Part 38 (2/2)
The lower boughs under which they rode were dead, and hung with long streamers of grey moss that gave the trees the appearance of h.o.a.ry age.
As they entered the valley instinctively they lowered their voices and spoke in reverent tones, as if they had been ushered into an a.s.semblage of ancient and silent sages. On every side the stately pines led away in long vistas that suggested the aisles of some n.o.ble cathedral. There was no sign of life anywhere, no motion of leaf or bough, no sound to break the solemn stillness. The clatter of a hoof over a stone broke on the ear with startling discordance. The wide reaches of yellow carpet of pine needles, golden and with black bars of shadow, the long drawn aisles of tall pines, bearing aloft like stately pillars the high, arched roof of green, the lower limbs sticking out from the trunks bony and bare but for the pendant streamers of grey moss, all bathed in the diffused radiance of the yellow afternoon light, suggested some weird and mighty fane of a people long dead, whose spirits, haunting these solemn s.p.a.ces, still kept over their temple a silent and awful watch.
Out on the trail they met Perault in a frenzy of anxious excitement.
”Tank de Bon Dieu!” he cried brokenly, with hands uplifted. ”Come wit'
me, queek! queek!”
”Perault, tell us how your boss is.” The doctor's voice was quiet and authoritative. ”And tell us how long he has been ill, and how it came on. Be very particular. Take plenty of time.”
Perault's Gallic temperament responded to the doctor's quiet tone and manner.
”Oui. Bon,” he said, settling down. ”Listen to me. We come nice and slow to dis place, an' den we go up dat gulch for little prospect. Good ting, too. Good mine dere, sure. But old boss he can't stay. He must go, go, go. Den we go up 'noder gulch, tree, four day more, for 'noder mine. Pretty good, too. Den one night we comin' back to camp, old boss feel good. Skeep along lak small sheep. By gar, he's feel too good!
He's fall in crik. Dat's noting. No! Good fire, plenty blanket make dat all right. But dat night I hear de ole boss groan, and cry, and turn overe and overe. Light de fire; give him one big drink wheesky. No good. He's go bad all dat night. Nex' day he's het noting. Nex' day he's worser and worser. Wat I can do I can't tell. Den de Bon Dieu he send along dat half-breed. De ole boss he write letter, an' you come here queek.”
”Thank you, Perault. A very lucid explanation, indeed. Now, we shall see the patient; and you, Miss Marion, had better remain here by the fire for a few moments.”
The doctor pa.s.sed with Shock into the Old Prospector's tent.
”Mr. Macgregor,” cried the old man, stretching out both hands eagerly to him, ”I'm glad you have come. I feared you would not be in time. But now,” sinking back upon his balsam bed, ”now all will be--well.”
”Mr. Mowbray,” said Shock, ”I have brought the doctor with me. Let him examine you now, and then we shall soon have you on your feet again.”
The old gentleman smiled up into Shock's face, a smile quiet and content.
”No,” he said between short breaths, ”I have taken the long trail. My quest is over. It is not for me.”
”Let the doctor have a look at you,” entreated Shock.
”Most certainly,” said the Old Prospector, in his wonted calm voice.
”Let the doctor examine me. I am not a man to throw away any hope, however slight.”
As the doctor proceeded with his examination his face grew more and more grave. At length he said, ”It is idle for me to try to conceal the truth from you, Mr. Mowbray. You are a very sick man. The inflammation has become general over both lobes of the lung. The walls of the vessels and the surrounding tissues have lost their vitality; the vessels are extremely dilated, while exudation and infiltration have proceeded to an alarming extent. The process of engorgement is complete.”
”Do you consider his condition dangerous, doctor?” said Shock, breaking in upon the doctor's technical description.
”In a young person the danger would not be so great, but, Mr. Mowbray, I always tell the truth to my patients. In a man of your age I think the hope of recovery is very slight indeed.”
”Thank you, doctor” said the old man cheerfully. ”I knew it long ago, but I am content that my quest should cease at this point. And now, if you will give me a few moments of close attention,” he said, turning to Shock, ”and if you will see that the privacy of this tent is absolutely secure, there is little more that I shall require of you.”
The doctor stepped to the door.
”Doctor,” said the Old Prospector, ”I do not wish you to go. It is more than I hoped, that there should be beside me when I pa.s.sed out of this life two men that I can trust, such as yourself and Mr. Macgregor. Sit down close beside me and listen.”
He pulled out from beneath his pillow an oil-skin parcel, which he opened, discovering a small bag of buckskin tied with a thong.
”Open it,” he said to Shock. ”Take out the paper.” His voice became low and eager, and his manner bespoke intense excitement.
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