"Seeck boy?" queried Dave. "W'ere you got her from? W'at she ees seeck on herself wit'?"
Mr. Black explained.
"Dat's all right," Dave said. "Bad cold on her long (lung). Ah cook you som't'ing w'at feex her pooty good."
"No, no," protested Mr. Black, "we want a doctor and a lot of other things. You must go to Lakeville. I'll—yes, I'll give you two dollars."
"Maybe Ah go behind dinner," promised Dave, uncertainly. "Ah mus' sleep, me, for two-t'ree hour—Ah'm chase dose deer hall night. Tell dose Jean, dose Bettee, dose Mabelle, and dose Henriette, eef he ees com' roun' pooty soon, Ah show heem how to skeen dose deer."
Notwithstanding the fact that his medical services had been declined, Dave began almost at once to search for herbs, dig for roots, and gather certain pungent leaves and twigs. These he covered carefully with water and placed over a slow fire in a most repulsive saucepan. By half-past eight o'clock, by which time the castaways were eating breakfast, Dave had obtained about half a pint of a queer-smelling, most unattractive-looking, greenish-black fluid. He carried this strange brew carefully to the clearing, peered cautiously into Mrs. Crane's unguarded tent, entered noiselessly, and dropped the flap. Then, kneeling beside the helpless lad, the half-breed raised him gently and poured the contents of his blackened tin cup, a little at a time, down the boy's throat. This accomplished successfully, Dave, much pleased with himself, emerged just in time to meet startled Mrs. Crane, returning to look at her charge.
"Dave," she shrieked, noting the empty, not over-clean cup, "what have you done?"
"Das all right, Mees Crane," assured Dave. "Dose boy, she swallow good. Ev'rybody wait fi—seex hour. Dose boy sweat lak' horse bam-bye—wake up weak like babee—open hees eye. Maybe she's dead then, maybe she's get well. You geeve her queek som' brot'—bouillon—w'at you call heem—soup, hey?—behin' dos beeg sweat. For mak' her strong, dose seeck boy."
"Dave," moaned Mrs. Crane, who had seized the cup and was smelling it, "you've surely killed that poor child!"
"Nong, nong," protested Dave. "Dose ees ver' goo' medicine—Ah'm got her off ma gran'modder."