As he was thus busied he heard a sniffle behind him and, turning sharply
about, he found Tommy and Shorty standing at the door, both wiping their
eyes and struggling with their sobs.
“Confound you, Shorty!” burst forth the doctor wrathfully, “what in the
mischief are you doing there? Come in, you fool. Did you ever see a dead
man before?” The doctor was clearly in a rage. During the weeks
Shorty had known him in camp he had never seen him show anything but a
perfectly cold and self-composed face. “Is this the teamster?” continued
the doctor. “Come in here. You see that man? Someone has murdered him.
Who sent him down here through this storm? How long had he been ill?
Have you a doctor up there? Are there any more sick? Why don't you speak
up? What's your name?” In an angry flood the questions poured forth upon
the hapless Tommy, who stood speechless. “Why don't you speak?” said the
doctor again.
Recovering himself, Tommy began with the question which seemed to
require least thought to answer. “Thomas Tate, sir, av ye plaze. An'
sure it's not me ye'd be blamin' at all. Didn't I tell the foreman the
man wuz dyin'? An' niver a breath did I draw fer the last twinty miles,
an' up an' down the hills like the divil wuz afther me wid a poker.”
“Have you no doctor up there?”
“Docthor, is it? If that's what ye call him, fer the drunken baste that
he is, wallowin' 'round like Micky Murphy's pig, axin' pardon av the
pig.”
“Are there any more sick?”
“Sick? Bedad, they're all sick wid fear, an' half a dozen worse than
poor Scotty there, God rest his sowl!”
The doctor thought a minute, then turning to Shorty he said, speaking
rapidly, “Go and bring to this room the foreman and Swipey. And say not
a word to anyone, mind that. And you,” he said, turning to Tommy, “can
you start back in an hour?”
“I can that same, if I must.”
“You know the road. We'll get another team and start within an hour. Get
something to eat.”
In a short time both the foreman and the saloon-keeper were in the room.
“This man,” said the doctor, “is dead. Diphtheria. There is no fear,
Swipey. Shut that door. But you must have him buried at once, and you
will both see the necessity of having it done quietly. I shall fumigate
this room. All this clothing must be burned and there will be no further
danger. You will see about this to-morrow. I am going up to No. 2
to-night.”
“To-night, doctor!” cried the foreman. “It's blowing a regular blizzard.
Can't you wait till morning?”
“There are men sick at No. 2,” said the doctor. “The chances are it's
diphtheria.”
In an hour's time Tommy was at the door with the best team the camp
possessed.
“Have you had something to eat, Tommy?” inquired the doctor, stepping
out from the saloon.
“That's what I have,” replied Tommy.
“All right, then. Give me the lines. You can have a sleep.”
“Not if I know it, begob!” said Tommy. “I'll stay wid yez. It's mesilf
that knows a man whin I see him.”
And off into the blizzard and the night they sped, the doctor rejoicing
to find in the call to a fight with death that excitement without which
it seemed he could not live.
XVII
THE FIGHT WITH DEATH
At Camp No. 2 Maclennan had struck what was called a hard proposition.
The line ran straight through a muskeg out of which the bottom seemed
to have dropped, and Maclennan himself, with his foreman, Craigin, was
almost in despair. For every day they were held back by the muskeg meant
a serious reduction in the profits of Maclennan's contract.
The foreman, Craigin, was a man from “across the line,” skilled in
railroad building, selected chiefly because of his reputation as a
“driver.” He was a man of great physical force and indomitable will, and
gifted in large measure with the power of command. He knew his business
thoroughly and knew just how to get the most out of the machinery and
men at his command. He himself was an untiring worker, and no man on the
line could get a bigger day out of his force than could Craigin. His men
he treated as part of his equipment. He believed in what was called
his “scrap-heap policy.” When any part of the machinery ceased to do
first-class work it was at once discarded, and, as with the machinery,
so it was with the men. A sick man was a nuisance in the camp and must
be got rid of with all possible speed. Craigin had little faith in human
nature, and when a man fell ill his first impulse was to suspect him
of malingering, and hence the standing order of the camp in regard to
a sick man was that he should get to work or be sent out of the camp.
Hence the men thoroughly hated their foreman, but as thoroughly they
dreaded to fall under his displeasure.
The camp stood in the midst of a swamp, thick with underbrush of spruce
and balsam and tamarack. The site had been selected after a month of dry
weather in the fall, consequently the real condition of the ground was
not discovered until the late rains had swollen the streams from the
mountain-sides and filled up the intervening valleys and swamps. After
the frost had fallen the situation was vastly improved, but they all
waited the warm weather of spring with anxiety.
On the crest of the hill which overlooked the camp the doctor halted the
team.
“Where are your stables, Tommy?”
“Over there beyant, forninst the cook-house.”
“Good Lord!” murmured the doctor. “How many men have you here?”
“Between two an' three hundred, wid them that are travellin' the road.”
“What are your sanitary arrangements?”
“What's that?”
“I mean how do you--what are your arrangements for keeping the camp
clean, free from dirt and smells? You can't have three hundred men
living together without some sanitary arrangements.”
“Begob, it's ivery man fer himsilf. Clane yersilf as ye can through the
week, an' on Sundays boil yer clothes in soap suds, if ye kin git near
the kittles. But, bedad, it's the lively time we have wid the crathurs.”
“And is that the bunk-house close up to the cookery?”
“It is that same.”
“And why was it built so close as that?”
“Sure there wuz no ground left by raison av the muskeg at the back av
it.”
The doctor gave it up. “Drive on,” he said. “But what a beautiful spot
for a camp right there on that level.”
“Beautiful, is it? Faith, it's not beautiful that Craigin calls it, fer
ivery thaw the bottom goes clane out av it till ye can't git round fer
mud an' the dump fallin' through to the antipods,” replied Tom.
“Yes, but up on this flat here, Tommy, under the big pines, that would
be a fine spot for the camp.”
“It wud that same. Bad luck to the man who set it where it is.”
As they drove into the camp the cook came out with some refuse which he
dumped down on a heap at the door. The doctor shuddered as he thought of
that heap when the sun shone upon it in the mild weather. A huge Swede
followed the cook out with a large red muffler wrapped round his throat.
“Hello, Yonie!” cried Tommy. “What's afther gittin' ye up so early?”
“It is no sleep for dis,” cried Yonie thickly, pointing to his throat.
The doctor sprang from the sleigh. “Let me look at your throat.”
“It's the docthor, Yonie,” explained Tommy, whereupon the Swede
submitted to the examination.
The doctor turned him toward the east, where the sun was just peeping
through the treetops, and looked into his throat. “My man, you go right
back to bed quick.”
“No, it will not to bed,” replied Yonie. “Big work to-day, boss say. He
not like men sick.”
“You hear me,” said the doctor sharply. “You go back to bed. Where's
your doctor?”
“He slapes in the office between meals. Yonder,” said Tommy, pointing
the way.
“Never mind now. Where are your sick men?”
“De seeck mans?” replied the cook. “She's be hall overe. On de
bunk-house, on de cook shed. Dat is imposseeb to mak' de cook for den
seeck mans hall aroun'.”
“What? Do they sit around where you are cooking?”
“Certainment. Dat's warm plas. De bunkhouse she's col.' Poor feller! But
she's mak' me beeg troub'. She's cough, cough, speet, speet. Bah! dat's
what you call lak' one beas'.”
The doctor strode into the cook-house. By the light of the lantern
swinging from the roof he found three men huddled over the range, the
picture of utter misery. He took down the lantern.
“Here, cook, hold this please, one moment. Allow me to look at your
throats, men.”
“Dis de docteur, men,” said the cook.
A quick glance he gave at each throat, his face growing more stern with
each examination.
“Boys, you must all get to bed at once. You must keep away from this
cook-house or you'll poison the whole camp.”
“Where can we go, doctor? The bunk-house would freeze you and the stink
of it would make a well man sick.”
“And is there no place else?”
“No. Unless it's the stables,” said another man; “they're not quite so
bad.”
“Well, sit here just now. We'll see about it. But first let me give you
something.” He opened his bag, took out his syringe. “Here, Yonie, we'll
begin with you. Roll up your sleeve.” And in three minutes he had given
all four an antitoxin injection. “Now, we'll see the doctor. By the way
what's his name?”
“Hain,” said the cook, “dat's his nem.”
“Haines,” explained one of the men.
“Dat's what I say,” said the cook indignantly, “Hain.”
The doctor passed out, went toward the office, knocked at the door, and,
getting no response, opened it and walked in.
“Be the powers, Narcisse!” cried Tommy, as the cook stood looking after
the doctor, “it's little I iver thought I'd pity that baste, but Hivin
save him now! He'll be thinkin' the divil's come fer him. An' begob,
he'll be wishin' it wuz before he's through wid him.”
But Dr. Bailey was careful to observe all the rules that the punctilious
etiquette of the profession demanded. He found Dr. Haines sleeping
heavily in his clothes. He had had a bad night. He was uneasy at the
outbreak of sickness in his camp, and more especially was he seized with
an anxious foreboding in regard to the sick man who had been sent out
the day before. Besides this, the foreman had cursed him for a drunken
fool in the presence of the whole camp with such vigour and directness
that he had found it necessary to sooth his ruffled feelings with large
and frequent doses of stimulant brought into the camp for strictly
medical purposes. With difficulty he was roused from his slumber. When
fully awake he was aware of a young man with a very pale and very stern
face standing over him. Without preliminary Dr. Bailey began:
“Dr. Haines, you have some very sick men in this camp.”
“Who the deuce are you?” replied Haines, staring up at him.
“They call me Dr. Bailey. I have come in from along the line.”
“Dr. Bailey?” said Haines, sitting up. “Oh, I've heard of you.” His tone
indicated a report none too favourable. In fact, it was his special
chum and confrere who had been ejected from his position in the Gap camp
through Dr. Bailey's vigorous measures.
“You have some very sick men in the camp,” repeated Dr. Bailey, his
voice sharp and stern.
“Oh, a little tonsilitis,” replied Haines in an indifferent tone.
“Diphtheria,” said Bailey shortly.
“Diphtheria be hanged!” replied Haines insolently; “I examined them
carefully last night.”
“They have diphtheria this morning. I have just taken the liberty of
looking into their throats.”
“The deuce you have! I like your impudence! Who sent you in here
to interfere with my practice, young man? Where did you get your
professional manners?” Dr. Haines was the older man and resented the
intrusion of this smooth-faced young stranger, who added to the crime
of his youth that of being guilty of a serious breach of professional
etiquette.
“I ought to apologize for looking at your patients,” said Dr. Bailey.
“I came in thinking I might be of some assistance in dealing with this
outbreak of diphtheria, and I was naturally anxious to see--”
“Diphtheria!” blurted Haines. “Nothing of the sort.”
“Dr. Haines, the man you sent out last night had it.”
“HAD it?”
“He died an hour after arriving at No. 1.”
“Dead? Cursed fool! He WOULD go against my will.”
“Against your will? Would you let a man in the last stages of diphtheria
leave this camp against your will with the company's team?”
“Well, I knew he shouldn't go. But he wanted to go himself, and the
foreman would have him out.”
“There are at least four men going about the camp--they are now in the
cook-house where the breakfast is being prepared--who are suffering from
a severe attack of diphtheria.”
“What do you propose? What can I do in this cursed hole?” said Dr.
Haines petulantly. “No appliances, no means of isolation, no nurses,
nothing. Beside, I have half a dozen camps to look after. What can I
do?”
“Do you ask me?” The scorn in the voice was only too apparent. “Isolate
the infected at least.”
Haines swore deeply to himself while, with trembling hand, he poured
out a cupful of whiskey from a bottle standing on a convenient shelf.
“Isolate? How can I isolate? There's no building in which--”
“Make one.”
“Make one? Young man, do you know what you are talking about? Do you
know where you are? Do you know who is running this camp?”
“No. But I do know that these men must be isolated within an hour.”
“Impossible! I tell you it is impossible!”
“Dr. Haines, an inquest upon the man sent out from this camp last night
would result in the verdict of manslaughter. There was no inquest. There
will be on the next man that dies if there is any neglect.”
The seriousness of the situation began to dawn upon Haines. “Well,”
he said, “if you think you can isolate them, go ahead. I'll see the
foreman.”
“Every minute is precious. I gave those four men antitoxin. Are there
others?”
“Don't know,” Haines growled, as with an oath he went out, followed by
Dr. Bailey. Just outside the door they met the foreman.
“This is Dr. Bailey, Mr. Craigin.” Craigin growled out a salutation.
“Dr. Bailey here says these sick men have diphtheria.”
“How does he know?” inquired Craigin shortly.
“He has examined them this morning.”
“Have you?”
“No, not yet.”
“Then you don't know they have diphtheria?”
“No,” replied Haines weakly.
“These men have diphtheria, Mr. Craigin, without a doubt, and they ought
to be isolated at once.”
“Isolated? How?”
“A separate camp must be built and someone appointed to attend them.”
“A separate camp!” exclaimed Craigin; “I'll see them blanked first! Look
here, Haines, let's have no nonsense about this. I'm three weeks, yes,
a month, behind with this job here. This blank, blank muskeg is knocking
the whole contract endways. We can't spare a single man half a day. And
more than that, you go talking diphtheria in this camp and you can't
hold the men here an hour. It's all I can do to hold them as it is.” And
Craigin went off into an elaborate course of profanity descriptive of
the various characteristics of the men in his employ.
“But what is to be done?” asked Haines helplessly.
“Send 'em out to the steel. They're better in the hospital, anyway. It's
fine to-day. We'll send every man Jack out to-day.”
“These men can't be moved,” said Dr. Bailey in a quiet voice. “You sent
a man out yesterday and he's dead.”
“He was bound to go himself. We didn't send him. Anyway, it's none of
YOUR business. Look here, Haines, you know me. I'm not going to have
any of this blank nonsense of isolation hospitals and all that blankety
blank rot. Dose 'em up good and send 'em out.”
Dr. Haines stood silent, too evidently afraid of the foreman.
“Mr. Craigin, it would be murder,” said Dr. Bailey, “sure murder. Some
of them might get through. Some would be sure to die. The consequences
to those responsible--to Dr. Haines, for instance--would be serious. I
am quite sure he will never give orders that these men should be moved.”
“He won't, eh? You just wait till you see him do it. Haines will give
the orders right enough.” Craigin's laugh was like the growl of a bear.
“There's a reason, ain't there, Haines? Now you hear me. Those men are
going out to-day, and so are you, you blank, blank interferin' skunk.”
Dr. Bailey smiled sweetly at Craigin. “You may call me what you please
just now, Mr. Craigin. Before the day is over you won't have enough
names left. For I tell you that these men suffering from diphtheria are
going to stay here, and are going to be properly cared for.”
Craigin was white. That this young pale-faced stranger should presume
to come into his domain, where his word was wont to run as absolute
law, filled him with rage unspeakable. But there were serious issues at
stake, and with a supreme effort he controlled the passionate longing to
spring upon this upstart and throttle him. He turned sharply to Haines.
“Dr. Haines, you think these men can go out to-day?”
Haines hesitated.
“You understand me, Haines; these men go out or--”
Haines was evidently in some horrible dread of the foreman. A moment
more he paused and then surrendered.
“Oh, hang it, Bailey, I don't think they're so terribly ill. I guess
they can go out.”
“Dr. Haines,” said Craigin, “is that your decision?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“All right,” said Craigin, with a triumphant sneer. He turned to Tommy,
who was standing near with half a dozen men who had just come out from
breakfast. “Here you, Tommy, get a couple of teams ready and all the
buffalo robes you need and be ready to start in an hour. Do you hear?”
“I do,” said Tommy, turning slowly away.
“Tommy,” called Dr. Bailey in a sharp, clear tone, “you took a man out
from this camp yesterday. Tell the men here what happened.”
“Sure, they all know it,” said Tommy, who had already told the story of
poor Scotty's death and of the doctor's efforts to save him. “An' it's a
fine bhoy he wuz, poor Scotty, an' niver a groan out av him all the way
down, an' not able to swally a taste whin I gave it to him.”
Craigin sprang toward Tommy in a fury. “Here you blank, blank, blank! Do
what I tell you! And the rest of you men, what are you gawkin' at here?
Get to work!”
The men gave back, and some began to move away. Dr. Bailey walked
quickly past Craigin into the midst of the group.
“Men, I want to say something to you.” His voice commanded their instant
attention. “There are half a dozen of your comrades in this camp sick
with diphtheria. I came up here to help. They ought to be isolated to
prevent the spread of the disease, and they ought to be cared for at
once. The foreman proposes to send them out. One went out yesterday. He
died last night. If these men go out to-day some of them will die, and
it will be murder. What do you say? Will you let them go?” A wrathful
murmur ran through the crowd, which was being rapidly increased every
moment by others coming from breakfast.
“Get to your work, you fellows, or get your time!” shouted Craigin,
pouring out oaths. “And you,” turning toward Dr. Bailey, “get out of
this camp.”
“I am here in consultation with Dr. Haines,” replied Dr. Bailey. “He has
asked my advice, and I am giving it.”
“Send him out, Haines. And be quick about it!”
By this time the men were fully roused. One of them came forward.
“What do you propose should be done, Doctor?” he inquired.
“Are you going to work, McLean?” shouted Craigin furiously. “If not, go
and get your time.”
“We're going to talk this matter over a minute, Mr. Craigin,” said
McLean quietly. “It's a serious matter. We are all concerned in it, and
we'll decide in a few minutes what is to be done.”
“Every man who is not at work in five minutes will get his time,” said
Craigin, and he turned away and passed into the office.
“What do you propose should be done, Doctor?” said McLean, ignoring the
foreman.
“Build a camp where the sick men can be placed by themselves and where
they can be kept from infecting the rest of the camp. Half a day's work
of a dozen men will do it. If we send them out some of them will die.
Besides, it is almost certain that some more of you have already been
infected.”
At once eager discussion began. Some, in dread terror of the disease,
were for sending out the sick immediately, but the majority would
not listen to this inhuman proposal. Finally McLean came again to Dr.
Bailey.
“The men want to know if you can guarantee that the disease can be
stamped out here if you have a separate camp for an hospital?”
“We can guarantee nothing,” replied Dr. Bailey. “But it is altogether
the safer way to fight the disease. And I am of the opinion that we can
stamp it out.” The doctor's air and tone of quiet confidence, far more
than his words, decided the men's action. In a minute more it was agreed
that the sick men should stay and that they would all stand together in
carrying out the plan of isolation.
“If he gives any of us time,” said Tommy, “we'll all take it, begob.”
“No, men,” said the doctor, “let's not make trouble. I know Mr.
Maclennan slightly, and he's a just man, and he'll do what's fair.
Besides, we don't want to interfere with the job. Give me a dozen
men--one must be able to cook--and in half a day the work will be
finished. I will be personally responsible for everything.”
At this point Craigin came out. “Here's your time, McLean,” he said,
thrusting a time check at him.
McLean took it without a word and went over and stood by Dr. Bailey's
side.
“Who are coming?” called out McLean.
“All of us,” cried a voice. “Pick out your men, McLean.”
“All right,” said McLean, looking over the crowd.
“I'm wan,” said Tommy, running over to the doctor's side. “I seen him
shtand by Scotty whin the lad wus fightin' fer his life, an' if I'm tuk
it's him I want beside me.”
One by one McLean called his men, each taking his place beside the
doctor, while the rest of the men moved off to work.
“Mr. Craigin, I am going to use these men for half a day.” said Dr.
Bailey.
For answer Craigin, in mad rage, throwing aside all regard for
consequences, rushed at him, but half a dozen men were in his path
before he had taken the second step.
“Hold on, Mr. Craigin,” said McLean, “we want no violence. We're going
to do what we think right in this matter, so you may as well make up
your mind to it.”
“And Mr. Craigin,” continued the doctor, “we shall need some things out
of your stores.”
Craigin stepped back from the crowd and on to the office steps. “Your
time is waiting you, men. And listen to me. If any man goes near that
there storehouse door, I'll drop him in his tracks. I've got the law and
I'll do it, so help me God.” He went into the office and returned in a
moment with a Winchester, which he loaded in full view of the men.
“Never mind him, boys,” said the doctor cheerily, “I'm going to have
breakfast. Come, Tommy, I want you.”
In fifteen minutes he came out, with the key of the storehouse in his
hand, to find the men still waiting his orders and Craigin on guard with
his Winchester.
“Don't go just yet,” said McLean to the doctor in a low voice, “we'll
get round him.”
“Oh, he'll not shoot,” said Dr. Bailey.
“He will. He will. I knew him in Michigan. He'll shoot and he'll kill,
too.”
For a single instant the doctor hesitated. His men were about him
waiting his lead. Craigin with his rifle held them all in check. A
moment's thought and his decision was taken. He stepped toward Craigin
and said in a clear voice, “Mr. Craigin, these stores are necessary to
save these men's lives. I want them and I'm going to take them. Murder
me, if you like.”
“Hear me, men.” Craigin's voice was cold and deliberate. “These stores
are in my charge. I am an officer of the law. If any man lays his hand
on that latch I'll shoot him, so help me God.”
“Hear me, Mr. Craigin,” replied Dr. Bailey. “I'm here in consultation
with Dr. Haines, who has turned over this matter to my charge. In a case
of this kind the doctor's orders are supreme. This whole camp is under
his authority. These stores are necessary, and I am going to get them.”
He well knew the weak spot in his position, but he counted on Craigin's
nerve breaking down. In that, however, he was mistaken. Without haste,
but without hesitation, he walked toward the storehouse door. When three
paces from it Craigin's voice arrested him.
“Hold on there! Put your hand on that door and, as God lives, you're a
dead man!”
Without a word the doctor turned again toward the door. The men with
varying cries rushed toward the foreman. Craigin threw up his rifle.
Immediately a shot rang out and Craigin fell to the snow, the smoking
rifle dropping from his hand.
“Begob, I niver played baseball,” cried Tommy, rushing in and seizing
the rifle, “but many's the time I've had the divarsion in the streets av
Dublin of bringin' down the polismen wid a brick.”