“And what’s the sickness?”
“Ten men are dead, five more are down—two women, Chinese, and three men. I should call it fever, a kind of barbiers or beri-beri. But in the meanwhile, I’ll take another drop of your excellent liquor.”
The doctor drank the Pilot’s medicine in complete silence.
“Let go that rope!” roared Summerhayes. “Shove her off. Up with your sail.” The trim boat shot towards the sunny port of Timber Town, and Sartoris was left aboard the fever-ship.
CHAPTER IX.
What Looked Like Courting.
On the terrace of the Pilot’s house was a garden-seat, on which sat Rose Summerhayes and Scarlett.
Rose was looking at her dainty shoe, the point of which protruded from beneath her skirt; while Scarlett’s eyes were fixed on the magnificent panorama of mountains which stretched north and south as far as he could see.
Behind the grass-covered foot-hills, at whose base crouched the little town, there stood bolder and more rugged heights. In rear of these rose the twin forest-clad tops of an enormous mountain mass, on either side of which stretched pinnacled ranges covered with primeval “bush.”