“Well, they were just talking. Same thing, or rather something very like it, happened to his brother down in Southeastern Alaska.”
“Is that right?” The Major played with the book on his lap.
“He was working on a wharf on one of those rivers and he fell in. They said he never came up again. There was a lot of thick mud under the water and he just went down in it. People just disappear in it.”
“Is that right?” The Major wondered if he would be sick again. The ship was beginning to roll almost as badly as it had on the trip to the Big Harbor.
“I guess that must be awful,” said Hodges frowning, “to fall in the water like that and go right down. They said there were just a few bubbles and that was all. Must have been an awful sensation, going down, I mean.”
“I can imagine,” said the Major. He remembered the time he had almost drowned in the ocean. His whole life had not passed in review through his head; he remembered that. The only thing he had thought of was getting out of the water. A lifeguard towed him in.
“You know they were telling me,” said Hodges, “that there’s an old Indian belief that if a dying man recognizes you, you will be the next to die.”
“That’s an interesting superstition. Did this fellow, the one who died last night, did he recognize anyone before he died?”
“No, as a matter of fact he was unconscious all the time.”
“Oh.”