Covey, who had now become my dread, as well as my tormentor, was at the house, about a hundred yards from where I was fanning, and instantly, upon hearing the fan stop, he came down to the treading yard, to inquire into the cause of our stopping.

Bill Smith told him I was sick, and that I was unable longer to bring wheat to the fan.
I had, by this time, crawled away, under the side of a post-and-rail fence, in the shade, and was exceeding ill.

The intense heat of the sun, the heavy dust rising from the fan, the stooping, to take up the wheat from the yard, together with the hurrying, to get through, had caused a rush of blood to my head.

In this condition, Covey finding out where I was, came to me; and, after standing over me a while, he asked me what the matter was.

I told him as well as I could, for it was with difficulty that I could speak.