"_How far to French Hill_ ?" weakly.

"_How far do you think it is_ ?" very weakly, with a tremolo which hinted of repressed tears.

"_How far_--" The pocket-miner burst into roars of laughter, which were choked by a misdirected flood of tea, and which left him coughing and speechless.
"Where'd I leave 'm ?" when he had recovered.

"Over on the divide to Indian River, winded, plum-beaten, done for.

Just about able to crawl into the nearest camp, and that's about all.