It is so; there was sulphur in the
very wood we burned. Through those reeds and grasses we soon found where
a narrow trail was beaten, and then we came to a rise of land sheltered
in timber, a sort of hill in that flat world, and on the crest of this
hill we found a cabin.
Yes, a cabin; a cabin built roughly of logs, and it was yellow with
sulphur, as if painted. We went inside and we found there the man whom
you know as Joseph Brecht. I did not look at M'sieu when he first rose
before us, but I heard a great gasp from his throat behind me. And I
think I stood as if life had suddenly gone out of me. Joseph Brecht was
half naked. His feet were bare. He looked like a wild man, with his uncut
hair--a wild man except that his face was smooth. Curious that a man
would shave there! And not so odd, perhaps, when one knows how a beard
gathers sulphur. He had risen from a cot on which there was a bed of
boughs, and in the light that came in through the open door he looked
terribly emaciated, with the skin drawn tightly over his cheek bones. It
was he who spoke first.
"I am glad you have come," he said, his eyes staring wildly. "I guess I
am dying. Some water, please. There is a spring back of the cabin."
Quite sanely he spoke, and yet the words were scarcely out of his mouth
when he fell back upon the cot, his eyes rolling in the top of his head,
his mouth agape, his breath coming in great panting gasps.
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