El Sol caught the feather end in both his hands, and snapped it at the lapping. He then took hold of the barb and drew it gently out of the wound. "Let it bleed," said he, "till I have examined the point. It does not look like a war-shaft; but the Navajoes use a very subtle poison. Fortunately I possess the means of detecting it, as well as its antidote." As he said this, he took from his pouch a tuft of raw cotton. With this he rubbed the blood lightly from the blade. He then drew forth a small stone phial, and, pouring a few drops of liquid upon the metal, watched the result. I waited with no slight feeling of uneasiness. Seguin, too, appeared anxious; and as I knew that he must have oftentimes witnessed the effect of a poisoned arrow, I did not feel very comfortable, seeing him watch the assaying process with so much apparent anxiety. I knew there was danger where he dreaded it. "Monsieur Haller," said El Sol, at length, "you are in luck this time. I think I may call it luck, for your antagonist has surely some in his quiver not quite so harmless as this one. "Let me see," he added; and, stepping up to the Navajo, he drew another arrow from the quiver that still remained slung upon the Indian's back. After subjecting the blade to a similar test, he exclaimed-- "I told you so. Look at this, green as a plantain! He fired two: where is the other? Comrades, help me to find it. Such a tell-tale as that must not be left behind us." Several of the men leaped from their horses, and searched for the shaft that had been shot first. I pointed out the direction and probable distance as near as I could, and in a few moments it was picked up. El Sol took it, and poured a few drops of his liquid on the blade. It turned green like the other. "You may thank your saints, Monsieur Haller," said the Coco, "it was not this one made that hole in your arm, else it would have taken all the skill of Doctor Reichter and myself to have saved you. But what's this? Another wound! Ha! He touched you as he made his right point. Let me look at it." "I think it is only a scratch." "This is a strange climate, Monsieur Haller. I have seen scratches become mortal wounds when not sufficiently valued. Luna! Some cotton, sis! I shall endeavour to dress yours so that you need not fear that result. You deserve that much at my hands. But for you, sir, he would have escaped me." "But for you, sir, he would have killed me." "Well," replied the Coco, with a smile, "it is possible you would not have come off so well. Your weapon played you false. It is hardly just to expect a man to parry a lance-point with a clubbed rifle, though it was beautifully done. I do not wonder that you pulled trigger in the second joust. I intended doing so myself, had the lasso failed me again. But we are in luck both ways. You must sling this arm for a day or two. Luna! that scarf of yours."