Daddy John had
searched the valley, and finally run his quarry to earth at the Porter
Ranch, one of a motley crew waiting to swarm inland to the rivers. The
man, a ruddy animal with some rudimentary knowledge of his profession,
pronounced the ailment "mountain fever." He looked over the doctor's
medicine chest with an air of wisdom and at Susan with subdued
gallantry.
"Better get the wife down to Sacramento," he said to Daddy John. "The
man's not going to last and you can't keep her up here."
"Is he going to die?" said the old man.
The doctor pursed his lips.
"He oughtn't to. He's a Hercules. But the strongest of 'em go this
way with the work and exposure. Think they can do anything and don't
last as well sometimes as the weak ones."
"Work and exposure oughtn't to hurt him. He's bred upon it. Why
should he cave in and the others of us keep up?"
"Can't say. But he's all burned out--hollow. There's no rebound.
He's half gone now. Doesn't seem to have the spirit that you'd expect
in such a body."
"Would it do any good to get him out of here, down to the valley or the
coast?"
"It might--change of air sometimes knocks out these fevers.
Pages:
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553