“You are better to-day. Your pulse is down. I wouldn't try to talk.”
“Who's that—outside?”
“There is no one outside,” Paul answered, following the direction of his patient's eyes. “That? That is only a snowdrift. It grows faster than I can shovel it away.”
The packer had forgotten his own question. He dozed off, and presently roused again as suddenly as he had slept. His utterance was clearer, but not his meaning.
“What—you want to fetch me back for?”
“Back?” Paul repeated.
“I was most gone, wa'n't I?”
“Back to life, you mean? You came back of yourself. I hadn't much to do with it.”
“What's been the matter—gen'ly speaking?”
“You were hurt, don't you remember? Something like wound fever set in. The altitude is bad for fevers. You have had a pretty close call.”