“I reckon it is healthy enough for some people,” said the farmer.
“Not for such men as your friend that was relieved of his pocketbook, is it?” asked Nick, with a laugh.
“No, I hardly think that it is, although it is better than getting a bullet in you,” was the answer.
“Are there many doctors around here?”
“No, there ain’t any regular doctors around here, that I know of, excepting the ones at the asylum, and they are so thundering high-priced that it is cheaper for a man to die than to go to them, so most of the people around here either goes without doctoring or else dies.”
“I suppose that you are all healthy, and seldom need a doctor.”
“Most of us are in pretty good shape, and seldom need anything excepting a dose of physic now and then; there is Grout, the man that was robbed the other night—he has been sick ever since, at least he says that he is sick, although I think that the losing of his money is the thing that is the matter with him.”
“Yes, and the day after he got touched up for his money he went into town and bought himself a medicine chest filled with all sorts of funny-looking things. There was lots of curious-shaped things in the instrument line; there was a lot of funny-looking medicines that I have never seen the like of in any drug store, and a book telling you the effects of poisons. He did not mean me to see that, but when his back was turned I took a peep at the book.”
“What do you suppose that he wants with all this stuff? He would not be allowed to practice medicine without a license from the State?”