“Oh, all right; I don’t understand that sort of thing, doctor. But I don’t want you to think I meant to shuffle from helping a man out of a hole.”
“Oh, I don’t think that, Griggs,” said the doctor warmly; “but the poor fellow must not be moved. He’s in the last stage of exhaustion, and must have suffered terribly.”
“Precious old un, ain’t he?” said the American, gazing down at the head no longer covered by the rough cap of puma-skin that the patient had worn, and all noting the yellow, half-bald head and the long, thin, perfectly white hair and beard.
“A man of seventy, or more, I should say,” replied the doctor gravely.
“Hundred and seventy, you mean,” said the American sharply.
“No: about the age I said,” replied the doctor.
“Well,” cried the American, in a tone full of the surprise he felt, “yew do surprise me, doctor!”
“Let’s leave him for a bit,” said the doctor, as he saw that their visitor’s eyes remained closed. “Perhaps he will sleep for a while.”
The party backed out of the airy shed used for storing corn in the season, and often utilised in the hottest weather for a sleeping-place by the occupants of the shanty, and the strange visitor was left alone.
“I feel mean over this job, neighbours,” said the American, as they moved towards the shanty; “and now I’m going to be meaner and meaner, as I am here and had no time to see to my vittling department. Got anything to eat?”