Powell returned to the porch and questioned Juan, who told him Glendon
had not been well for a couple of days and had refused to allow his wife
to consult the doctor as she had wished to do.
Hurriedly packing what medicines he thought might be necessary, while
Chappo saddled a horse, Powell explained the situation briefly to Limber
and set out, Juan at his side, for the Glendon ranch.
Katherine was at the door when he dismounted and handed the reins of his
horse to Juan.
"Oh, I am so glad you have come!" she exclaimed. "I don't know what is
the matter. I have never seen him this way before. Usually I know what
to do for him."
She led the way into the bedroom, as she spoke, and Powell noted the
unconscious revelation in her words. Glendon lay on the bed, his red
congested face and relaxed sensual lips adding to a bestial appearance.
The doctor drew a chair to the bedside and lifted the limp, heavy hand
from the coverlet, then he leaned down and placed his ear against
Glendon's chest. Slowly the seconds ticked away. The doctor leaned back
and studied the dissipated countenance, while Katherine waited at the
foot of the bed.
"Is it serious?" she asked anxiously.
"Pneumonia," replied Powell gravely. "I will have to be frank, Mrs.
Glendon. He has wrecked a fine constitution. The heart is in bad
condition from drinking. Alcoholism and pneumonia combined leave very
slight chance for recovery in this altitude."
"I understand that," answered Glendon's wife, "but there is a fighting
chance, isn't there?"
"Yes--a fighting chance, nothing more. His heart is weak. When the
crisis comes it may stop, or it may respond to treatment and rally
sufficiently to go on. That is the one chance for him to pull through."
As Powell turned again to his patient, she asked very quietly, "Is there
anything I can do?"
"Bring a spoon, glass of fresh water, and some strips of flannel, if you
have them?"
She hurried away, and returned in a few minutes.
"That's good," approved the doctor, as she laid the neatly rolled
flannel bandages on the table beside him and arranged the tumbler, spoon
and pitcher of water where he could reach them conveniently. "Heat that
camphorated oil, please."
She followed his instructions and watched him saturate the flannel,
which he slipped around Glendon's chest and across his back with the
deftness and gentleness of a woman. Then he drew the coverlet smoothly
and looked at Katherine's pale face.
"You had better get a little rest," he said. "I will stay here until the
crisis is past. Take this," he commanded, preparing a mixture in the
glass and holding it out to her.
Katherine swallowed the contents of the tumbler, while Powell added,
"You have a couch in the other room? I'll call when it's necessary.
There is nothing you can do now, and you must save your strength all you
can."
The reaction from three days of anxiety and responsibility aided the
sedative in bringing sorely needed mental and physical relaxation. The
door leading into the sitting-room was open, and after a short interval
the doctor moved softly to satisfy himself that she was sleeping. A
chill was creeping through the house. He went to the bedroom and lifted
an extra coverlet from the foot-board of the bed, and carried it to the
other room. The light from the bed-room fell upon her face and throat,
and as the doctor carefully placed the coverlet over her, he saw dark
bruises against the pallor of the skin. In repose, the lines of
suffering were revealed plainly, and the pathetic droop of the mouth
like that of a sorrowing child. Through her half-parted lips he heard
the quivering sound of a suppressed sob. He gazed at her, a world of
love and pity in his eye, then he glanced through the open door at the
man who lay on the bed.
Slowly the doctor returned to the chair at the bedside, he leaned over
and looked at Glendon intently. The crisis was not very far off. Powell
studied the heart action, took count of the pulse, then his eyes went to
the medicine on the table. No sound except the ticking of the clock and
the stentorian breathing of Glendon broke the silence. In the other room
Katherine slept quietly. The doctor's eyes did not move now from the
face of the man on the bed. The pulse beats were growing weaker.
Powell's hand reached toward the medicine, paused a second, then
withdrew and fell heavily in his lap. Moments went by, and still the
woman in the other room rested quietly; the man on the bed drifted more
closely to the whirlpool of Eternity, and the man beside the bed, with
white face, tightly set mouth and eyes like smouldering flame, sat
waiting. Once the doctor rose and walked softly back and forth across
the room, the hands clasped behind him were bruised by the nails that
cut into the flesh. On the mantel of the living room was a picture of
Donnie. The child's eyes looked into his own, they followed him as he
moved about.
Powell returned to the bed and sank into the chair, then his face was
buried in his hands. With a quick movement he roused himself and watched
Glendon steadily. At last he turned slowly to the table and grasped the
vial. He held it before him and looked once again at Glendon, but this
time the doctor's eyes were untroubled.
Slowly and carefully he poured a few drops of the fluid that would drive
the sluggish blood to the heart that had almost ceased to beat. Slowly
it responded. Then, in the silence of the night Powell began his battle
to save Katherine Glendon's husband. Dawn like a shadowy grey wolf,
crawled over the tops of the Galiuros and slipped down into the Hot
Springs Canon. The cragged peaks were bathed in sunlight as Powell
looked at them, his face drawn and haggard, his eyes weary, but in his
heart a prayer of thanksgiving and a plea for strength to carry on his
battle without faltering.
A slight noise at the door caused him to turn. Katherine came swiftly to
his side.
"How is he?" she asked eagerly.
"Rallying perfectly. The crisis is past for the present. Unless
something unexpected occurs, we shall pull him through."
"Why didn't you call me?" asked Katherine.
"You needed the rest," he replied. "Though the danger point is almost
over, you will have a long siege of nursing that will tax your utmost
strength. I shall remain here until I am reasonably sure he is safe, and
then, you can take charge. Do you know how to use a thermometer or take
a pulse?"
"Yes. Doctor King taught me that."
"Then you can manage as well as though you had a trained nurse here.
But, remember! You must conserve your strength. That is rule number one
for a nurse. It is inflexible. Understand?"
"I promise to do exactly what you say," she replied. "Now I am going to
get your breakfast and a good strong cup of coffee will be ready very
soon."
Glendon continued to improve during the day, and Powell's vigilance
never relaxed. Katherine relieved the doctor for a few hours at a time.
When a week had elapsed without developing unfavourable symptoms,
Glendon was pronounced practically out of danger. The doctor knew his
own weakness now, and with his patient on the road to recovery, Powell's
antagonism to the man returned with greater intensity. Yet, as the
doctor rode home he determined that as soon as Glendon was well enough,
he would try to awaken any shred of decency that might be dormant in the
husband of Katherine Glendon, the woman whom Powell loved.
The professional calls continued several weeks, but Powell and Katherine
only met in the room where Glendon lay weak and thoroughly frightened,
for Powell impressed upon Glendon the seriousness of his physical
condition and the inevitable result of continuous drinking, which had
weakened his heart. Glendon's promises to reform were genuine. Another
month went past. An awkward restraint had grown gradually between
Katherine and the doctor, and though he flayed his conscience, he could
find no reason for it. As days went by, it became unbearable torture for
him to see her in her home with Glendon, and yet, it was still harder
to resist the temptation to go there. Finally Powell determined to leave
the Springs, and Chappo a week later carried a note to Katherine.
_Dear Mrs. Glendon:_
I shall be at the Diamond H ranch for a month, after which time I
am leaving Arizona for an indefinite period, on business pertaining
to the plans for the Sanitarium. Limber and Chappo will be at the
Springs all the time, so do not hesitate to call on them should you
require assistance at any time or in any way.
With my sincere regards for your husband and yourself,
Most cordially yours,