“In God’s name, man, what do you want?”
He made no answer.
“You are in a fever. You’ve the ague!”
“Ay, a fever,” groaned he, shivering as he spoke; “a fever, but not the one you mean; a fever, young man, such as God keep you from ever having.”
His whole frame shuddered as he uttered these words. There was a short pause.
“Curious that,” continued he; “I’ve served more than one in the same way, but never thought of it afterwards—was forgotten in less than no time. Got to pay the whole score at once, I suppose. Can’t rest a minute. In the open prairie it’s the worst; there stands the old man, so plain, with his silver beard, and the spectre just behind him.”
His eyes rolled, he clenched his fists, and striking his forehead furiously, rushed out of the hut.
In a few minutes he returned, apparently more composed, and walked straight up to my bed.
“Stranger, you must do me a service,” said he abruptly.