I learned to love Ishi as a brother, and he looked upon me as one of
his people. He called me _Ku wi_, or Medicine Man; more, perhaps,
because I could perform little sleight of hand tricks, than because of
my profession.
But, in spite of the fact that he was happy and surrounded by the most
advanced material culture, he sickened and died. Unprotected by
hereditary or acquired immunity, he contracted tuberculosis and faded
away before our eyes. Because he had no natural resistance, he received
no benefit from such hygienic measures as serve to arrest the disease
in the Caucasian. We did everything possible for him, and nursed him to
the painful bitter end.
When his malady was discovered, plans were made to take him back to the
mountains whence he came and there have him cared for properly. We
hoped that by this return to his natural elements he would recover. But
from the inception of his disease he failed so rapidly that he was not
strong enough to travel.
Consumed with fever and unable to eat nourishing food, he seemed doomed
from the first. After months of misery he suddenly developed a
tremendous pulmonary hemorrhage.
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