He found out that Bill Rawson had malaria bugs, and the Kelly kid
had diphtheria bugs, and Dutchy had typhoid bugs that didn't do
business owin' to the alcohol in his system. (_Too_ bad!) Why, it was
astonishin' how many kinds of newfangled critters we'd never heard of
was a-livin' in this Terrytory!
But all his bugs didn't split no shakes with _Rose_. She was _po_lite
to Simpson, and friendly, but nothin' worse. And it was plainer 'n the
nose on you' face that Billy was solid with her. But the ole man is
the hull show in that fambly, y' savvy; and all us fellers could do was
to hope like sixty that nothin' 'd happen to give Simpson a' extra
chanst. But, crimini! Somethin' _did_ happen: Rose's baby got sick.
Wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, kinda whined all the time, like a sick
purp, and begun to look peaked--pore little kid!
I was out at the Bar Y that same day, and when the news got over to the
bunk-house, we was all turrible _ex_cited. "Which'll the ole man send
after," we says, "--Simpson 'r Billy?"
It was that bug-doctor!
He come down the road two-forty, settin' up as stiff as if he had a
ramrod in his backbone. I just happened over towards the house as he
turned in at the gate. He staked out his surrey clost to the porch and
stepped down. My! such nice little button shoes!
"Aw, maw!" says Monkey Mike; "he's too rich fer _my_ blood!"
The ole man come out to say howdy. When Simpson seen him, he says,
"Mister Sewell, they's some hens 'round here, and I don't want 'em
to hop into my machine whilst I'm in the house." Then, he looks at
me. "Can you' hired man keep 'em shooed?" he says.
Hired man! I took a jump his _di_rection that come nigh to splittin' my
boots. "Back up, m' son," I says, reachin' to my britches pocket.
"_I_ ain't no hired man."
Sewell, he puts in quick. "No, no, Doc," he says; "this man's one
of the Diamond O cow-boys. Fer heaven's sake, Cupid! You're gittin'
to be as touchy as a cook!"
Simpson, he apologised, and I let her pass f er _that_ time. But,
a-course, far's him and _me_ was _con_cerned--wal, just wait. As I say,
he goes in,--the ole man follerin'--leavin' that gasoline rig snortin'
and sullin' and lookin' as if it was just achin' t' take a run at the
bunk-house and bust it wide open. I goes in, too,--just t' see the fun.
There was that Simpson examinin' the baby, and Rose standin' by,
lookin' awful scairt. He had a rain-gauge in his hand, and was
a-squintin' at it important. "High temper'ture," he says; "'way up
to hunderd and four." Then he jabbed a spoon jigger into her pore
little mouth. Then he made X brands acrosst her soft little back with his
fingers. Then he turned her plumb over and begun to tunk her like she
was a melon. And when he'd knocked the wind outen her, he _pro_-duced
a bi_cy_cle pump, stuck it agin her chest, and put his ear to the
other end. "Lungs all right," he says; "heart all right. Must
be----" Course, _you_ know--bugs!
"But--but, couldn't it be teeth?" ast Rose.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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