CHAPTER XII 



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 hob- 

 bling 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 satis- 

 factory. Then the old man hobbled off to his lodge. 



A few hours later he was back again, looking older 

 and shakier than ever, his wet red eyes looking like 

 plague spots in his ashy brown visage or like volcanic 



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