sitting by the bedside of Tom E. Davis. For the first
six hours Dr. J. C. J. King, Dr. Curtis and Dr. Olive
endeavored to bring their patient about. He was
perfectly conscious, but was yet suffering from the shock.
At midnight he was no better and a change for the
worse was soon noted. The patient would awake from
the effect of opiates, talk with those about him and then
relapse again into slumber. He knew his son and wife,
friends who called and friends who spoke to him, but there
was rapid pulse and a labored breathing that indicated
the approach of death. Throughout the small hours of
the new-born day the wife sat by that couch, and with her
sat kind friends. Everything known to science was done
to save the life that fleeting breath told was fast ebbing
away. There was not a continued loss of blood, but
with a perforated frame, the creature of nature could
not exist, and it was evident he was fast nearing the end.
The dawn of early morning found the faithful watchers
yet at the bedside, and the rising sun peeped into the room
and shed a glow about the sick room, appearing to light
the way for the soul which was soon to wing its flight
to realms beyond. The circle about the couch enlarged,
children of the wounded man gathering about their weeping
mother, his sister and other relatives coming to watch
and wait. During the early hours of the morning and
until the forenoon was advanced, friends paced the lobby
of the Pacific hoping every moment for a report that the
patient was better. Each minute passed as an hour, and
the hours seemed as long drawn out days. Each report
from the sick room was "no change."