The sufferer laid a black hand on his waist-cloth.
"Somebody done put hot iron in heah, sah, and turn him round and round."
Dane managed to drench him from the phial before his teeth met in an agony, and Maxwell closed one hand as he looked at his partner.
"It is very hard that this should happen—now—but you and I must see the poor devils through," he said. "Our help may not be worth much, but it is all that stands between them and destruction. It is one of the scourges of this afflicted country—swifter than cholera, and more deadly. This camp will resemble the pit presently."
Maxwell next glanced down at the negro pitifully, his forehead contracted and his lips firmly set, but he nodded abruptly when Dane spoke again.
"I have seen something like it in South America. Is it invariably contagious?"
"To negroes, yes; to white men, less so. In any case you have run the worst risk of infection already."
"Confound you! Do you suppose—?"
Maxwell interrupted, laying a hand on his shoulder.
"I think you and I are going to fight a very tough battle together, Hilton."