The Long Night
As Dan stood there in the darkness with snow to his knees, clutching
between his fingers the extinguished match, the helplessness of his
position dawned upon him. What had happened to the parson he could easily
guess, for the place was full of old stumps, half protruding from beneath
the snow. No doubt he had struck one of these in the fall. But of the
result of the blow he could not tell, for placing his ear close down to
the face he tried to detect some sign of life, but all in vain. Suppose
the parson had been killed! He thought of Nellie, waiting anxiously at the
Rectory. How could he tell her what had happened? Suddenly a new sense of
responsibility came to him. Something must be done as quickly as possible,
and he was the only one to do it. He thought of Stephen's cabin, which
they had passed a short time before. He could obtain help there, and he
must go at once. Taking off his own outer coat he laid it carefully over
the prostrate man, and then struggled back to the road. Having reached
this he imagined it would not take him long to cover the distance. But he
soon found how difficult was the undertaking, and what a task it was to
keep the road on such a night. The blackness was intense, and the snow,
which all the time had been steadily falling, added to the difficulty.
Every few steps he would plunge off into the deep snow, and flounder
around again until he had regained the solid footing. The distance, which
was not more than a mile, seemed never-ending. Still he plodded on, the
thought of that silent form lying in the snow inspiring him with extra
energy. At length, much exhausted, a welcome glimmer of light winged its
way through the darkness. Dan's heart leaped within him. The place was
near, and Stephen had not yet gone to bed. Panting heavily, and struggling
unsteadily, he crept slowly forward, reached the door and pounded fiercely
upon it with both doubled-up fists.
Slowly the door was opened, and great was Stephen's surprise to see the
little snow-covered figure standing before him.
"Help! Come quick!" gasped Dan.
"What's wrong?" Stephen demanded, dragging the boy into the cabin.
"Where's the parson?"
"Over there--in the snow--in the woods!"
"Sit down," said Stephen, noticing how weary and excited was the little
lad. "Tell me now all about it."
Quickly and briefly Dan related about the drive through the storm, the
accident on the "cut off," and Parson John's fall.
"Oh, God!" Stephen groaned when he had heard the story. "What will Nellie
think? What will she say? It will break her heart! I must be off at once!"
Reaching for the lantern his hand trembled as he lighted it.
"Wait here," he commanded, "till I hitch Dexter to the pung; or no, you'd
better come with me and give a hand. There is no time to lose."
Dan obeyed without a word and held the lantern while Stephen harnessed the
horse.
"Where's Midnight?" Stephen asked, as he deftly drew the reins through the
terrets.
"She ran away. I heard the sleigh crashing after her as she ran."
"She'll kill herself! But no, she's too wise for that. She'll go home and
whinny at the door, and then what will Nellie think! We must hurry along
as fast as possible. She will he frantic with fear."
"Guess we'd better bring the parson back to your place," Dan remarked as
Dexter swung down the road.
"Bring him to my place!" exclaimed Stephen in surprise. "What can we do
for him there?"
"Won't he need the doctor?"
"Yes, he may. But we can't go all the way to Bradin now."
"Guess you won't have to do that."
"Why, what do you mean?"
"He's at the Stickles'."
"At the Stickles'?"
"Yep. The little girl got hurt, so we went after the doctor."
"Oh, I see--I see now," Stephen mused. "That's a different matter. It's
only three miles to the Stickles'. But the road will be bad to-night, for
the wind's across country, and the drifts there pile fast and deep. But I
shall go if necessary, even if I have to crawl on all fours. I won't have
to do that, though, for Dexter will take me through if any horse can."
It did not take them long to cover the one mile of road between the cabin
and the place where the accident had occurred. By the light of the lantern
it was not difficult to find the spot. An uncanny feeling crept over them
as they drew near, and saw the parson lying there in the snow just as Dan
had left him. With the lantern in his hand Stephen leaped from the pung
and looked intently into the face of the prostrate man. It did not take
him long to ascertain that life still remained in his body, and a prayer
of thankfulness went up from his heart as he thought of the dear old man
and the anxious Nellie.
Quickly and as carefully as possible they lifted him into the pung,
covered him with a warm robe, and then sped back to the cabin. As soon as
they had laid him upon the bed, Stephen reached for a heavy coat hanging
on the wall.
"I'm off now," he said. "You keep watch. I'll be back as soon as I can."
The injured man lay perfectly motionless, to all outward appearance dead.
Dan stood looking at him for some time after Stephen had left, puzzled and
bewildered. What could he do? What would Nellie think of him now? He sank
upon the stool by the bedside And buried his face in his hands--a forlorn
little creature, trying to think. Presently he glanced towards the bed,
and gazed long and intently upon the parson's face. Many were the thoughts
which crowded into his mind as he sat there. A deep affection for the old
man had sprung up in his heart. To him he was like some superior being
with his great strength and wonderful knowledge. Then to think he should
care for him, Dan Flitter, so small, who could neither read nor write, who
was nothing but a sponger. The thought of Farrington's insult came to him,
and what he had said about the parson. It had rankled continually in his
breast, and now it arose in greater force than ever. Why were the people
saying such things about this good man? He had listened to men talking in
the store and along the road. They had said and hinted many things, and he
had been silent. But, though silent, his mind and heart had been at work.
Often while lying in his little bed at night he had brooded over the
matter. He longed to do something to clear the parson, and show the people
that they were wrong. But what could he do? They would not listen to him.
They hinted that the parson had stolen the gold, and what could he say? It
needed more than words. These were the thoughts which had been beating
through his brain for days, giving him at times that listless manner,
far-away look, and lack of interest in his studies, which worried Nellie
so much. So sitting on guard by the injured man's side this night with
large, dreamy eyes, thoughtful face--more thoughtful than ordinary for a
child of his age--he recalled the various scenes since the night of the
fire. Suddenly his face flushed, the dreamy expression faded from his
eyes, as the dim light of dawn is dispersed by the fulness of day. They
shone with a new radiance as he turned them upon the parson's face. He
rose to his feet and walked quickly up and down the room. He was once
again a creature of the wild. The glory of a lofty purpose fired his
blood. He had experienced it before when, out in the woods, he had
followed the tracks of the nimble deer, or listened to the whirr of the
startled pigeon. But now it was a nobler chase, a loftier purpose, in
which the honour of a faithful friend was at stake.
A sound from the bed startled him. Glancing quickly in that direction he
noticed the lips of the wounded man moving. No sign of consciousness,
however, did he give. He was in another world, the strange, mysterious
world, where the mind roams at will and language flows from the
fountain-head of the inner being.
"'The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for thee--drink
this--.'" He was in church at the Communion service, administering the
cup.
"Four thousand dollars." He was at the auction now, eager and intent.
"Poor lassie, poor little lamb." This time it was the injured Stickles
child. And thus he rambled on from one thing to another, while Dan stood
like a statue in the room staring upon him. Suddenly he opened his eyes,
looked around in a dazed manner, and then fixed them upon the boy's face.
He moved a little, and at once a cry of pain escaped his lips.
"Dan! Dan!" he exclaimed. "What is the matter? Where am I, and what is the
meaning of this pain in my shoulder?"
The look in his face was most pathetic, and Dan longed to do something to
relieve his suffering.
"Does yer shoulder hurt much?" the lad asked.
"Yes, yes, the pain is intense. Tell me how it happened."
"We were chucked from the sleigh, an' I guess you struck a stump," was the
reply.
"Is this Stephen's cabin?"
"Yep. He's gone fer the doctor, so I'm keepin' watch."
The parson remained very quiet, and did not speak for some time. He still
felt confused, and his shoulder was giving him great pain. He realized,
however, how much he owed to Dan. What if he had been alone when the
accident occurred?
"Did you come back for Stephen?" he at length questioned.
"Yep."
"And you were not hurt? Are you sure?"
"Sure's I'm livin'."
"And you were not afraid to come alone to the cabin for help?"
"No, I didn't mind."
"You're a brave boy, Dan. You've done much for me to-night. Saved my life,
in fact."
"Oh, I didn't do much. Not worth mentionin'," and the lad took his seat by
the bedside.
How the time did creep by. Often Dan went to the door and looked out. He
strained his ears in order to hear the sound of bells, but the wind
moaning and tearing through the tree-tops alone fell upon his ears. At
last, when his patience was almost exhausted, the door was flung open, and
Doctor Leeds entered, covered with snow, and a most anxious look upon his
face. It did not take long for the practised eye and hand to ascertain the
trouble. The shoulder had been dislocated, and would have to be replaced.
Then the parson showed of what stuff he was made. Hardly a sound escaped
his lips as the doctor, assisted by Stephen, performed the painful
operation.
"There!" exclaimed the physician, as he bound up the wounded member,
"we'll have you round again in a short time. Now, some would have squaked
and yelled like a baby, but you're a man through and through." "Thank
you, Doctor. You are very good. But how about the little lass? You didn't
leave her for me? Tell me the truth," and the parson's eyes sought the
doctor's face.
"Oh, don't you worry about her," was the good-natured reply. "Sweepstakes
took me over the road like the wind, and I had the poor little leg all
fixed up before Stephen arrived. She'll do very well now without my care.
But come, we must get you home at once."
"Do you think I am able to go?"
"Able! certainly you're able. Home's the only place for you, though the
journey may cause you some pain."
"And you will come too, Doctor? You muat be very tired, and need a good
rest."
"Yes, I'm going with you. I'm not going to leave you yet. You're worth
fifty ordinary men, and we must not run any risk. Besides that, sir, I do
want a glimpse of your dear Nellie, and a little chat with her. I haven't
rested my eyes upon her for months, and do you think I'm going to miss
such an opportunity? No, sir, not a bit of it."
Mr. Westmore was forced to smile in spite of his weakness as he looked
into the doctor's strong, rugged face.
"God bless you," he replied. "This isn't the first time you have been a
firm friend to me. I can never forget how you stood day and night by the
side of my dear wife, doing all in your power to keep her with us a little
longer."
"Tut, tut, man," and the doctor turned away to hide a mistiness in his
eyes. "She was worthy of it, and her like can't be found every day. But
come, Steve has been waiting at the door for some time, and we must be
away."