: “No matter, thou art my elder brother.” “And they?” asked the Swiss, pointing to the other Europeans. “My younger brothers,” said the Poenan, shaking each of them by the hand. A sigh of relief escaped the breast of Johannes, who had looked upon the scene with a throbbing heart. It was now hurriedly arranged that the Europeans should still preserve their disguise before the others of the band, reserving the narration of their history for some future time.