enfeeblement following upon a prolonged bout with Yucatan fever. In the
spring he would be right and fit again. Cold weather was what he needed.
His blood had been cooked. In the meantime it was a case of take it easy
and make the most of the rest.

And no one undeceived him--not even the Yukoners, who smoked pipes and
black cigars and chewed tobacco on Frederick's broad verandas until he
felt like an intruder in his own house. There was no touch with them.
They regarded him as a stranger to be tolerated. They came to see Tom.
And their manner of seeing him was provocative of innocent envy pangs to
Frederick. Day after day he watched them. He would see the Yukoners
meet, perhaps one just leaving the sick room and one just going in. They
would clasp hands, solemnly and silently, outside the door. The
newcomer would question with his eyes, and the other would shake his
head. And more than once Frederick noted the moisture in their eyes.
Then the newcomer would enter and draw his chair up to Tom's, and with
jovial voice proceed to plan the outfitting for the exploration of the
upper Kuskokeem; for it was there Tom was bound in the spring. Dogs
could be had at Larabee's--a clean breed, too, with no taint of the soft
Southland strains. It was rough country, it was reported, but if
sour-doughs couldn't make the traverse from Larabee's in forty days
they'd like to see a _chechako_ do it in sixty.

And so it went, until Frederick wondered, when he came to die, if there
was one man in the county, much less in the adjoining county, who would
come to him at his bedside.

Seated at his desk, through the open windows would drift whiffs of
strong tobacco and rumbling voices, and he could not help catching
snatches of what the Yukoners talked.