Dr. Emma Harpe walked briskly into her office and, taking ten silver
dollars and some worn banknotes from the pocket of her square-cut coat,
piled them upon her office desk.
"Moses! I need that money, and," she sniggered at the recollection,
"didn't old Dubois hate to dig."
She threw the Stetson hat she now affected upon a chair, her coat upon
another, and rolling a cigarette with the skill of practice, sauntered
up and down the room.
"He's sick all right--the old guinea. Looks like typhoid. If it is,
it'll pull me out of this hole. Mileage counts up in this country at a
dollar a mile. About five cases of typhoid would put me square again and
see me through the summer; an epidemic would be a godsend. This is the
infernalest healthy country I ever saw; die in their boots or dry up and
blow off. Two cases of measles and the whooping cough in six weeks.
Dubois comes like a shower of manna, for I can't stand off the
Terriberrys forever. I'll go out and see him again in a couple of days
and give him a dose of calomel. If he pulls through the credit is mine;
if he dies, it's the will of God. Any way it goes, I'm squared. Harpe,"
she stopped and looked out of the window, "you belong to a noble
profesh--you play a safe and genteel game where you can't lose."
She watched idly as a covered wagon accompanied by two men on horseback
stopped on the vacant lot opposite the hotel which was much used as a
camping-ground by freighters and campers. It was a common enough sight
and she looked on indifferently while the team was unharnessed and the
saddle horses led toward the livery stable by one of the riders and the
driver of the wagon hastened across the street, looking, she thought, at
the sign beneath her window.
She barely had time to throw away her cigarette and fan the smoke out of
the air before the hurrying footsteps which had told her of his approach
brought the man to her office door.
"Are you the doctor?" he asked in surprise at seeing a woman.
She nodded.
"Will you come over right away? My little girl fell over the wheel and
one of the fellows that's along says her leg is broken. It only happened
a little ways back but it's beginning to swell."
The man's face was pale beneath its tan and the dust of travel, and he
plainly chafed at her deliberate movements as she took bandages from the
drawer and adjusted her hat before a mirror. It was the first practical
test of her theoretical knowledge of bone-setting and because of some
misgivings her swagger was a little more pronounced than usual when she
accompanied him across the street.
The child lay upon the bunk in the front of the wagon and her eyes were
bright with the pain of the dull ache, and fear of more that the doctor
might inflict.
"Is it hurtin' bad, Rosie?" Anxiety was in the man's voice.
"Not so very much, Daddy," she replied bravely.
"Your young'un?"
The man glanced at Dr. Harpe quickly in a mixture of surprise and
resentment.
"My sister's--young'un," he answered curtly.
The child winced as Dr. Harpe picked up the foot roughly and ran her
fingers along the bone.
"Yep; it's broken." She hesitated for an instant and added: "The job'll
cost you fifty dollars."
"Fifty dollars!" Consternation was in the man's tone. "Ain't that pretty
steep for settin' a leg?"
"That's my price." She added indifferently, "There's another sawbones
sixty miles farther on."
"You know well enough that she can't wait to get there."
"Well," she shrugged her shoulder, "dig then."
"But I haven't got it," he pleaded.
"Sell a horse."
He looked to see if she was serious; undoubtedly she was.
"How am I to go on if I sell a horse?"
"That's your lookout."
He stared at her in real curiosity.
"What kind of a doctor are you, anyhow? What kind of a woman?"
"O Daddy--it's hurtin' worse!" moaned the child.