Yes! He lies on the ground and raises his hat, or something, on a stick.

He is waving it." (Jacob Welse fired six more shots.) "He waves again.

Now he has dropped it and lies quite still." All three looked inquiringly to Jacob Welse.
He shrugged his shoulders.

"How should I know?
A white man or an Indian; starvation most likely, or else he is injured." "But he may be dying," Frona pleaded, as though her father, who had done most things, could do all things.
"We can do nothing." "Ah! Terrible! terrible!" The baron wrung his hands.

"Before our very eyes, and we can do nothing! No!" he exclaimed, with swift resolution, "it shall not be! I will cross the ice!" He would have started precipitately down the bank had not Jacob Welse caught his arm.
"Not such a rush, baron.