In the evening a man came crawling into the tent to know if we had any
medicines we would sell. I told him I was a doctor, and asked him what
was the matter. He had been suffering from remittent fever of a low
typhoid type. I gave him bark, and told him he must lay up and take
care of himself. He said he would; but next day, during the intervals
of fever, I saw him working away with his pan. The news of there being
a doctor in the camp soon spread, and I am now being continually called
on to prescribe for a large number of patients. An ounce of gold is the
fee generally given me. This sort of work is as much more profitable as
it is less laborious than working at the cradle. But the great drawback
is that one has to do something else beyond advising. People require
physicking, and as I cannot submit to be deprived of the little stock
of medicine I had brought with me in case of my own friends having
occasion for it, I am obliged to give over practising in those cases
where medicine is absolutely necessary.

The native Californians, both Indians and whites, have an universal
remedy for febrile affections, and indeed for sickness of almost any
kind; this is the temascal, a sort of hot air bath, shaped not unlike a
sentry-box, and built of wicker-work, and afterwards plastered with mud
until it becomes air-tight. There is one of these machines at the Weber
Creek washings, which has been run up by the Indians during the last
few days. One of them used it for the first time this afternoon, and to
my surprise is still alive. After a great fire had been made up close
to the door--a narrow aperture just large enough for a little man to
squeeze through--it was afterwards gradually allowed to burn itself
out, having in the meantime heated to a very high degree the air in the
interior of the bath. Into this the Indian screwed himself, and there
remained until a profuse perspiration was produced, which he checked
forthwith by a plunge into the chilly water of the river. Here he