Lone Pine: The Story of a Lost Mine

by R. B. Townshend

"When did it happen?" he asked.

"Just now."

The stricken man's breathing was painfully laboured, and he spoke with extreme difficulty, so that it was hard to understand him.

"Have you any whiskey?" Stephens inquired.

"No."

"Have you done anything for it?"

"No."

"There's nothing you could have done that I know of," said Stephens; "I was thinking whether I could try to lance it for you, but I'm afraid of cutting an artery. Of course, Felipe, it isn't possible that you could have any whiskey?"

"No, indeed, Sooshiuamo," said the boy; "how could I?"

"No, no, of course you couldn't," said the prospector; "and I haven't any neither. If we had a quart of whiskey here we might be able to save him. The only thing we can do is to keep him moving. Look here, Felipe, you lift him under the right shoulder and I'll lift him under the left; we must walk him around. Now then, up!" Between them they raised the unhappy man to his feet.