She knew where the medicine-chest stood, at the rear of the room beyond the stove, and thither, by the legs, she dragged the struggling man.  As the spasm passed he began, very faint and very sick, to overhaul the chest.  He had seen dogs die exhibiting symptoms similar to his own, and he knew what should be done.  He held up a vial of chloral hydrate, but his fingers were too weak and nerveless to draw the cork.  This Jees Uck did for him, while he was plunged into another convulsion.  As he came out of it he found the open bottle proffered him, and looked into the great black eyes of the woman and read what men have always read in the Mate-woman’s eyes.  Taking a full dose of the stuff, he sank back until another spasm had passed.  Then he raised himself limply on his elbow.

“Listen, Jees Uck!” he said very slowly, as though aware of the necessity for haste and yet afraid to hasten.  “Do what I say.  Stay by my side, but do not touch me.  I must be very quiet, but you must not go away.”  His jaw began to set and his face to quiver and distort with the fore-running pangs, but he gulped and struggled to master them.  “Do not got away.  And do not let Amos go away.  Understand!  Amos must stay right here.”

She nodded her head, and he passed off into the first of many convulsions, which gradually diminished in force and frequency.  Jees Uck hung over him remembering his injunction and not daring to touch him.  Once Amos grew restless and made as though to go into the kitchen; but a quick blaze from her eyes quelled him, and after that, save for his laboured breathing and charnel cough, he was very quiet.

Bonner slept.  The blink of light that marked the day disappeared.  Amos, followed about by the woman’s eyes, lighted the kerosene lamps.  Evening came on.  Through the north window the heavens were emblazoned with an auroral display, which flamed and flared and died down into blackness.  Some time after that, Neil Bonner roused.  First he looked to see that Amos was still there, then smiled at Jees Uck and pulled himself up.  Every muscle was stiff and sore, and he smiled ruefully, pressing and prodding himself as if to ascertain the extent of the ravage.  Then his face went stern and businesslike.

“Jees Uck,” he said, “take a candle.  Go into the kitchen.  There is food on the table—­biscuits and beans and bacon; also, coffee in the pot on the stove.  Bring it here on the counter.  Also, bring tumblers and water and whisky, which you will find on the top shelf of the locker.  Do not forget the whisky.”