They were now traveling by day, and they set out at about half-past six for their last journey together. The sun was already high and so hot that it had dried the heavy dew. They had gone but a short distance when Mr. Grubb saw that he had been led into a thicket. He observed a strange look on Poit's face, and did not realize that he had caught Poit's eye at the moment when he was trying to get into a position from which he could shoot him. A moment later he bent over, trying to break a path through the undergrowth, and in that instant Poit lifted his bow and arrow. A stinging blow under his shoulder blade, and Mr. Grubb understood in a flash that this was not his friend but his enemy, and that he had been shot, perhaps fatally. When the deed was done, Poit came to himself. He shouted in dismay and terror, "Ak kai! Ak kai!" and rushed away. He had run only a short distance when he sat down to think. He believed that he had either killed Mr. Grubb outright or that Mr. Grubb would soon die from his wounds or that he would be slain by a jaguar whose tracks they had crossed. He decided craftily that he would set out straightway for the mission and say that he had seen a jaguar about to leap, and that, shooting at the jaguar, he had killed Mr. Grubb. He had not gone very far when he met an Indian with paint marks on his body, which showed that he was in mourning. Poit supposed this meant that Mr. Grubb was dead—someone must have found Mr. Grubb's body before the jaguar devoured it. He ran back into the forest. By this time he was out of his mind with fear. For hundreds and hundreds of years the Indians had killed foreigners without thinking anything about it; but now there was a change. Here was an Indian mourning for a foreigner! Poit was puzzled and frightened. He did not yet know that all the Indians were crying out for vengeance upon the man who had tried to murder their benefactor. But what neither Poit nor the mourning Indian knew was that Mr. Grubb was still alive. How he reached the mission was a miracle. He was more dead than alive from the wound which pierced his lung, and from exhaustion. Sometimes he staggered along leaning on two Indians; sometimes he rode a horse on whose back he had to be supported. Often his companions had to lay him down on the ground lest he should die. He suffered from the heat by day and was tortured by the mosquitoes by night. As though this were not enough, one night a goat belonging to an Indian jumped on him by accident! But at last he reached the mission and had proper medical attention, and all along the weary way the Indians saw his agony and understood that he was suffering because he had come to help them. They thought not only of him, but of the Master about whom he had told them, and they believed that he had been saved by a miracle.