They carried Craigin into the office and laid him on the bed, the blood
streaming from a ghastly wound in his scalp. Quickly Dr. Bailey got to
work and before Craigin had regained consciousness the wound was sewed
up and dressed. Then giving him over to the charge of Haines, Dr. Bailey
went about the work he had in hand.
Before the noon hour had arrived the eight men who were discovered to
be in various stages of diphtheria were comfortably housed in a roomy
building rudely constructed of logs, tar paper, and tarpaulin, with a
small cook-house attached and Tommy Tate in charge. And before night had
fallen the process of disinfecting the bedding, clothing, bunk-house,
and cookery was well under way, while all who had been in immediate
contact with the infected men had been treated by the doctor with
antitoxin as a precautionary measure.
Thus the first day's campaign against death closed with the issue still
undecided, but the chances for winning were certainly greater than they
had been. What the result would be when Craigin was able to take command
again, no one could say. But in the meantime, for the next two days,
the work on the dump was prosecuted with all vigour, the men feeling in
honour bound to support the doctor in that part of the fight which fell
to them.
XVIII
THE MEDICAL SUPERINTENDENT OF THE CROW'S NEST
Mr. Maclennan was evidently worried. His broad, good-humoured face,
which usually wore a smile indicating content with the world and
especially with himself, was drawn into a frown. The muskeg was beating
him, and he hated to be beaten. He was bringing in General Manager Fahey
to have a look at things. It was important to awaken the sympathy of the
General Manager, if, indeed, this could be accomplished. But the General
Manager had a way of insisting upon his contracts being fulfilled, and
this stretch in Maclennan's charge was the one spot which the General
Manager feared would occasion delay.
“There's the hole,” said Maclennan, as they turned down the hill into
the swamp. “Into that hole,” he continued, pointing to where the dump
ended abruptly in the swamp, “I can't tell you how many millions of
carloads have been dumped. I used to brag that I was never beaten in my
life, but that hole--”
“Maclennan, that hole has got to be filled up, bridged, or trestled, and
we can't wait too long, either.”
The General Manager's name was a synonym for a relentless sort of energy
in railroad construction that refused to consider obstacles. Nothing
could stand in his way. The thing behind which he put the weight of
his determination simply had to move in one direction or other. The
contractor that failed expected no mercy, and received none.
“We're doing our best,” said Maclennan, “and we will continue to do our
best. Hello! what's this? What's Craigin doing up here? Hold up, Sandy.
We'll look in.”
At the door of the hospital Dr. Haines met him.
“Hello, Doctor! What have you got here?”
“Isolation hospital,” replied the doctor shortly.
“What hospital?”
“Isolation.”
“Has Craigin gone mad all at once?”
“Craigin has nothing to do with it. There's a new boss in camp.”
A look of wrathful amazement crossed Maclennan's countenance. Haines was
beginning to enjoy himself.
“A new boss? What do you mean?”
“What I say. A young fellow calling himself Dr. Bailey came into this
camp three days ago, raised the biggest kind of a row, laid up Craigin
with a broken head, and took charge of the camp.” Maclennan stood in
amazement looking from Haines to the General Manager.
“Dr. Bailey? You mean Bailey from No. 1? What has he got to do with it?
And how did Craigin come to allow him?”
“Ask Craigin,” replied Haines.
“What have you got in there, Doctor?” asked Mr. Fahey.
“Diphtheria patients.”
“How many?”
“Well, we began with eight three days ago and we've ten to-day.”
“Well, this knocks me out,” said Maclennan. “Where's Craigin, anyway?”
“He's down in his own room in bed.”
Maclennan turned and got into the sleigh. “Come on, Fahey,” he said,
“let's go down. Something extraordinary has happened. You can't believe
that fellow Haines. What are you laughing at?”
Fahey was too much of an Irishman to miss seeing the humour of any
situation. “I can't help it, Maclennan. I'll bet you a box of cigars
that man Bailey is an Irishman. He must be a whirlwind. But it's no
laughing matter,” continued the General Manager, sobering up. “This has
a very serious aspect. There are a whole lot of men sick in our camps.
You contractors don't pay enough attention to your health.”
“Health! When you're driving us like all possessed there's no time to
think of health.”
“I tell you, Maclennan, it's bad policy. You have got to think of
health. The newspapers are beginning to talk. Why, look at that string
of men you met going out. Of course, the great majority of them never
should have come in. Hundreds of men are here who never used either
shovel or axe. They cut themselves, get cold, rheumatism, or something;
they're not fit for their work. All the same, we get blamed. But my
theory is that every camp should have an hospital, with three main
hospitals along this branch. There's one at Macleod. It is filled,
overflowing. A young missionary fellow, Boyle, has got one running out
at Kuskinook supported by some Toronto ladies. It's doing fine work,
too; but it's overflowing. There's a young lady in charge there, a Miss
Robertson, and she's a daisy. The trouble there is you can't get the
fellows to leave, and I don't blame them. If ever I get sick send me to
her. I tell you, Maclennan, if we had two or three first-class men,
with three main hospitals, a branch in every camp, we'd keep the health
department in first-class condition. The men would stay with us. We'd
get altogether better results.”
“That's all right,” said Maclennan, “but where are you to get your
first-class men? They come to us with letters from Directors or some big
bug or other. You've got to appoint them. Look at that man Haines. He
doesn't know his work and he's drunk half the time. Dr. Bailey seems to
be different. He certainly knows his work and he never touches whiskey.
I got him up from the Gap to No. 1. In two weeks' time he had things in
great shape. Funny thing, too, when he's fighting some sickness or busy
he's all right, but when things get quiet he hits the green table hard.
He's a wonder at poker, they say.”
The General Manager pricked up his ears. “Poker, eh? I'll remember
that.”
“But this here business is going too far,” continued Maclennan. “I
didn't hire him to run my camps. Well, we'll see what Craigin has to
say.”
As they drove into the camp they were met by Narcisse, the cook.
“Bo' jour, M'sieu Maclenn'. You want something for hit?”
“Good-day, cook,” said Maclennan. “Yes, we'll take a cup of tea in a few
minutes. I want to see Mr. Craigin.”
Narcisse drew near Maclennan and in subdued voice announced, “M'sieu
Craigin, he's not ver' well. He's hurt hisself. He's lie on bed.”
“Why, what's the matter with him?”
Narcisse shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, some leet' troub'. You pass on de
office you see de docteur.”
“Why, Haines is up at the hospital. We just saw him.”
“Hain!” said Narcisse, with scorn indescribable. “Dat's no docteur for
one horse. Bah! De mans go seeck, seeck, he can noting. He know noting.
He's get on beeg drunk! Non! Nodder docteur. He's come in, fin' tree,
four mans seeck on de troat, cough, cough, sore, bad. Fill up de
cook-house. Can't do noting. Sainte Marie! Dat new docteur, he's come
on de camp, he's mak' one leet' fight, he's beeld hospital an' get dose
seeck mans all nice an' snug. Bon. Good. By gar, dat's good feller!”
The smile broadened on Fahey's face. “I say, Maclennan, he's captured
your camp. He's got the cook, dead sure.”
The smile didn't help Maclennan's temper. He opened the office door and
passed into Craigin's private room at the back. Here he found Dr. Bailey
in charge. As he opened the door the doctor put up his hand for silence
and backed him out into the office.
“Excuse me, Mr. Maclennan,” he said, “he's asleep and must not be
disturbed.”
Maclennan shook hands with him with a cold “How are you,” and introduced
him to Mr. Fahey.
“Is Mr. Craigin ill?” inquired Fahey innocently.
“He has met with a slight accident,” replied the doctor. “He is doing
well and will be about in a day or two.”
“Accident?” snorted Maclennan; then clearing his throat as for a speech
he began in a loud tone, “Dr. Bailey, I must say--”
“Excuse me,” said the doctor, opening the office door and marshalling
them outside, “we'd better go somewhere else if we are going to talk.
It is important that my patient should be kept perfectly quiet.”
The doctor's air was so entirely respectful and at the same time
so masterful that Maclennan found himself walking meekly toward the
grub-house behind the doctor, with Fahey, the smile on his face broader
than ever, bringing up the rear. Maclennan caught the smile, but in the
face of the doctor's quiet, respectful manner he found it difficult to
rouse himself to wrath. He took refuge in bluster.
“Upon my word, Dr. Bailey,” he burst forth when once they were inside
the grub-house, “it seems to me that you have carried things on with a
high hand in this camp. You come in here, a perfect stranger, you head a
mutiny, you lay up my foreman with a dangerous wound, with absolutely
no authority from anyone. What in the blank, blank do you mean, anyway?”
Maclennan was rather pleased to find himself at length taking fire.
“Mr. Maclennan,” said the doctor quietly, “it is natural you should be
angry. Let me give you the facts before you pass your final judgment.
A man was sent to me from this camp in a dying condition. Diphtheria. I
learned there were others suffering here with the same disease. I came
in at once to offer assistance. Consulted with Dr. Haines. We came to a
practical agreement as to what ought to be done. Mr. Craigin objected.
There was some trouble. Unfortunately, Mr. Craigin was hurt.”
“Dr. Bailey,” said the General Manager, “it will save trouble if you
will go somewhat fully into the facts. We want an exact statement of
what occurred.” The authoritative tone drew Dr. Bailey's attention to
the rugged face of the speaker, with its square forehead and bull-dog
jaw. He recognized at once that he had to deal with a man of more than
ordinary force, and he proceeded to give him an exact statement of all
that had happened, beginning with the death of Scotty Anderson.
“That is all, gentlemen,” said the doctor, as he concluded his tale; “I
did what I considered was right. Prompt action was necessary. I may have
been mistaken, but I think not.”
“Mistaken!” cried Fahey, with a great oath. “I tell you, Maclennan,
we've had a close shave. We may, perhaps, explain that one man's death,
but if six or eight men had gone out of this camp in the condition in
which the doctor says they were, the results would have been not only
deplorable as far as the men are concerned, but disastrous to us with
the public. Why, good heavens above! what a shave it was! Dr. Bailey, I
am proud to meet you,” continued Fahey, putting out his hand. “You had
a most difficult situation to deal with and you handled it like a
general.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Maclennan, shaking Dr. Bailey warmly by
the hand. “The measures were somewhat drastic, but something had to be
done. Go right on, Doctor. When Craigin is on his feet again we'll send
him out.”
“Mr. Craigin will be quite fit to work in a day or so. But I would
suggest that he keep his place. You can't afford to lose a man of his
force.”
“Well, well, we'll see, we'll see.”
“Dr. Bailey, I'd like to see your hospital arrangements. Mac will be
busy just now and will excuse us.”
The next two hours the General Manager spent in extracting from Dr.
Bailey his theories in regard to camp sanitation and the care of the
sick. Finding a listener at once so sympathetic and so intelligent, Dr.
Bailey seized the opportunity of expatiating to the fullest extent upon
the theme which, during the last few months, had been absorbing his
mind.
“These camps are wrongly constructed in the first instance--every
one that I have seen. Almost every law of sanitation is ignored. In
location, in relative position of buildings, the disposal of refuse, the
treatment of the sick and injured, the whole business reveals atrocious
folly and ignorance. For instance, take this camp. The only thing that
prevents an outbreak of typhoid is the cold weather. In the spring
you will have a state of things here that will arrest the attention
of Canada. Look at the location of the camp. Down in a swamp, with a
magnificent site five hundred yards away,” pointing to a little plateau
further up the hill, clear of underbrush and timbered with great pines.
“Then look at the stables where they are. There are no means by which
the men can keep themselves or their clothes clean. Their bunks, some
of them, are alive with vermin, and the bunk-house is reeking with all
sorts of smells. At a very little more cost you could have had a camp
here pleasant, safe, clean, and an hospital ready for emergencies. Why,
good heavens! they might at least have kept the vermin out.”
“Oh, pshaw!” said Fahey, “every camp has to have a few of them fellows.
Makes the men feel at home. Besides, you can't absolutely drive them
out.”
“Drive them out? Give me a free hand and I'll make this camp clean of
vermin in two weeks, absolutely, and keep it so. Why, it would pay,”
continued the doctor. “You would keep your men in good condition, in
good heart and spirits. They would do twice the work. They would stay
with you. Besides, it would prevent scandal.”
“Scandal?” The General Manager looked up sharply.
“Yes, scandal. I have done what I could to prevent talk, but down the
line they are talking some, and if I am not mistaken it will be all over
the East in a few weeks.”
The General Manager was thinking hard. “Look here, young man,” he said,
with the air of one who has made up his mind, “do you drink?”
“No.”
“Do you gamble?”
“When I've nothing to do.”
“Oh, well,” said Mr. Fahey, “a little poker doesn't hurt a man now and
then. I am going to make you an offer which I hope you will consider
favourably. I offer you the position of medical superintendent of this
line at a salary of three thousand a year and all expenses. It's not
much, but if the thing goes we can easily increase it. You needn't
answer just now. Think it over. I don't know your credentials, but I
don't care.”
For answer, Dr. Bailey took out his pocketbook and selected a letter. “I
didn't think I would ever use this. I didn't want to use it. But you can
look at it.”
Mr. Fahey took the letter, glanced through it hurriedly, then read it
again with more care.
“You know Sir William?”
“Very slightly. Met him once or twice in London.”
“This is a most unusual letter for him to write. You must have stood
very high in the profession in London.”
“I had a fairly good position,” said Dr. Bailey.
“May I ask why you left?”
Dr. Bailey hesitated. “I grew tired of the life--and, besides--well--I
wanted to get away from things and people.”
“Pardon my asking,” said Fahey hastily. “It was none of my business.
But, Doctor--” here he glanced at the letter again, “Bailey, you say
your name is?”
“They called me Bailey when I came in and I let it go.”
“Very well, sir,” replied Fahey quickly, “Bailey let it be. My offer
holds, only I'll make it four thousand. We can't expect a man of your
standing for less.”
“Mr. Fahey, I came here to work on the construction. I wanted to forget.
When I saw how things were going at the east end I couldn't help jumping
it. I never thought I should have enjoyed my professional work so much.
It has kept me busy. I will accept your offer at three thousand, but on
the distinct understanding that I am to have my way in everything.”
“By gad! you'll take it, anyway, I imagine,” said Fahey, with a laugh,
“so we may as well put it in the contract. In your department you are
supreme. If you see anything you want, take it. If you don't see it, we
will get it for you.”
On their return to the office they found Dr. Haines in Craigin's room
with Maclennan. As they entered they heard Haines' voice saying, “I
believe it was a put-up job with Tommy.”
“It's a blank lie!” roared Craigin. “I have it from Tommy that it was
his own notion to fire that shoe, and a blank good thing for me it was.
Otherwise I should have killed the best man that ever walked into this
camp. Here, keep your hands off! You paw around my head like a blanked
bull in a sand heap. Where's the doctor? Why ain't he here attending to
his business?”
“Craigin,” he said quietly, “let me look at that. Ah, it's got a twist,
that's all. There, that's better.”
Like a child Craigin submitted to his quick, light touch and sank back
in his pillow with a groan of content. Dr. Bailey gave him his medicine
and induced him, much against his will, to take some nourishment.
“There now, that's all right. To-morrow you'll be sitting up. Now you
must be kept quiet.” As he said this he motioned them out of the room.
As he was leaving, Craigin called him back.
“I want to see Maclennan,” he said gruffly.
“Wait till to-morrow, Mr. Craigin,” replied the doctor, in soothing
tones.
“I want to see him now.”
The doctor called Mr. Maclennan back.
“Maclennan, I want to say there's the whitest man in these mountains. I
was a blank, blank fool. But for him I might have been a murderer two or
three times over, and, God help me! but for that lucky shoe of Tommy's
I'd have murdered him. I want to say this to you, and I want the doctor
here not to lay it up against me.”
“All right, Craigin,” said Maclennan, “I'm glad to hear you say so. And
I guess the doctor here won't cherish any grudge.”
Without a word the doctor closed the door upon Maclennan, then went
to the bedside. “Craigin, you are a man. I'd be glad to call you my
friend.”
That was all. The two men shook hands and the doctor passed out, leaving
Craigin more at peace with himself and with the world than he had been
for some days.
XIX
THE LADY OF KUSKINOOK
Soon after Dick's departure for the West, Ben Fallows took up his abode
at the Old Stone Mill and very soon found himself firmly established as
a member of the family there; and so it came that he was present on the
occasion of Margaret's visit, when the offer of the Kuskinook Hospital
was under consideration. The offer came through the Superintendent,
but it was due chiefly to the influence on the Toronto Board of Mrs.
Macdougall. It was to her that Dick had appealed for a matron for the
new hospital, which had come into existence largely through his efforts
and advocacy. “We want as matron,” Dick had written, “a strong, sane
woman who knows her work, and is not afraid to tackle anything. She
must be cheery in manner and brave in heart, not too old, and the more
beautiful she is the better.”
“Cheery in manner and brave in heart?” Mrs. Macdougall had said to
herself, looking at the letter. “The very one! She is that and she is
all the rest, and she is not too old, and beautiful enough even for Mr.
Dick.” Here Mrs. Macdougall smiled a gentle smile of deprecation at the
suggestion that flitted across her mind at that point. “No, she'll
never be old to Dick. We'll send her, and who knows, but--” Not even to
herself, however, much less to another, did the little lady breathe a
word of any 'arriere pensee' in urging the appointment.
With the Superintendent's letter in her hand, Margaret had gone to
consult Barney's mother; for to Margaret Mrs. Boyle was ever “Barney's
mother.”
“It would be a very fine work,” said Mrs. Boyle, “but oh, lassie! it is
a long, long way. And you would be far from all that knew you!”
“Why, Dick is not very far away.”
“Aye, but I doubt you would see little of him, with all the travelling
he's doing to those terrible camps. And what if anything should happen
to you, and no one to care for you?”
The old lady's hands trembled over the tea cups. She had aged much
during the last six years. The sword had pierced her heart with Barney's
going from home. And while, in the case of her younger and favourite
son, she had without grudging made the ancient sacrifice, lines of her
surrender showed deep upon her face.
“What's the matter with me goin' along, Miss Margaret?” said Ben,
breaking in upon the pause in the conversation. “There's one of the old
gang out there. We cawn't 'ave Barney, but you'd do in his place, an' I
guess we could make things hump a bit. W'en the gang gits a goin' things
begin to hum. You remember that day down at the 'Old King's' w'en me an'
Barney an' Dick--”
“Och! Ben lad,” said Mrs. Boyle, “Margaret will be hearing that story
many's the time. But what would you be doing in an hospital?”
“Me? I hain't goin' fer to work in no 'ospital! I'm goin' to look after
Miss Margaret. She wants someone to look after her, don't she?”
“Aye, that she does,” remarked Mrs. Boyle, with such emphasis that
Margaret flushed as she cried, “Not I! My business is to look after
other people.”
But the more the matter was discussed the clearer it became that
Margaret's work lay at Kuskinook, and further, that she could not do
better than take Ben along to “look after her,” as he put it. Hence,
before the year had gone, all through the Windermere and Crow's Nest
valleys the fame of the Lady of Kuskinook grew great, and second only to
hers was that of her bodyguard, the hospital orderly, Ben Fallows.
And indeed, Ben's usefulness was freely acknowledged by both staff
and patients; for by day or by night he was ever ready to skip off on
errands of mercy, his wooden leg clicking a vigorous tattoo to his rapid
movements. He was especially proud of that wooden leg, a combination of
joints and springs so wonderful that he was often heard to lament the
clumsiness of the other leg in comparison.
“W'en it comes to legs,” Ben would say, “this 'ere's the machine fer me.
It never gits rheumatism in the joints, nor corns on the toes, an' yeh
cawn't freeze it with forty below.”
As Ben grew in fame so he grew in dignity and in solemn and serious
appreciation of himself, and of his position in the hospital. The
institution became to him not simply a thing of personal pride, but an
object of reverent regard. To Ben's mind, taking it all in all, it stood
unique among all similar institutions in the Dominion. While, as for the
matron, as he watched her at her work his wonder grew and, with it,
a love amounting to worship. In his mind she dwelt apart as something
sacred, and to serve her and to guard her became a religion with Ben. In
fact, the Glory of the Kuskinook hospital lay chiefly in this, that
it afforded a sphere in which his divinity might exercise her various
powers and graces.
It was just at this point that Tommy Tate roused his wrath. Dr. Bailey's
foreboding regarding Maclennan's Camp No. 2 had been justified by a
serious outbreak in early spring of typhoid, of malignant type, to
which Tommy fell a victim. The hospitals along the line were already
overflowing, and so the doctor had sent Tommy to Kuskinook in charge
of an assistant. After a six weeks' doubtful struggle with the disease
Tommy began to convalesce, and with returning strength revived his
invincible love of mischief, which he gratified in provoking the soul
of Orderly Ben Fallows, notwithstanding that the two had become firm
friends during the tedious course of Tommy's sickness. It didn't take
Tommy long to discover Ben's tender spots, the most tender of which
he found to be the honour of the hospital and all things and persons
associated therewith. As to the matron, Tommy ventured no criticism. He
had long since enrolled her among his saints, and Ben Fallows himself
was not a more enthusiastic devotee than he. And not even to gratify
his insatiable desire for fun at Ben's expense would Tommy venture any
liberty with the name of the matron. In regard to the young preacher,
however, who seemed to be a somewhat important part of the institution,
Tommy was not so scrupulous, while as to the hospital appointments and
methods, he never hesitated to champion the superior methods of those
down the line.
It was a beautiful May morning and Tommy was signalizing his unusually
vigorous health by a very specially exasperating criticism of the
Kuskinook hospital and its belongings.
“It's the beautiful hospitals they are down the line. They don't have
the frills and tucks on their shirts, to be sure, but they do the
thrick, so they do.”