Yamba knew he was dying even before I did, but she could do nothing.
We tried the effect of the curious herb called "pitchori," but it did not revive him.

"Pitchori," by the way, is a kind of leaf which the natives chew in moments of depression; it has an exhilarating effect upon them.
On the last day I once more made up a bed of eucalyptus leaves and rugs on the floor of Gibson's hut.

Surrounding him at the last were his wife--a very good and faithful girl--Yamba, myself, and Bruno--who, by the way, knew perfectly well that his friend was dying.

He kept licking poor Gibson's hand and chest, and then finding no response would nestle up close to him for half-an-hour at a time.

Then the affectionate creature would retire outside and set up a series of low, melancholy howls, only to run in again with hope renewed.
Poor Gibson! The women-folk were particularly attached to him because he never went out with the men, or with me, on my various excursions, but remained behind in their charge.