He was a peasant of a superior class, however.
In falling, he had thrown over on his back, and his haggard face was exposed to the sun and sky.

At sight of him Dyck and Sheila ran forward.
Dyck dropped on one knee and placed a hand on the stricken man's heart.
"He's alive, all right," Dyck said.

"He's a figure in these parts.

His name's Christopher Dogan." "Where does he live ?" "Live?
Well, not three hundred yards from here, when he's at home, but he's generally on the go.

He's what the American Indians would call a medicine-man." "He needs his own medicine now." "He's over eighty, and he must have gone dizzy, stumbled, fallen, and struck a stone.