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Updated: May 28, 2025
No more influential personage was present than "Mooty," the crafty, determined, plausible philosopher the sagest of the counsellors, the most flowery of orators, the most weird of the wizards. Long before he had established his reputation as a medicine-man.
Tom Goat disappeared as silently as last night's dew, for Mooty does not hesitate to summarily administer his own judgment when his professions are scorned, his family bewitched, his countenance distorted with mumps. With feasting and fighting, with dancing and storytelling, quarrelling and reconciliations, the assemblage spent a happy week.
No such illness had ever been known in the district, and since it had not only baffled Mooty's skill, but had irreverently seized him the only physician of credit and renown its cause must be supernatural. Thus did he reason, as he began occult investigations. Jack and Rosey lay in their camp passively dying. Mooty prowled about, the sleeves of a discarded shirt tied under his distended jaws.
The faces and throats of both swelled alarmingly, so that Mooty, who had the cases in hand, gave up hope. Both were resigned, when Mooty, to his own horror and the dismay of everyone, caught the dread disease.
Exasperated by such impropriety, aghast at the consequences, Mooty doctor alike of laws, of science, and of medicine, and a man of imperative mood sharpened his tomahawk at the Chinaman's grindstone, theatrically testing its edge with distorted thumb.
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