August had no love for indians but he needed this one. He had no idea where he was and she was his only source of information.

Suddenly she made a gagging sound and water spewed from her mouth, then she began coughing. August, in exhaustion and relief, rocked back on his heels. He reached around behind his back and pulled a knife from it’s sheath, with it he cut the rawhide strips binding her hands.

The worrying over the squaw had temporarily put off his own fatigue and pain, now it returned with a vengeance. Suddenly he had difficulty breathing. He pawed at his throat and chest. Panic overwhelmed him, then everything went dark.

August slowly regained consciousness. He craned his neck to the side, and there sat the squaw gazing at him, her large brown eyes filled with tears. He tried to smile, but a spasm gripped his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to take shallow breaths to ease the pain. He lapsed into unconsciousness again.

Sometime later August heard a splash.