CHAPTER XXXII. — THE MOUNTAIN CABIN.
At length they reached the entrance to the cabin. It was a rough structure, built of logs, containing but one apartment. On a blanket in one corner of the hut lay a young man, looking pale and emaciated. His face was turned to the wall, so that, though he heard steps, he did not see who crossed the threshold.
"Is that you, Ki Sing?" he asked, in a low voice. "But why need I ask? There is not likely to be any one else in this lonely spot."
"That's where you're mistaken, my friend," said Bradley. "I met that Chinaman of yours half a mile away, and he brought me here. You're sick, I reckon?"
The invalid started in surprise and evident joy when he heard Bradley's voice.
"Thank Heaven!" he said, "for the sound of a countryman's voice," and he turned to look at his visitor.
Now it was Bradley's turn to start and manifest surprise.
"Why, it's Dick Dewey!" he exclaimed.
"You know me?" said the sick man eagerly.
"Of course I do. Didn't we work together at Murphy's, almost side by side?"