"Nicholas 'fraid, too," she whispered, "when the devil talks."
"The devil?"
"Yes. Sh! You hear?"
The delirious chatter went on, rising to a scream. Nicholas came hurrying back to the fire with a look of terror in his face.
"Me go get Shamán."
"No; he come soon." Muckluck clung to him.
They both crouched down by the fire.
"You 'fraid he'll die before the Shamán gets here?"
"Oh no," said Muckluck soothingly, but her face belied her words.
The sick man called hoarsely. Nicholas got him some water, and propped him up to drink. He glared over the cup with wild eyes, his teeth chattering against the tin. The Boy, himself, felt a creep go down his spine.