“I am a Medicine Man, Mrs. Jameson,” he said casually. “I heard you were sick and I came to see if a little of this stuff wouldn't brace you up. Open your lips.”
He held out the spoon and the amazed woman swallowed the contents before she realized what she was doing. Then the Harvester ran a hand under her shoulders and lifting her gently he tossed her pillow with the other hand.
“You are a light little body, just like my mother,” he commented. “Now I have something else sick people sometimes enjoy.”
He held the fruit juice to her lips as he slightly raised her on the pillow. Her trembling fingers lifted and closed around the sparkling glass.
“Oh it's cool!” she gasped.
“It is,” said the Harvester, “and sour! I think you can taste it. Try!”
She drank so greedily he drew away the glass and urged caution, but the shaking fingers clung to him and the wavering voice begged for more.
“In a minute,” said the Harvester gently. But the fevered woman would not wait. She drank the cooling liquid until she could take no more. Then she watched him fill a small pitcher and pack it in a part of the ice and lay some fruit around it.
“Who, Ruth?” she panted.
“A Medicine Man who heard about you.”