"Wall, this night I walked up an' down wishin' I could go, but I couldn't leave my folk, an' it wus blowin' an' snowin' so as no man could ha' found his way to Bennivale. It wur on the Missouri River, more'n two hundred miles away.
"I looked at the paper over an' over again, an' wished I could go. I wus walkin' an' lookin' at wee Nan an' then at my woman, an' then at the stranger. He said his name wus Bill, and that wus all I could get from him, so I sometimes called him 'Prairie Bill' an' sometimes 'Wanderin' Willie.'
"Wall, I sat down in the old chair, an' I saw Bill lookin' at wee Nan very serious like, an', wud you believe it, comrades, there wus tears in his eyes.
"That night I wus gettin' some wood fur the fire when I saw Bill ridin' off on his horse, an' I thought he'd got tired an' wus goin' to some o' the shanties in the mountains, 'r mebbe to the Indian camp. I thought it queer he should go away in that fashion an' never tell me where he wus goin', but of course it wus none o' my business, so I said nothin'.
"Wall, the storm got worse, and wee Nan didn't get any better. I sat beside her night after night, an' the wee thing kept singin' the songs Bill had been singin'. It wus queer, fur though, she wus very sick, she would keep cooin' like Bill, an' then she wud close her eyes an' keep dosin'.
"We tried the medicines the Indians gave us, but they didn't do her no good. Often I wished the storm would stop, and I near made up my mind a dozen times that I'd go to Bennivale an' see the doctor anyway.
"The days an' nights went by slow, an' as I wus sittin' by the little un the door opened an' in come Bill, an' without say in' a word, jest as if he'd gone out o' the door an' come right back, he put his hand in his pocket, an' pulls out a parcel o' powders an' giv' them to me. It was the doctor's writin', an' I knew it. He put a letter along with the medicine, an' this is what he said, fur I always carries this letter with me wherever I go:
"'Dear Mr. Glad'—ye see, he called me by my old name o' the mountains, which I like best, fur it keeps me in mind o' the prairies an' the foot-hills. I can't speak it in the fine style he writes in, but I'll read it like our talk o' the prairie.
"Here's what he ses: 'Dear Mr. Glad, a stranger named Bill has just returned sufferin' with exposure, an' he has just informed me that one o' your children is very sick—a little girl. From all the fac's o' the case, which I wus able to gather from yer friend, I am able to send you some medicine which I feel sure will restore her. Mix the powders accordin' to directions. Whenever you come this way, bring me a few furs, and I will pay you fur them. I want some good beaver skins. Your friend Bill is a rare chap. He has had an excellent edication, and has seen better days. You can't go wrong in trustin' that fellow. He is sharp, clever an' queer.
"'Sincerely yours,
"'TOM. KETSON, M.D.'