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Updated: June 29, 2025
The poor old herder died last night, and is decently buried in the earth, and now we are burning the cabin and every thread it contains to prevent the spread of the plague. Hugh and Swenson have divided their garments with me, and this blanket which I wear is my only coat. All that I have is in that cabin now going up in smoke my guns, pictures, everything."
"What I am doing may be all wrong," he admitted to Swenson, who came often to lean upon the hitching-pole and offer aid. "I have had no training as a nurse, but I must be doing something. The man is burning up, and hasn't much vitality to spare.
While still he debated, alternately flushed with resolve to be happy and chilled by some strange dejection, he met Swenson, the young guard who guarded the forest on the south Fork. As he rode up, Cavanagh perceived in the other man's face something profoundly serious.
Then, as Swenson says, the thieves will roll in upon us to slash, and burn, and corrupt. What a country! What a country!" As he reached the end of this line of despairing thought, he came back to the question of his remaining personal obligations. Wetherford must be cared for, and then and then! there was Virginia waiting for him at this moment.
Ugh! Poor Miller. Poor Swenson. It's orful. Did you see wot they done to 'em beside cuttin' off their heads?" "Yes," whispered Wison, looking suddenly behind him. Red Sanders gave a little start, peering in the direction that his companion had looked. "Wot was it?" he whimpered. "Wot did you do that fer?" "I thought I seen something move there," replied Wison.
Swenson, or whatever it is that natives of Sweden exclaim in moments of justifiable annoyance. He resented the advent of this newcomer. He had been getting along fine and had had the situation well in hand. To him Sam Marlowe represented Competition, and Mr. Swenson desired no competitors in his treasure-seeking enterprise. He travels, thought Mr. Swenson, the fastest who travels alone.
It seemed to him that he was being done to death in his prime by a solid platoon of Swedes. He put his whole soul into one last effort ... something seemed to give ... he was free. Pausing only to try to kick Mr. Swenson in the face, Sam shot to the surface. Something hard and sharp prodded him in the head.
Swenson, who, being practically amphibious, had not anticipated that anyone would have the cool impertinence to try and save him from drowning, found himself seized from behind and towed vigorously away from a ten-dollar bill which he had almost succeeded in grasping.
Sam, ignorant of this, attempted to do the job with clenched fist, which he brought down as smartly as possible on the crown of the other's bowler hat. It was the worst thing he could have done. Mr. Swenson thought highly of his hat and this brutal attack upon it confirmed his gloomiest apprehensions.
He paused in his reflections to try to disentangle the more prominent of Mr. Swenson's limbs from about him. By this time he was sure that he had never met anyone he disliked so intensely as Mr. Swenson not even his Aunt Adeline. The man was a human octopus. Sam could count seven distinct legs twined round him and at least as many arms.
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