“Then is there another Englishman here; a Mr. Wigmore?”
“Wigmore? Did you know him?” the man asked.
“No,” Hi said. “But I found a book of his and this little gold locket. Did you know him?”
“Yes, he was a prospector here,” the man said. “He died of forest fever here a couple of years ago.”
“Poor chap,” Hi said. It seemed a lonely death for a man with a mother and a lover.
“Yes,” the man said. “He died of forest fever a couple of years ago. There’s a lot of forest fever here as soon as the rains call off.”
“Were you with him when he died?” Hi asked.
“Not actually with him, no; but in at the death, yes. I was as near as I wanted to be. Forest fever’s an easily caught complaint.”
“Is he buried here?”
“Yes; or not far from here. I had the Indians to bury him. Indian fashion, in a hole in the hut.”