'Well, I'll have t' hurry,' said he, trying feebly to rise. 'Man's dyin' over—' he hesitated thoughtfully, 'on the Plains,' he added, looking around at us.
Grandma Bisnette brought a lamp and held it so the light fell on his face. He looked from one to another. He drew one of his hands away and stared at it.
'Somebody froze?' he asked.
'Yes,' said I.
'Hm! Too bad. How'd it happen?' he asked. 'I don't know.'
'How's the pulse?' he enquired, feeling for my wrist.
I let him hold it in his hand.
'Will you bring me some water in a glass?' he enquired, turning to Mrs Brower, just as I had seen him do many a time in Gerald's illness. Before she came with the water his head fell forward upon his breast, while he muttered feebly. I thought then he was dead, but presently he roused himself with a mighty effort.
'David Brower!' he called loudly, and trying hard to rise, 'bring the horse! bring the horse! Mus' be goin', I tell ye. Man's dyin' over—on the Plains.'
He went limp as a rag then. I could feel his heart leap and struggle feebly.