About the first thing Miguel saw when he attained the top of the log was the body of a man lying on the ground as if dead. The hands covered the face so that he could not see it, but he recognized the clothing and knew that it could belong to none other than David Jones. “_Camarada!_” he cried, at the same time dropping down beside the motionless figure. “It is I, Miguel, who have found you. _Por dios_, and just in time.” It required all his depleted strength to raise David to his feet; then he took the limp form in his arms and slowly carried it to safety--out of reach of the ravenous horde that sensed the intrusion and sent skirmishing lines dashing in all directions in frantic efforts to locate the prize so suddenly snatched from its grasp. David opened his eyes slowly. When he saw the man who had just deposited him on the ground, puffing hard from his exertion, he stared in amazement. Then the remembrance of something dreadful came back to him in a flash. He weakly raised his arms and placed his hands over his face. “Oh, the ants, the ants,” he moaned. “They are all over me. I can feel their bites--they are killing me and--I can’t get away. I can’t get over the log.” “No, they’re not,” Miguel panted, trying to soothe him. “You are safe now. I will not let them get you. Look, there isn’t one on you; they’re far away, on the other side of the log, and I’ll carry you farther before they come near here.” “But I can feel them, on my hands and face--everywhere,” David persisted. “Sh!” Miguel said. “Keep quiet and everything will be all right.” It was some time before the delirious man could be calmed. But Miguel finally succeeded in reassuring him that the danger that had threatened was now past, and with the realization that he was safe from the ants came a measure of strength. “I was sure something would happen--someone would find me before they got to me,” David said faintly after a while. Miguel had propped him up against the base of a tree while he plucked and prepared to roast a _mutum_ that looked like a good-sized turkey; he had just shot the bird in the tree right over their heads. “I never gave up hope and, Miguel, I’m glad it was you who found me.” “Me?” in surprise. “Why did you want me to find you?” “I don’t know. I just wanted it to be you--maybe just to prove to the others that we could be good friends if it came down to rock bottom.” “Umph!” Miguel’s thoughts were travelling in strange channels. He felt queer as he thought of the purpose he had in mind when he started on the long search. What if he had found David the first few days after leaving camp? “I’m glad I found you, too, when I did,” he said. “But neither one of us has anything much to be glad about.” “What do you mean? I feel better already. And I’m hungry. We can start back tomorrow if I can eat as much of that bird as I think I can. They told me that you’re the best bushman in the crowd, so we’ll take a short cut back to camp,” David said confidently.