Up near Pateros, apple country. I took sick ‘n couldn’t barely git outta my sleepin’ bag. Had a fever ‘n was burnin’ up ‘n shakin’ at the same time. Figgered there was nothin’ to do but wait it out. I was gettin’ weak. Didn’t know what to do. Then these Mexican kids, three of ‘em, come into my camp ‘n seen me layin’ there with the shakes. One of ‘em asks if I’m OK. He could see I weren’t in too good a shape, ‘n asks if I was dyin’. Don’t rightly remember what I told ‘em, but they ran off ‘n come back with food and a water jug. They come back at the end of each day for three days, bringing food and water. Sandwiches, tortillas, rice ‘n beans. Must a been pickin’ with their fam’lies. Never did meet their folks, but them kids, the way they give me help, they was raised right.

135.