do.” The tobacco plaster was applied. Soon it began to bubble, and a small white worm poked its head out into the open. Harold’s two thumbnails caught it in a vice grip. “Hold everything. The thing won’t come.” “Kill that mosquito on the back of my neck, Tom. I can’t let this thing go.” “Wait a minute. It’s coming.” “Oh, hold still!” “Here it comes! Here it comes! Behold the critter! There you are, Harry, my boy. Your troubles are over.” “Don’t be so dramatic about it, brother. But it does feel better.” When they made camp at night they heated water in a tin can and washed out the sore on Harry’s head and the sores on their legs as well. Water and sun had irritated the insect bites so that most of the men had infected ulcers. Some were feverish. Well, at least one brain was cooler.
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