“GOOD MAN--GOOD SQUAW”
“That boy is worse, Mrs. Cameron, decidedly worse, and I wash my hands
of all responsibility.” The old army surgeon was clearly annoyed.
Mandy sat silent, weary with watching and weary with the conflict that
had gone on intermittently during the past three days. The doctor
was determined to have the gangrenous foot off. That was the simplest
solution of the problem before him and the foot would have come off days
ago if he had had his way. But the Indian boy had vehemently opposed
this proposal. “One foot--me go die,” was his ultimatum, and through
all the fever and delirium this was his continuous refrain. In this
determination his nurse supported him, for she could not bring herself
to the conviction that amputation was absolutely necessary, and,
besides, of all the melancholy and useless driftwood that drives hither
and thither with the ebb and flow of human life, she could imagine none
more melancholy and more useless than an Indian crippled of a foot.
Hence she supported the boy in his ultimatum, “One foot--me go die.”
“That foot ought to come off,” repeated the doctor, beginning the
controversy anew. “Otherwise the boy will die.”
“But, doctor,” said Mandy wearily, “just think how pitiable, how
helpless that boy will be. Death is better. And, besides, I have not
quite given up hope that--”
The doctor snorted his contempt for her opinion; and only his respect
for her as Cameron's wife and for the truly extraordinary powers and
gifts in her profession which she had displayed during the past three
days held back the wrathful words that were at his lips. It was late in
the afternoon and the doctor had given many hours to this case, riding
back and forward from the fort every day, but all this he would not have
grudged could he have had his way with his patient.
“Well, I have done my best,” he said, “and now I must go back to my
work.”
“I know, doctor, I know,” pleaded Mandy. “You have been most kind and
I thank you from my heart.” She rose and offered him her hand. “Don't
think me too awfully obstinate, and please forgive me if you do.”
The doctor took the outstretched hand grudgingly.
“Obstinate!” he exclaimed. “Of all the obstinate creatures--”
“Oh, I am afraid I am. But I don't want to be unreasonable. You see, the
boy is so splendidly plucky and such a fine chap.”
The doctor grunted.
“He is a fine chap, doctor, and I can't bear to have him crippled,
and--” She paused abruptly, her lips beginning to quiver. She was near
the limit of her endurance.
“You would rather have him dead, eh? All right, if that suits you better
it makes no difference to me,” said the doctor gruffly, picking up his
bag. “Good-by.”
“Doctor, you will come back again to-morrow?”
“To-morrow? Why should I come back to-morrow? I can do no more--unless
you agree to amputation. There is no use coming back to-morrow. I have
other cases waiting on me. I can't give all my time to this Indian.” The
contempt in the doctor's voice for a mere Indian stung her like a whip.
On Mandy's cheek, pale with her long vigil, a red flush appeared and
in her eye a light that would have warned the doctor had he known her
better.
“Is not this Indian a human being?” she asked quietly.
But the doctor was very impatient and anxious to be gone.
“A human being? Yes, of course, a human being, but there are human
beings and human beings. But if you mean an Indian is as good as a white
man, frankly I don't agree with you.”
“You have given a great deal of your time, doctor,” said Mandy with
quiet deliberation, “and I am most grateful. I can ask no more for THIS
INDIAN. I only regret that I have been forced to ask so much of your
time. Good-by.” There was a ring as of steel in her voice. The doctor
became at once apologetic.
“What--eh?--I beg your pardon,” he stammered.
“It is not at all necessary. Thank you again for all your service.
Good-by.”
“Eh? I don't quite--”
“Good-by, doctor, and again thank you.”
“Well, you know quite well I can't do any more,” said the old doctor
crossly.
“No, I don't think you can.”
“Eh--what? Well, good-by.” And awkwardly the doctor walked away,
rather uncertain as to her meaning but with a feeling that he had been
dismissed.
“Most impossible person!” he muttered as he left the tent door,
indignant with himself that no fitting reply would come to his lips. And
not until he had mounted his horse and taken the trail was he able to
give full and adequate expression to his feelings, and even then it
took him some considerable time to do full justice to himself and to the
situation.
Meantime the nurse had turned back to her watch, weary and despairing.
In a way that she could not herself understand the Indian boy had
awakened her interest and even her affection. His fine stoical courage,
his warm and impulsive gratitude excited her admiration and touched her
heart. Again arose to her lips a cry that had been like a refrain in her
heart for the past three days, “Oh, if only Dr. Martin were here!” Her
experience and training under Dr. Martin had made it only too apparent
that the old army surgeon was archaic in his practice and method.
“I know something could be done!” she said aloud, as she bent over her
patient. “If only Dr. Martin were here! Poor boy! Oh! I wish he were
here!”
As if in answer to her cry there was outside a sound of galloping
horses. She ran to the tent door and before her astonished eyes there
drew up at her tent Dr. Martin, her sister-in-law and the ever-faithful
Smith.
“Oh, oh, Dr. Martin!” she cried, running to him with both hands
outstretched, and could say no more.
“Hello, what's up? Say, what the deuce have they been doing to you?” The
doctor was quite wrathful.
“Oh, I am glad, that's all.”
“Glad? Well, you show your joy in a mighty queer way.”
“She's done out, Doctor,” cried Moira, springing from her horse and
running to her sister-in-law. “I ought to have come before to relieve
her,” she continued penitently, with her arms round Mandy, “but I knew
so little, and besides I thought the doctor was here.”
“He was here,” said Mandy, recovering herself. “He has just gone, and
oh, I am glad. He wanted to cut his foot off.”
“Cut his foot off? Whose foot off? His own?” said Dr. Martin.
“But I am glad! How did you get here in all the world?”
“Your telegram came when I was away,” said the doctor. “I did not get it
for a day, then I came at once.”
“My telegram?”
“Yes, your telegram. I have it here--no, I've left it somewhere--but I
certainly got a telegram from you.”
“From me? I never sent a telegram.”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Cameron. I understood you to desire Dr.
Martin's presence, and--I ventured to send a wire in your name. I hope
you will forgive the liberty,” said Smith, red to his hair-roots and
looking over his horse's neck with a most apologetic air.
“Forgive the liberty?” cried Mandy. “Why, bless you, Mr. Smith, you are
my guardian angel,” running to him and shaking him warmly by the hand.
“And he brought, us here, too,” cried Moira. “He has been awfully good
to me these days. I do not know what I should have done without him.”
Meantime Smith was standing first on one foot and then on the other in a
most unhappy state of mind.
“Guess I will be going back,” he said in an agony of awkwardness and
confusion. “It is getting kind of late.”
“What? Going right away?” exclaimed Mandy.
“I've got some chores to look after, and I guess none of you are coming
back now anyway.”
“Well, hold on a bit,” said the doctor. “We'll see what's doing inside.
Let's get the lie of things.”
“Guess you don't need me any more,” continued Smith. “Good-by.” And he
climbed on to his horse. “I have got to get back. So long.”
No one appeared to have any good reason why Smith should remain, and so
he rode away.
“Good-by, Mr. Smith,” called out Mandy impulsively. “You have really
saved my life, I assure you. I was in utter despair.”
“Good-by, Mr. Smith,” cried Moira, waving her hand with a bright smile.
“You have saved me too from dying many a time these three days.”
With an awkward wave Smith answered these farewells and rode down the
trail.
“He is really a fine fellow,” said Mandy. “Always doing something for
people.”
“That is just it,” cried Moira. “He has spent his whole time these three
days doing things for me.”
“Ah, no wonder,” said the doctor. “A most useful chap. But what's the
trouble here? Let's get at the business.”
Mandy gave him a detailed history of the case, the doctor meanwhile
making an examination of the patient's general condition.
“And the doctor would have his foot off, but I would not stand for
that,” cried Mandy indignantly as she closed her history.
“H'm! Looks bad enough to come off, I should say. I wish I had been here
a couple of days ago. It may have to come off all right.”
“Oh, Dr. Martin!”
“But not just to-night.”
“Oh, I knew it.”
“Not to-night,” I said. “I don't know what the outcome may be, but it
looks as bad as it well can.”
“Oh, that's all right,” cried Mandy cheerfully. Her burden of
responsibility was lifted. Her care was gone. “I knew it would be all
right.”
“Well, whether it will or not I cannot say. But one thing I do know,
you've got to trot off to sleep. Show me the ropes and then off you go.
Who runs this camp anyway?”
“Oh, the Chief does, Chief Trotting Wolf. I will call him,” cried Mandy.
“He has been very good to me. I will get him.” And she ran from the tent
to find the Chief.
“Isn't she wonderful?” said Moira.
“Wonderful? I should say so. But she is played right out I can see,”
replied the doctor. “I must get comfortable quarters for you both.”
“But do you not want some one?” said Moira. “Do you not want me?”
“Do I want you?” echoed the doctor, looking at her as she stood in the
glow of the westering sun shining through the canvas tent. “Do I want
you?” he repeated with deliberate emphasis. “Well, you can just bet that
is just what I do want.”
A slight flush appeared on the girl's face.
“I mean,” she said hurriedly, “cannot I be of some help?”
“Most certainly, most certainly,” said the doctor, noting the flush.
“Your help will be invaluable after a bit. But first you must get Mrs.
Cameron to sleep. She has been on this job, I understand, for three
days. She is quite played out. And you, too, need sleep.”
“Oh, I am quite fit. I do not need sleep. I am quite ready to take my
sister-in-law's place, that is, as far as I can. And you will surely
need some one--to help you I mean.” The doctor's eyes were upon her
face. Under his gaze her voice faltered. The glow of the sunset through
the tent walls illumined her face with a wonderful radiance.
“Miss Moira,” said the doctor with abrupt vehemence, “I wish I had the
nerve to tell you just how much--”
“Hush!” cried the girl, her glowing face suddenly pale, “they are
coming.”
“Here is the Chief, Dr. Martin,” cried Mandy, ushering in that stately
individual. The doctor saluted the Chief in due form and said:
“Could we have another tent, Chief, for these ladies? Just beside this
tent here, so that they can have a little sleep.”
The Chief grunted a doubtful acquiescence, but in due time a tent very
much dilapidated was pitched upon the clean dry ground close beside
that in which the sick boy lay. While this was being done the doctor was
making a further examination of his patient. With admiring eyes,
Moira followed the swift movements of his deft fingers. There was no
hesitation. There was no fumbling. There was the sure indication
of accurate knowledge, the obvious self-confidence of experience in
everything he did. Even to her untutored eyes the doctor seemed to be
walking with a very firm tread.
At length, after an hour's work, he turned to Mandy who was assisting
him and said:
“Now you can both go to sleep. I shall need you no more till morning. I
shall keep an eye on him. Off you go. Good-night.”
“You will be sure to call me if I can be of service,” said Mandy.
“I shall do no such thing. I expect you to sleep. I shall look after
this end of the job.”
“He is very sure of himself, is he not?” said Moira in a low tone to her
sister-in-law as they passed out of the tent.
“He has a right to be,” said Mandy proudly. “He knows his work, and now
I feel as if I can sleep in peace. What a blessed thing sleep is,” she
added, as, without undressing, she tumbled on to the couch prepared for
her.
“Is Dr. Martin very clever? I mean, is he an educated man?”
“What?” cried Mandy. “Dr. Martin what?”
“Is he very clever? Is he--an educated man?”
“Eh, what?” she repeated, yawning desperately. “Oh, I was asleep.”
“Is he clever?”
“Clever? Well, rather--” Her voice was trailing off again into slumber.
“And is he an educated man?”
“Educated? Knows his work if that's what you mean. Oh-h--but I'm
sleepy.”
“Is he a gentleman?”
“Eh? What?” Mandy sat up straight. “A gentleman? I should say so! That
is, he is a man all through right to his toe-tips. And gentle--more
gentle than any woman I ever saw. Will that do? Good-night.” And before
Moira could make reply she was sound asleep.
Before the night was over the opportunity was given the doctor to
prove his manhood, and in a truly spectacular manner. For shortly
after midnight Moira found herself sitting bolt upright, wide-awake and
clutching her sister-in-law in wild terror. Outside their tent the night
was hideous with discordant noises, yells, whoops, cries, mingled with
the beating of tom-toms. Terrified and trembling, the two girls sprang
to the door, and, lifting the flap, peered out. It was the party of
braves returning from the great powwow so rudely interrupted by Cameron.
They were returning in an evil mood, too, for they were enraged at the
arrest of Eagle Feather and three accomplices in his crime, disappointed
in the interruption of their sun dance and its attendant joys of feast
and song, and furious at what appeared to them to be the overthrow of
the great adventure for which they had been preparing and planning for
the past two months. This was indeed the chief cause of their rage, for
it seemed as if all further attempts at united effort among the Western
tribes had been frustrated by the discovery of their plans, by the
flight of their leader, and by the treachery of the Blackfeet Chief,
Running Stream, in surrendering their fellow-tribesmen to the Police.
To them that treachery rendered impossible any coalition between the
Piegans and the Blackfeet. Furthermore, before their powwow had been
broken up there had been distributed among them a few bottles of
whisky provided beforehand by the astute Sioux as a stimulus to their
enthusiasm against a moment of crisis when such stimulus should be
necessary. These bottles, in the absence of their great leader, were
distributed among the tribes by Running Stream as a peace-offering, but
for obvious reason not until the moment came for their parting from each
other.
Filled with rage and disappointment, and maddened with the bad whisky
they had taken, they poured into the encampment with wild shouting
accompanied by the discharge of guns and the beating of drums. In terror
the girls clung to each other, gazing out upon the horrid scene.
“Whatever is this, Mandy?” cried Moira.
But her sister-in-law could give her little explanation. The moonlight,
glowing bright as day, revealed a truly terrifying spectacle. A band
of Indians, almost naked and hideously painted, were leaping, shouting,
beating drums and firing guns. Out from the tents poured the rest of the
band to meet them, eagerly inquiring into the cause of their excitement.
Soon fires were lighted and kettles put on, for the Indian's happiness
is never complete unless associated with feasting, and the whole band
prepared itself for a time of revelry.
As the girls stood peering out upon this terrible scene they became
aware of the doctor standing at their side.
“Say, they seem to be cutting up rather rough, don't they?” he said
coolly. “I think as a precautionary measure you had better step over
into the other tent.”
Hastily gathering their belongings, they ran across with the doctor to
his tent, from which they continued to gaze upon the weird spectacle
before them.
About the largest fire in the center of the camp the crowd gathered,
Chief Trotting Wolf in the midst, and were harangued by one of
the returning braves who was evidently reciting the story of their
experiences and whose tale was received with the deepest interest and
was punctuated by mad cries and whoops. The one English word that could
be heard was the word “Police,” and it needed no interpreter to
explain to the watchers that the chief object of fury to the crowding,
gesticulating Indians about the fire was the Policeman who had been the
cause of their humiliation and disappointment. In a pause of the uproar
a loud exclamation from an Indian arrested the attention of the band.
Once more he uttered his exclamation and pointed to the tent lately
occupied by the ladies. Quickly the whole band about the fire appeared
to bunch together preparatory to rush in the direction indicated, but
before they could spring forward Trotting Wolf, speaking rapidly and
with violent gesticulation, stood in their path. But his voice was
unheeded. He was thrust aside and the whole band came rushing madly
toward the tent lately occupied by the ladies.
“Get back from the door,” said the doctor, speaking rapidly. “These
chaps seem to be somewhat excited. I wish I had my gun,” he continued,
looking about the tent for a weapon of some sort. “This will do,” he
said, picking up a stout poplar pole that had been used for driving the
tent pegs. “Stay inside here. Don't move till I tell you.”
“But they will kill you,” cried Moira, laying her hand upon his arm.
“You must not go out.”
“Nonsense!” said the doctor almost roughly. “Kill me? Not much. I'll
knock some of their blocks off first.” So saying, he lifted the flap of
the tent and passed out just as the rush of maddened Indians came.
Upon the ladies' tent they fell, kicked the tent poles down, and,
seizing the canvas ripped it clear from its pegs. Some moments they
spent searching the empty bed, then turned with renewed cries toward the
other tent before which stood the doctor, waiting, grim, silent, savage.
For a single moment they paused, arrested by the silent figure, then
with a whoop a drink-maddened brave sprang toward the tent, his rifle
clubbed to strike. Before he could deliver his blow the doctor, stepping
swiftly to one side, swung his poplar club hard upon the uplifted arms,
sent the rifle crashing to the ground and with a backward swing caught
the astonished brave on the exposed head and dropped him to the earth as
if dead.
“Take that, you dog!” he cried savagely. “Come on, who's next?” he
shouted, swinging his club as a player might a baseball bat.
Before the next rush, however, help came in an unexpected form. The tent
flap was pushed back and at the doctor's side stood an apparition that
checked the Indians' advance and stilled their cries. It was the Indian
boy, clad in a white night robe of Mandy's providing, his rifle in his
hand, his face ghastly in the moonlight and his eyes burning like flames
of light. One cry he uttered, weird, fierce, unearthly, but it seemed
to pierce like a knife through the stillness that had fallen. Awed,
sobered, paralyzed, the Indians stood motionless. Then from their ranks
ran Chief Trotting Wolf, picked up the rifle of the Indian who still lay
insensible on the ground, and took his place beside the boy.
A few words he spoke in a voice that rang out fiercely imperious. Still
the Indians stood motionless. Again the Chief spoke in short, sharp
words of command, and, as they still hesitated, took one swift stride
toward the man that stood nearest, swinging his rifle over his head.
Forward sprang the doctor to his side, his poplar club likewise swung up
to strike. Back fell the Indians a pace or two, the Chief following them
with a torrential flow of vehement invective. Slowly, sullenly the crowd
gave back, cowed but still wrathful, and beginning to mutter in angry
undertones. Once more the tent flap was pushed aside and there issued
two figures who ran to the side of the Indian boy, now swaying weakly
upon his rifle.
“My poor boy!” cried Mandy, throwing her arms round about him, and,
steadying him as he let his rifle fall, let him sink slowly to the
ground.
“You cowards!” cried Moira, seizing the rifle that the boy had dropped
and springing to the doctor's side. “Look at what you have done!” She
turned and pointed indignantly to the swooning boy.
With an exclamation of wrath the doctor stepped back to Mandy's aid,
forgetful of the threatening Indians and mindful only of his patient.
Quickly he sprang into the tent, returning with a stimulating remedy,
bent over the boy and worked with him till he came back again to life.
Once more the Chief, who with the Indians had been gazing upon this
scene, turned and spoke to his band, this time in tones of quiet
dignity, pointing to the little group behind him. Silent and subdued the
Indians listened, their quick impulses like those of children stirred
to sympathy for the lad and for those who would aid him. Gradually the
crowd drew off, separating into groups and gathering about the various
fires. For the time the danger was over.
Between them Dr. Martin and the Chief carried the boy into the tent and
laid him on his bed.
“What sort of beasts have you got out there anyway?” said the doctor,
facing the Chief abruptly.
“Him drink bad whisky,” answered the Chief, tipping up his hand. “Him
crazee,” touching his head with his forefinger.
“Crazy! Well, I should say. What they want is a few ounces of lead.”
The Chief made no reply, but stood with his eyes turned admiringly upon
Moira's face.
“Squaw--him good,” he said, pointing to the girl. “No 'fraid--much
brave--good.”
“You are right enough there, Chief,” replied the doctor heartily.
“Him you squaw?” inquired the Chief, pointing to Moira.
“Well--eh? No, not exactly,” replied the doctor, much confused, “that
is--not yet I mean--”
“Huh! Him good squaw. Him good man,” replied the Chief, pointing first
to Moira, then to the doctor.
Moira hurried to the tent door.
“They are all gone,” she exclaimed. “Thank God! How awful they are!”
“Huh!” replied the Chief, moving out past her. “Him drink, him
crazee--no drink, no crazee.” At the door he paused, and, looking back,
said once more with increased emphasis, “Huh! Him good squaw,” and
finally disappeared.
“By Jove!” said the doctor with a delighted chuckle. “The old boy is a
man of some discernment I can see. But the kid and you saved the day,
Miss Moira.”
“Oh, what nonsense you are talking. It was truly awful, and how
splendidly you--you--”
“Well, I caught him rather a neat one, I confess. I wonder if the brute
is sleeping yet. But you did the trick finally, Miss Moira.”
“Huh,” grunted Mandy derisively, “Good man--good squaw, eh?”