“He’s sick enough, now,” retorted the rodman.
“What ails Mr. Blaisdell?” asked Harry.
“It’s mountain fever, I reckon,” rejoined the rodman. “Blaisdell must have been off color for days, and didn’t really know it.”
All three worked rapidly getting everything in readiness for the coming of the assistant engineer. Then Mr. Blaisdell was brought in, on a stretcher rigged between two ponies. The acting chief is face was violently flushed, his eyes seemed bright as diamonds.
“Reade,” said the acting chief thickly, as they lifted him from the litter to his cot, “if I’m not better by morning you’ll have to get word to the chief.”
“Yes, sir,” assented Reade, placing a hand on Blaisdell’s forehead. It felt hot and feverish. “May I ask, sir, if you verified any of the sights on Nineteen?”
“I—-I took some of ’em,” replied the acting chief hesitatingly. “Reade, I’m not sure that I remember aright, but I think—-I think—-you and Hazelton were correct about that. I—-wish I could—-remember.”
Bill Blaisdell closed his eyes, and his voice trailed off into murmurs that none around him could understand. Even Reade, with his very slight experience in such matters, realized that the acting chief was a very sick man.
“You cubs better clear out of here now,” suggested one of the rodmen. “I know better how to take care of men with mountain fever.”
“I hope you do know more about nursing than I do, Carter,” replied Tom very quietly. “In the future, however, don’t forget that, though I may be a cub, I am an engineer, and you are a rodman. When you speak to me address me as Mr. Reade. Come, men, all out of here but the nurse.”