CHAPTER XIX
THE ISLAND IN THE SWAMP
David’s coma lasted but a few moments, and when he raised his head again, save that the persecutors had left him, everything was as before. The Indians had returned to their former occupations about the camp; a few taking food, others playing at their gambling games, still more lolling with pipes beside the rude wigwams. David, in spite of the dizzy, ringing feeling of his head and the weakness of his body, took heart. That they did not mean to torture him at once was evident, and while there was life there was hope. He found that by straightening his body he could secure relief from the painful straining of his arms, although he well knew that ere long that relief would fail him. The sun was climbing above the tops of the few trees that thrust their straggling branches from the swamp and the day promised to be close and hot. Already thirst was parching his threat. Food he had no wish for now. As the sunlight warmed the stagnant water of the partly dried morass around the island, a
