This time there was no muttering.
"Swine!" the white man gritted out through his teeth at the whole breed of Solomon Islanders.
He was very sick, this white man, as sick as the black men who lay helpless about him, and whom he attended.

He never knew, each time he entered the festering shambles, whether or not he would be able to complete the round.

But he did know in large degree of certainty that, if he ever fainted there in the midst of the blacks, those who were able would be at his throat like ravening wolves.
Part way down the line a man was dying.

He gave orders for his removal as soon as he had breathed his last.

A black stuck his head inside the shed door, saying,-- "Four fella sick too much." Fresh cases, still able to walk, they clustered about the spokesman.