“Scurvy,” he muttered to Shorty; and the man confirmed the diagnosis with a nod of the head.

“Plenty of grub?” Shorty asked.

“Yep,” was the answer from a man in another bunk.  “Help yourself.  There’s slathers of it.  The cabin next on the other side is empty.  Cache is right alongside.  Wade into it.”

In every cabin they visited that night they found a similar situation.  Scurvy had smitten the whole camp.  A dozen women were in the party, though the two men did not see all of them.  Originally there had been ninety-three men and women.  But ten had died, and two had recently disappeared.  Smoke told of finding the two, and expressed surprise that none had gone that short distance down the trail to find out for themselves.  What particularly struck him and Shorty was the helplessness of these people.  Their cabins were littered and dirty.  The dishes stood unwashed on the rough plank tables.  There was no mutual aid.  A cabin’s troubles were its own troubles, and already they had ceased from the exertion of burying their dead.

“It’s almost weird,” Smoke confided to Shorty.  “I’ve met shirkers and loafers, but I never met so many all at one time.  You heard what they said.  They’ve never done a tap.  I’ll bet they haven’t washed their own faces.  No wonder they got scurvy.”

“But vegetarians hadn’t ought to get scurvy,” Shorty contended.  “It’s the salt-meat-eaters that’s supposed to fall for it.  And they don’t eat meat, salt or fresh, raw or cooked, or any other way.”

Smoke shook his head.  “I know.  And it’s vegetable diet that cures scurvy.  No drugs will do it.  Vegetables, especially potatoes, are the only dope.  But don’t forget one thing, Shorty:  we are not up against a theory but a condition.  The fact is these grass-eaters have all got scurvy.”

“Must be contagious.”

“No; that the doctors do know.  Scurvy is not a germ disease.  It can’t be caught.  It’s generated.  As near as I can get it, it’s due to an impoverished condition of the blood.  Its cause is not something they’ve got, but something they haven’t got.  A man gets scurvy for lack of certain chemicals in his blood, and those chemicals don’t come out of powders and bottles, but do come out of vegetables.”

“An’ these people eats nothin’ but grass,” Shorty groaned.  “And they’ve got it up to their ears.  That proves you’re all wrong, Smoke.  You’re spielin’ a theory, but this condition sure knocks the spots outa your theory.  Scurvy’s catchin’, an’ that’s why they’ve all got it, an’ rotten bad at that.  You an’ me’ll get it too, if we hang around this diggin’.  B-r-r-r!—­I can feel the bugs crawlin’ into my system right now.”

Smoke laughed skeptically, and knocked on a cabin door.  “I suppose we’ll find the same old thing,” he said.  “Come on.  We’ve got to get a line on the situation.”

“What do you want?” came a woman’s sharp voice.