It was only September, but it seemed the cool weather made Kid's chest hurt and provoked his cough and every time he coughed, Sister Ruth would cast him a shrewd look as if trying to ferret out the reason for it.

"You want to visit your family?" she asked one morning. "We could work our way toward there easy enough."

"No," he said, a little too quickly. His mother would know the disease for what it was because of his cousin. "It's not that I wouldn't love to see them, but that climate's not any better for my cough, according to the doctor."

"Maybe it would be best to travel on down to Louisiana where it'll be a little warmer."

"He said west too. Warm's good, but I think the climate's supposed to be dry too. The southwest is what he recommended, which I guess means Mexican territory."

"Suits me. There's people that need to hear about the Lord, no matter where we go. Did he say how you got your cough?"

"Who knows? Maybe it's even from the smoking I did."

"But you ain't smoked in years."

"Don't mean it didn't do some damage. And some people just cough is all, especially certain times of the year. No rhyme nor reason for it."

"I reckon you're right," she said with a resigned sigh. "A lady at the revival wanted me to come to her house today and see if I could talk some sense to her husband."

"He's not dangerous, is he?"

"Don't think so, but the reverend that came to the meeting yesterday said he'd go along. You just take it easy and see if a little water won't ease your cough some."

He did feel a little tired, so he didn't protest. She left on her errand, and as he was on his way to lay down, he coughed particularly hard. When he pulled his hand away, he saw that a couple specks of fresh blood dotted the cuff of his sleeve.

He wiped it off with his handkerchief and decided he'd better see what the doctor here could do about it before he did something like that in front of Ruth.

The doctor was located across the street and it didn't take the doctor no time at all to reach a diagnosis when he explained that he had consumption and about the newly appeared symptom.

"You got an excess of blood," the rotund, middle-aged man told him, "not uncommon in consumption patients."

Kid cocked his head. How could one have too much blood? But then this man was the doctor, not him. "What can you do about it?"

"That's the easy part. Some simple bloodletting will fix you right up. Possibly cure your consumption completely."

There was a word he'd been waiting, hoping, to hear, cure. He rolled his sleeve up and sat down in the chair.

The doctor went for his tools. He made a small incision in Kid's forearm with a sharp lancet. He was practiced at it too because he created an immediate gusher. Kid was tough, but the sight of the crimson liquid, his own blood, splashing into the pewter bowl made him sick to his stomach and he had to turn his head.

It felt like it took forever and he was beginning to wonder if this doctor was going to leave him any blood, but at last, he reached for a bandage and stemmed the flow.

When Kid got to his feet, he felt as weak and wobbly as a newborn lamb. He was lightheaded and dizzy to top it off.

"This tonic will strengthen you back up," he said, handing him a glass bottle. "Take a spoonful everyday. You need help getting back to your place?"

"No, my room's just right across the street." He didn't want anybody seeing he couldn't half walk and have it get back to Ruth.

He'd thought she would still be with the lady, but she opened the door as he fumbled for the key. She must have seen his staggered walk through the window.

"Are you sick?" she asked in a worried tone. She felt his forehead for fever, having noticed right away his pale color.

"Why you back so soon?" he asked.

"Her husband was out. He must have found out the reverend and I were coming over and went off to hide. I want to know why you don't look good."

"I went to see another doctor just to be sure about the cough. He said the same thing except he figured some bloodletting might help."

'Why would you do a fool thing like that over a little cough?"

"It's a standard medical practice," he argued.

"That don't make it smart. Granny never bled anybody. She said it kills people more often than it saves them."

"I'll be fine. The doc says I got to build back my strength with tonic is all."

"Which you wouldn't have had to do if you didn't let him cut you in the first place over a small tickling cough that goes away in the right weather. You sure the doctors told you the cough was nothing to worry about?"

"Why would I lie? I just thought this might be a quick fix cause it is aggravating." His knees felt ready to buckle and he swayed a little.

"Lord have mercy. You look like you're about to pass out," she said, slipping herself under his arm for support and walking him over to the bed.

She felt the bottle press her side from the inside pocket of his jacket. She fished it out once he was on the bed. "You had any of this stuff yet?"

He shook his head. "He said a spoonful everyday."

She popped the cork and went to get a spoon, which she filled with the clear tonic. She held it up to his lips, taking care that none of it dribbled from his mouth.

"Something just ain't right," she muttered as she covered him with a blanket.