'Will you bring me some water in a glass?' he enquired, turning to
Mrs Brower, just as I had seen him do many a time in Gerald's
illness. Before she came with the water his head fell forward upon
his breast, while he muttered feebly. I thought then he was dead,
but presently he roused himself with a mighty effort.
'David Brower!' he called loudly, and trying hard to rise, 'bring the
horse! bring the horse! Mus' be goin', I tell ye. Man's dyin' over - on
the Plains.'
He went limp as a rag then. I could feel his heart leap and struggle
feebly.
'There's a man dyin' here,' said David Brower, in a low tone. 'Ye
needn't rub no more.
'He's dead,' Elizabeth whispered, holding his hand tenderly, and
looking into his half-closed eyes. Then for a moment she covered
her own with her handkerchief, while David, in a low, calm tone,
that showed the depth of his feeling, told us what to do.
Uncle Eb and I watched that night, while Tip Taylor drove away to
town. The body lay in the parlour and we sat by the stove in the
room adjoining.
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