Lone Pine: The Story of a Lost Mine

by R. B. Townshend

"Come on," cried Stephens, "hold him up. Steady now."

They walked forward as steadily as they could in the direction of the cave-dwelling, Backus staggering along between them. His legs went through the motions of walking almost mechanically, but his weight rested entirely on his two supporters, and he was a heavy man to carry.

"Stick to it, Felipe," said Stephens, "it's the only chance for him. Keep him going." They reached the cave. "Set him down here a minute before the fire," said Stephens, putting aside his rifle, and with both hands lowering the patient to the ground, after spreading his blanket for him to lie on. Backus was in a state of appalling collapse; the swelling increased so rapidly that it seemed as if his head must burst; the inflamed skin was horribly mottled with red and green and yellow, and a cold sweat broke out on him. Stephens knelt beside him and felt his pulse; it was rapid, fluttering, and feeble.

Felipe looked on, awestruck and speechless. That the prospector should try to preserve the life of his enemy did not appeal to him at all; it seemed to him only one more of the unaccountable things these Americans did. But the frightful state of the storekeeper, and the agonising pains he was suffering were the work of the dread reptile he had been taught to reverence from his earliest days. The gods were angry with Backus, and this was their doing.

Stephens felt that the stricken man's hands were growing deadly cold. He sprang up. "Come on, Felipe!" he exclaimed, rising quickly again to his feet. "He's at the last gasp, I think. We must try to walk him up and down again. It's the one thing we can do."

They raised him to his feet once more, Stephens putting his right arm round his waist, and steadying him with the other, and, Felipe aiding, they walked him to and fro on the meadow, trying to counteract the fatal lethargy produced by the bite.

"He must have got an awful dose of poison into him," said Stephens, as they struggled along with their now nearly unconscious burden. "I guess it must have been a snake that had been lying up for the winter, and had only just come out now the warm weather's beginning. They're worst of all then; their poison-bag has a full charge in it."

But Felipe made no answer; he was not affected by the scientific question as to how many drops of venom there might be in a serpent's poison-gland. For him the question was, "Had the god struck to kill? or would he be content to punish and pardon?" But as he looked at the lolling head and dragging limbs of the victim he felt that the god had struck to kill.