We Camped At Salt River Mouth, And Next Afternoon Were Back At Fort
Smith, Having Been Out Five Days And Seen Nothing, Though There
Were Tracks Of Moose And Bear In Abundance.
Here our guide said good-bye to us, and so did the Indian dog.
BEZKYA AND THE PILLS
During this journey I had successfully treated two of the men for
slight ailments, and Squirrel had made mental note of the fact.
A result of it was that in the morning an old, old, black-looking
Indian came hobbling on a stick to my tent and, in husky Chipewyan,
roughly translated by Billy, told me that he had pains in his head
and his shoulder and his body, and his arms and his legs and his
feet, and he couldn't hunt, couldn't fish, couldn't walk, couldn't
eat, couldn't lie, couldn't sleep, and he wanted me to tackle
the case. I hadn't the least idea of what ailed the old chap, but
conveyed no hint of my darkness. I put on my very medical look
and said: "Exactly so. Now you take these pills and you will find
a wonderful difference in the morning." I had some rather fierce
rhubarb pills; one was a dose but, recognising the necessity for
eclat, I gave him two.
He gladly gulped them down in water. The Indian takes kindly to
pills, it's so easy to swallow them, so obviously productive of
results, and otherwise satisfactory. Then, the old man hobbled off
to his lodge.
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