Anxious to escape before the weather became worse, Frank went at once to Jeffson's store to obtain supplies, settle up accounts, and inquire for his friend Meyer. He found Jeffson looking very ill--he having recently had a severe attack of the prevailing complaint, but "Company" had recovered completely, and was very busy with the duties of his store, which ("Company" being a warm-hearted man) included gratuitous attendance on, and sympathy with, the sick. "It'll ruin us intirely," he was wont to say, "for we can't stand by and see them die o' sickness an' intarvation mixed, an' the poor critters has nothin' wotever to pay. Hows'ever, vartue is its own reward, an' we makes the tough miners pay handsome for their supplies, which makes up for the sick wans, an' kapes us goin' on hearty enough." "And what of Meyer?" asked Frank, somewhat anxiously. Instead of answering, Jeffson put on his hat, and bidding him follow, went out of the store. He led him and Joe towards a large pine-tree, at the root of which there was a low mound, carefully covered with green turf. Pointing to it, the Yankee store-keeper said with some emotion-- "There he lies, poor fellow; and a better, more kind-hearted, or honester man, never drove pick and shovel into the airth." In compliance with the request of Frank, who was deeply moved, Jeffson told how that, after the departure of his friends, the poor German's spirits sank; and while he was in this state, he was prevented from rallying by a severe attack of dysentery which ended in his death. "I trust that he was not pressed by poverty at the last," said Frank. "He would have been," replied the Yankee, "if he had been allowed to have 'is own way; for, being unable to work, of course he ran out o' gold-dust, and nothing would persuade him to touch the nugget you left in my charge. I hit upon a plan, however, which answered very well. I supplied him all through his illness with everything that he required to make him as comfortable as could be, poor fellow, tellin' him it was paid for in full by a friend of his, whose name I couldn't and wouldn't mention. `Jeffson,' says he, startin' up like a livin' skeleton, and lookin' at me so serious with his hollow eyes; `Jeffson, if it bees _you_ dat give me de tings, I vill not have dem. I vill die first. You is poor, an' ve cannot expect you keep all de dyin' miners vor noting.' "`Well,' says I, `I won't go for to say I'm over rich, for times _air_ raither hard just now; but it ain't _me_ as is the friend. I assure you I'm paid for it in full, so you make your mind easy.' "With that he lay down an' gave a long sigh. He was exhausted, and seemed to have dismissed the subject from his mind, for he never spoke of it again." "I rather suspect," said Frank, "that you did not tell him the exact truth." "I guess I did," replied the Yankee. "Who, then, was the friend?"