To the Rescue
GERTRUDE LORIMER was in her office, waiting rather impatiently for the
hour of her release from duty. There were so many reasons why she wanted
to be free on this particular night.
For one thing, Mrs. Nichols had arrived home earlier in the evening,
after a long stay on American territory, and Gertrude was anxious to
hear the story of her adventures—so far, at least, as it could be told
over an early supper. Afterwards Dr. Russell had suggested that a walk
up to Skwail Point in the moonlight would be a pleasant way of passing
the autumn evening.
The schoolmistress was going, and Neal Peters, the baggage-clerk’s
younger brother; Tom Smithers, his wife and her sister would be pretty
sure to go also, for moonlight walks when the day’s work was done were
becoming quite a favourite recreation among the young people.
Skwail Point was always worth seeing, whether by moonlight or daylight,
because of the Indian legend attaching to it.
The Point or Peak was the highest ground in all that hilly district, and
the Squamish tribe held the belief that from Skwail Point the blessing
of daylight had first been let loose upon the world. Previously it had
been shut up in a box and jealously guarded by the sea-gull. But one
very severe winter when the Chinook did not blow, the sea-gull was
driven inland from the coast in search of shelter from the bitter cold,
and, pausing to rest for a few minutes on the Point, found his feet
frozen to the ground. While the sea-gull, with the precious box of
daylight under his wing, was making frantic efforts to free himself, a
raven came along and offered to assist.
But the raven’s attempts only hurt the sea-gull, who cried to him to
desist.
“I should not hurt you if I could see better,” said the wily raven. “Why
don’t you open your daylight box, and let me see to get you out of this
fix? For if you stay here much longer, you will certainly be frozen to
death.”
At this the sea-gull opened the box just a little way, being in terror
of letting the imprisoned daylight escape, and in still greater terror
of being frozen to death.
But the raven, who meant that the daylight should be set free, kept
hurting more and more, declaring all the time that he must have more
light for his work, or the sea-gull would die. Presently the sea-gull,
which had been endeavouring to have as much light for himself as was
necessary, but to keep all the rest shut up, dropped the box by
accident, and the daylight rushed out, spreading itself all over the
world so that it could never be gathered again. The sea-gull wept
bitterly on discovering what had happened, and that is why the sea-gulls
still utter such a plaintive cry as they skim the waters in search of
food.
Gertrude had told the legend to a good many people, at different times
when she had gone up the Point, and she meant on this evening to tell it
to Dr. Russell. She told stories exceedingly well; her manners were
easy, and her language simple and direct. It was her one great
accomplishment, and she was secretly very proud of it.
Dr. Russell had quite revolutionized Bratley; he was always pointing out
some improvements, or suggesting alterations which would be for the
benefit of the place. He was getting patients now, and there seemed
every probability that in time he would be able to build up a lucrative
practice. He had been to Lytton that day to consult a doctor there,
regarding the case of a Roseneath miner who was then just occupying a
spare bed in Miss Gibson’s house, in order to be under the care of the
doctor.
Twenty minutes to eight o’clock, a quarter, then ten minutes. How long
that last half-hour was, to be sure!
The cars had gone, and the only remaining sign of activity on the depot
was an engine and one freight car waiting to take some miners to
Roseneath; it would be gone in a few minutes, and then Gertrude would be
free for her supper and the pleasure which was to come after.
Just then she heard a piercing shriek, many shouts, and much trampling
of feet.
Running out to see what was the matter, she saw a group gathered about
the engine; but before she could reach the place, a man detached himself
from the group and ran at the top of his speed in the direction of Miss
Gibson’s house.
“An accident; some one is hurt, and they have gone for the doctor!” she
murmured, turning pale.
Just then Sam Peters saw her coming, and moved to intercept her.
“Don’t come here, Miss Lorimer; it ain’t a sight for girls. Driver
Tompkins has just been and got scalded awful about the hands and face,
and they’re gone to fetch the doctor to him. Go back to your office, and
wait to see if you are needed to wire anywhere for help, for we haven’t
got another driver on the place to-night.”
Gertrude fled back to her office, shutting the door with a bang. She had
a nervous horror of accidents, of sickness, and of unpleasant sights
generally, and she sat for what seemed to be an interminable time
waiting to be of use, in case it was necessary to telegraph anywhere for
help.
Suddenly the sounder began to call, while a great clicking ensued, as if
the telegraph-instrument had suddenly gone crazy.
Gertrude sprang to the table, glancing at the clock as she passed, being
surprised to find that it was twenty minutes past eight, when in an
ordinary way she would have been off duty, and the office locked up.
What a funny message it was, too!
“Help me quick, robbery, Camp’s Gulch, alone, shed threatened,
valuables—NELL.”
It took Gertrude two minutes to gather the sense of it all; then,
dashing to the door, she seized the depot bell standing outside and rang
it vigorously. The noise would rouse the place, she knew, but she dared
not leave the office, as more messages might come, and she must be ready
to take them down.
In a moment there came a rush of hurrying feet, Sam Peters, the
station-master, and half a dozen miners coming at a run, to know what
was the matter, their first and most natural idea being that she had set
the office on fire.
“There is trouble at Camp’s Gulch; a robbery threatened. Miss Hamblyn
says she is alone, and wants help. What can you do?” jerked out
Gertrude, who was very white in the face, and trembling from head to
foot.
“Send the engine that’s waiting for Roseneath, to Camp’s Gulch instead,”
said Sam Peters, whose eyes appeared ready to bolt out of his head, as
he turned his gaze on the station-master.
“That would be easy enough if there was any one here who could drive an
engine, which there isn’t now that Tompkins has gone and got himself in
such a plight,” snarled that official, angrily. “It is downright
tempting Providence to have that doddering old stupid, Joey Trip, at a
place like Camp’s Gulch, and that with only a bit of a girl-operator to
help him. It is a couple of strong men that are wanted there, and so
I’ve said often and often, and may say it again and again, until my
breath gives out before any one will take notice of what is wanted.”
“What is the use of talking; it’s doing we’ve got to look after,”
snapped out Peters, angrily. “Here’s an engine standing in the depot
with steam up; we could be at Camp’s Gulch in twenty minutes or half an
hour at the outside, if only we’d got a driver.”
“Ah, that’s where we are beaten,” growled the station-master.
“Can’t the stoker drive?” demanded Gertrude, impatiently.
“He ain’t fit for anything only to look at,” the station-master
answered, in extreme wrathfulness. “He was a dry goods clerk, or
something of the kind, in England; came out here, got within sight of
starvation, then was taken on as stoker this morning to fill a gap, and
he only just about knows a chunk of coal from a fire-shovel. He’s run
away now, I believe, because he was frightened.”
“Oh, can’t something be done? Won’t somebody go to help poor Nell? Just
think how good she was to you all. If only I were a man I’d take that
engine safely up to Camp’s Gulch, whether I knew how to drive or not,”
cried Gertrude, in hysterical breakdown, standing with clasped hands,
while the tears streamed down her face.
“I can fire, but I can’t drive,” began Sam Peters; but just then there
came an interruption. A brisk voice called out to know what was the
matter, and, elbowing the group of miners aside, Dr. Russell strode into
the office.
Some one began to tell him of their dilemma, but Gertrude had turned to
the instrument table, for the sounder was calling again, and another
message was coming through.
“Listen!” she cried imperatively. “They have sent me word from Lytton
that there is trouble at Camp’s Gulch, and are asking if the Roseneath
engine has gone; if not, I am to send it to Camp’s Gulch at once. Now
what is to be done?”
“I can drive an engine a little—that is, I can start her and stop her,
and all that kind of thing, but I don’t understand firing,” said Dr.
Russell, slowly.
“I can fire, so I guess we shall do. Come along, let’s get off. We ought
to have a crowd of ten or fifteen with us. Who’ll help?” asked Sam
Peters, moving now towards the engine, and gripping the doctor by the
arm as if fearing he might run away.
It was not so much a question of who would go as who would consent to be
left behind. However, it was settled in a very few minutes, and then the
engine and the freight wagon slid away from the depot until it seemed to
shoot through the darkness, a flare of red light which dashed like a
lurid streak across the pale moon-lit spaces.
Sam Peters fired as if he had been used to that sort of thing for the
last five or six years, doing it with a regularity that suggested
clockwork; while the doctor stood hanging on to the levers, peering
ahead into the night, with the corner of his eye always on the
indicator, for he and Peters both knew that the engine was an old one,
and not over safe for such a speed as they were making.
“Open her throttle; we’ve passed the half!” yelled Peters. With a nod
the doctor pushed down another lever. A hideous screech sprang out,
keeping up its terrifying blast as the remaining miles sped by. In the
freight-car there was silence save for an occasional ejaculation as some
unwary one was dashed from his place by the violent rocking and jerking
of the flying engine.
Suddenly Sam Peters ceased his firing, and, peering over the side,
seemed to be looking for landmarks.
“Shut her down, quick!” he yelled, and at the same moment, dashing open
the furnace-door, began raking out the firing, which only a little while
before he had been shovelling in with such painstaking energy.
The doctor dragged down the lever, applied the brakes, then hung on for
dear life, expecting nothing less than an awful crash, for, in the
absence of signals, and with but the scantiest knowledge of the track
over which they had been travelling, what was more likely than that he
had not pulled up in time? It was a space of awful suspense, measured by
seconds, but in point of strain seeming like hours; then, with a
grinding and groaning of brakes, the engine came to a stand a little
distance from the depot.
“Shall I drive her right in?” the doctor asked, conscious that there was
an odd sense of strain in his tone, while he panted for breath.
“Better leave well alone, I should say. My word! it was a near shave. If
I hadn’t reckernized the Gulch brook shimmering in the moonlight a mile
back, we should never have pulled up in time, and then there would have
been an awful smash,” said Sam Peters, in a jerky tone, as he wiped his
streaming face with a handkerchief which had been clean once, but was
certainly not so now.
“Thank God we came safely through!” the doctor said reverently, thinking
of the lives of the men in the freight-car.
Then they all tumbled off the train and ran towards the depot, which
looked so quiet and deserted in the bright moonlight.
“Why, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong. Has it been a hoax after
all?” said the doctor, wonderingly, as they reached and passed the depot
building and arrived at the big shed, which appeared to be safely shut
up and secure.
“Looks like it!” exclaimed Sam Peters, blankly.
“What’s that?” said one of the volunteers, suddenly darting across the
railway track to where something dark showed, lying on the ground near
to the derelict freight-wagon.
The something was Nell, who moaned when they lifted her up, and appeared
to be bleeding from a wound on her cheek or her ear.
“Doctor, where are you? Here’s something in your line,” shouted the man
who had first found Nell, but who feared to lift her up lest he might
hurt her more.
Dr. Russell came up at the run. “There’s more on hand than we thought
for. Some one is shut up in that shed, and making a fine row, but he
will have to wait until we are ready to let him out,” the doctor said
grimly. He then sent four of the men to watch the doors of the big shed,
asked another to carry Nell across the track to the telegraph office,
while he went in front to open the door.
Nell was not unconscious, but she seemed unable to speak, or was,
perhaps, too dazed from the blow she had received.
The other men, at the doctor’s suggestion, spread out to have a look
round, but nothing could be done or settled until Nell was able to
explain the situation.
“There is certainly some one in yonder who is pretty anxious to get
out,” remarked one of the volunteers. “Just hark at him, whining and
crying like a whipped schoolboy. It’s a rum go this; we come tearing up
here fit to break our necks to catch the robbers, only to find when we
get here that one seems pretty securely caught.”
“Luckily for Miss Hamblyn the doctor stopped wide of the depot, for she
was lying too near to the track for safety,” said one of the miners.
“I thought we were going to be smashed up every minute; never had such a
ride in my life, and I can’t say I want another,” remarked his
companion, with a shudder.
[Illustration: THE RESCUE-PARTY DISCOVER NELL
ON THE RAILWAY TRACK]
“Doctor wants to know if any one has seen Joey Trip, or his wife?”
called another man, coming up at a run.
“I haven’t seen any one except Miss Hamblyn. Perhaps it is Joey that is
making all the row in yonder,” suggested one of the watchers.
“Not likely,” said the other.
“Well, I’m going to inspect his house; funny if there shouldn’t be any
one at home,” remarked the man, who had come up with the inquiry.
“It is a funny business altogether,” replied the watchers. And they
propped their backs against the wall, smoking in stolid patience,
thinking, perhaps, of the supper they had missed, or listening to the
thumping and shouting which was going on inside the shed.
Meanwhile Nell was lying on the floor of the telegraph office, her head
resting on the doctor’s jacket, which he had rolled up to make a pillow
for her, while he knelt beside her, trying to investigate her hurts.
Her right hand hung helpless at the wrist, her right cheek had a
disfiguring weal from chin to ear, from the broken skin of which the
blood was slowly oozing. But it was the look in her eyes, and her
inability to speak beyond an inarticulate gurgle, which bothered the
doctor most.
“Some dislocation of the jaw, I’m afraid. Ah!” and a sympathetic shudder
went through the doctor’s frame, because of the anguish which leaped
into Nell’s eyes.
“I wish we’d got a woman here to help,” he muttered irritably, as his
assistant, a burly miner six feet high, and broad in proportion, shook
and shivered, nearly dropping the lamp in his agitation. “Hold that
light steady, will you. If you are not careful you’ll be setting the
poor girl ablaze with her clothes soaked in kerosene, and she has got
quite enough to bear already.”
“Can’t help it, doctor. I never could stand seeing any one suffer; it
sort of turns me sick,” said the sturdy giant, collapsing into a
nerveless heap, to the imminent danger of the lamp.
“You great baby, I mean you lubberly idiot, get out, and send in one of
the other fellows!” said the doctor, wrathfully, springing up and
seizing the lamp, which he put on the floor for safety, then hustled the
quaking miner out of the office. “Go along to the engine, and send Sam
Peters to me; but you must stand by the engine while he’s away, for
there is too much mystery in this business for us to take risks
anywhere.”
“I’ll stay by the engine; I’ll do anything, only I can’t stand that,”
said the man, his voice breaking in a great gasping sob, as, with a jerk
of his head in the direction of the girl on the floor, he fairly bolted
from the office.
The doctor sent an uncomplimentary ejaculation after him, then was
relieved to see the dim ghost of a smile about Nell’s white lips.
“I’m glad you can smile; I feel more like heaving a book or a boot at
his head,” grumbled the doctor. Then kneeling down again, he said
quietly, “Shut your eyes once for ‘yes,’ and twice for ‘no.’ Are you in
very great pain?”
Slowly Nell’s eyes closed—once, a great tear forcing itself from under
her dark lashes and rolling down her cheek.
“Is your jaw worse than your wrist?” he asked, stroking his own right
jaw to show what he meant.
Nell’s eyes closed twice; but before the doctor could frame another
question, the door was pushed open, and Mrs. Trip was thrust hurriedly
into the office.