"How is he gettin' on, Gabe?" asked one of the loungers.
"So, so," said Gabriel. "You'll want to shift those bandages again," he said, turning to Briggs, "afore the doctor comes. I'd come back in an hour, but I've got to drop in and see how Steve's gettin' on, and it's a matter of two miles from home."
"But he says he won't let anybody tech him but you," said Mr. Briggs.
"I know he says so," said Gabriel, soothingly; "but he'll get over that. That's what Stimson sed when he was took worse, but he got over that, and I never got to see him except in time to lay him out."
The justice of this was admitted even by Briggs, although evidently disappointed. Gabriel was walking to the door, when another voice from the stove stopped him.
"Oh, Gabe! you mind that emigrant family with the sick baby camped down the gulch! Well, the baby up and died last night."
"I want to know," said Gabriel, with thoughtful gravity.
"Yes, and that woman's in a heap of trouble. Couldn't you kinder drop in in passing and look after things?"
"I will," said Gabriel thoughtfully.
"I thought you'd like to know it, and I thought she'd like me to tell you," said the speaker, settling himself back again over the stove with the air of a man who had just fulfilled, at great personal sacrifice and labour, a work of supererogation.