TAKING THE DOCTOR'S ADVICE
For almost the first time in his life Ninian Sharp was under the
doctor's hands; and that gentleman's verdict upon his patient's case
was simple and plain:
"Nothing the matter with you but breakdown. The result of doing two
men's work instead of one. What you need, and all you need, is a
complete change of thought and scene. Go off on some ranch and take a
vacation. That's your medicine."
"Thank you, doctor, but a prescription upon the nearest drug store
would be easier to fill. In the first place I should worry all the
time if I were idle, for 'hustling' has become my second nature. In
the second--where shall I go?"
The physician shrugged his shoulders. He, also, was a busy man and
having finished his visit to his patient did not prolong it. He picked
up his hat, remarked that he "didn't doubt so clever a young man could
find a fitting place, if he gave what was left of his mind to it," and
bowed himself out, leaving the leaven of his sensible advice to
accomplish its legitimate result.
As the doctor left the room the nurse entered, bearing with her a
telegram which had been delayed en route, and a letter. It was with
some reluctance that she delivered these to the man on the lounge, yet
realizing, at the same time, how much worse for him was absolute
cessation of all his ordinary interests. With a solicitous smile, she
inquired:
"Would you not better let me read these first? They are probably
unimportant."
"Thank you, no. I'm not yet reduced to imbecility and prefer to
examine my own correspondence," returned the invalid, fretfully. Then
as if ashamed of his petulance, and with a return to his ordinary
manner, added: "This telegram might as well have walked. Would have
saved time, judging by the date of it; and as for this letter--that,
certainly, has seen better days."
The nurse smiled again, indulgently, and busied herself in tidying the
apartment; an occupation which would have incensed Ninian, since her
idea of neatness seemed to him to be but the "disarrangement" of the
heaps of papers and manuscript sheets scattered everywhere about, had
he not been otherwise interested. A hasty examination of the messages
he had received evoked his exultant exclamation:
"Hurrah! The very thing!"
"Good news?" asked the attendant.
"The best in the world. The doctor's prescription, filled to the
letter. A ranch and new business. Say, would you mind going out for a
bit? I'd like to get into some other togs and in a hurry. If I can,
I'll make the one o'clock train."
"The--one o'clock train!" gasped the bewildered nurse, believing that
her charge's brain had given away, even as the physician had suggested
it might do.
"Exactly. Please don't be alarmed. Some country friends of mine have
invited me to visit them, and I judge they would be glad if I
accepted at once. Their invitation fits in excellently with my own
needs and, after I've dressed for the trip, I'd be grateful to you for
packing a few things, while I write to the bank and telephone to some
other places. Just touch that messenger call, will you, please?"
Certainly, he did not now look very like a sick man, as he sprang up
and looked about him; save that he put his hand to his head because of
a momentary dizziness and seemed somewhat unsteady on his feet.
However, his eyes had lost their dullness and a faint color had come
into his cheeks; and the attendant saw no reason for opposing his
sudden determination.
The letter was Jessica's, and its envelope had been mended by the
postmaster after he had taken it, torn, from the mail pouch. The
telegram was from Ephraim Marsh, and had been sent by the first
messenger to Marion after that scene in the pantry with Aunt Sally and
the little boys. It had been delayed by the curiosity of the operator,
but had reached Mr. Sharp at last; and its import was that:
"If you're willing to use your brains for Sobrante folks, as you used
them once before, now's the time. There'll be a led horse at Marion
till you come, and the sooner the better. 'Forty-niner.'"
"A led horse. Why, he must have forgotten, if he ever knew, that I've
my own Nimrod here, that Mrs. Trent insisted upon my accepting, when I
left Sobrante before. The horse must go with me, of course, and I
flatter myself I can pick up a bit of instruction on riding among
those fine 'boys' of the little captain's. I'll send a return
message--no, I won't, either. I'll trust to luck and surprise them.
Now to get ready."
A feeling that he was going "home" possessed the young man, and all
his simple preparations strengthened rather than weakened him.
Activity was his habit, and an hour before the train left the city he
had completed his personal arrangements with his office, his bank and
his landlord. He had paid his nurse the same salary she would have
received had he required her services for the fortnight, as expected,
and was ready for what came next.
"I feel as if I were entering upon a new life, instead of taking a
rest cure," he remarked to Mr. Hale, when that gentleman met him at
the station, and explained that a Christmas invitation had come for
himself, also. "And I say we'll make it the jolliest holiday those
people down there ever knew. I sent a letter to your address, after I
'phoned, and made out a list of things I'd like you to see to.
Presents and so on; and I'll write as soon as I get there and let you
know what's up with the sharpshooter. Some trouble, of course, but
reckon it can't be much. Ha! we're off. Good-by. Forget nothing, add
as much as you please to my list and send the bills to me. Good-by."
The train rolled noiselessly away from the long platform, and the
reporter for the Lancet stowed himself comfortably away on his
cushions and slept as he had not slept before since this nervous
illness attacked him. Not once did he awake, till the conductor
touched him on the shoulder, and stated:
"End of the line, sir. Time to leave."
Ninian sat up and shook himself, still feeling a bit dazed from his
heavy slumber, and had scarcely realized the fact of his arrival
before a man limped into the car and slapped him on the shoulder.
"Well done, lad. Welcome to Sobrante!"
"Hello, Mr. Marsh! You here? Sobrante? I thought----"
"Same thing. This is Marion; as near as we can get to our place on the
rails. Remember, don't you? Been sick, eh? You look rather peaked and
I 'low I'd ought----"
"No apologies. Here I am, and am not ill now. Only been a little
overworked; and your telegram, as well as Miss Jessica's letter, came
in the nick of time. Not an hour after the doctor had ordered this
very medicine of change and recreation."
Ephraim looked sharply at his guest and reflected:
"What our business needs is a clear head and a strong body, not an
overtaxed man, as this 'pears to be. Well, sick or well, I hope he can
see through some of our muddles, if not all; and half a loaf is better
than no bread." Then he gathered the traveler's belongings, and
remarked: "I told Aleck to have a good supper ready. It's a fine night
and I thought we'd ride home afterwards. Unless----"
They left the car and Ninian answered the other's unspoken suggestion:
"No, I don't want to stay all night, good as Janet's beds are. I've
had a delicious sleep and feel like another man from this morning.
Hello! they've taken Nimrod out already, and evidently are waiting for
orders. I declare, the handsome beast looks as if he recognized this
place and was as glad to get back to it as I am."
Old "Forty-niner" left his guest's side and hurried to the spot where
a trainman held the spirited animal, stroking its neck and speaking
soothingly to it, to calm its excitement; and no sooner had the
ranchman's hand supplanted the trainman's than Nimrod ceased to
prance, and with a little final shiver, stood stock-still, uttering a
low whinny of delight.
"That's the talk, you beauty! Welcome home, old boy! Well, well, well!
if you ain't a sight to cure the headache! Yes, yes; it's all right.
This is Marion. We've got to stop at Aleck's first. Remember Aleck?
Remember Janet and her sugar? Well, well, well!"
Ninian approached, amazed and incredulous, inquiring:
"Think that creature knows what you're saying?"
"Forty-niner" turned upon the questioner indignantly.
"That's a fool sort of question for a smart man to ask! 'Think' he
knows? No. There isn't any 'thinking' in this. I know he knows, and I
know he's just as glad to set foot on his mother earth, here in
Marion, as I was t'other day when I stepped off this same train--or
its mate of the morning. I wish all the men in the world were half as
brainy as he is. And I tell you what, stranger, you couldn't have done
a thing would make your own welcome so sure as fetching Nimrod with
you. If you'd left him behind some of us would have had our own
opinion. Though I, for one, didn't know he was yours till this very
morning."
"And the led horse you spoke about?"
Ephraim looked up, surprised, answering, rather crisply:
"At home. Why not? When I heard about Nimrod I wasn't silly enough to
bring another."
"So if I hadn't brought him we'd been short a mount?" insisted the
reporter, teasingly.
"One of us would had to foot it to the ranch, and that one wouldn't
have been me. Huh! Does me good to hear your nonsense gabble again. I
declare it does. When did you get my telegraph?"
"This morning."
"This--morning! Why, I sent it day before yesterday, no, the day
before that. Let me see; to-day's one, yesterday--the funeral,
two--the one--yes, three days ago. John Benton himself gave it into
the telegraph man's hands. Himself."
They mounted and started toward McLeod's Inn, Ninian doing very well,
considering the impatience of his steed and his own limited experience
of the saddle, and the sharpshooter sitting as composedly upon the
back of as restless an animal as could readily be found. It was a bay,
and pranced and curveted to the extent that Nimrod seemed a door-mouse
beside it, and Ninian finally observed:
"That's an undecided sort of beast you have, yourself. Seems to be as
much inclined to go backward as forward."
"Hale's. Name Prince. Was on the mesa with Pedro till he died."
"Pedro dead? I'm sorry. Was it his 'funeral' you meant?"
"Yes. Terrible pity he couldn't have held on till Christmas, his
Navidad, that always meant so much to him. But he couldn't. Things
have changed at Sobrante since you was here. I'm glad you've come. I'm
powerful glad you've come."
"Any new trouble, Ephraim?"
"H'm! I should say. Ghosts, the women think, and scamps for certain.
But it's a long story, and here we are at Aleck's. We mustn't spoil
that good supper of his and talk will keep. We've thirty miles 'twixt
us and bed, 'less you change your mind and stop here, and that should
give time enough to turn a man's mind inside out."
"Were you so certain of my coming that you ordered a special supper,
without hearing?"
"Sure. I took you to be a man and I put myself in your place. In your
place I should have come if I could; and if I couldn't I should have
sent word. Light."
Aleck came out to meet them, and Janet followed, of course. Where one
of that worthy couple was the other was sure to be; and both extended
to the city man such welcome as made him more impressed than ever by
that "home feeling" which had possessed him all day. He returned their
good wishes with heartiness and did full justice to his supper, adding
as a thankful tribute to Janet's fine cookery:
"That's the first thing has passed my lips that hadn't the flavor of
ashes, since many a day. The doctor was right."
"Glad to hear any doctor ever could be right," returned the innkeeper,
who had never been ill, and attributed his health to his distrust of
physicians. "Fresh air, wholesome food and a clear conscience--them's
to long life what the three R's are to 'rithmetic. Powerful sorry you
can't pass the night. I'd admire to talk over the political situation
with an intelligent man."
The side glance toward himself with which the Scotchman said this sent
Ephraim off into a mighty guffaw, in which presently they all joined;
and in the midst of the merriment a stable boy led up the horses, and
the Sobrante-bound riders loped away. Yet, just before they were out
of hearing, Aleck's stentorian voice sent after them the warning
advice:
"Keep a sharp lookout, by, and your hands on your guns. That spook's
hit the trail again! Watch out!"
Ninian laughed, and "Forty-niner" tried to do so, but the most he
could accomplish was a feeble cackle, which, his companion fancied,
betrayed his age as nothing heretofore had done. It was a nervous,
irritated laugh, and was matched by the altered voice in which its
owner presently remarked:
"If I can't stop this fool business any other way, I've a notion to
ride round the country and shoot right and left, everybody I see,
promiscuous. That's the sure and certain way to hit the spook, too."
"Heigho! This grows exciting! Spooks? Mysteries? Mail robberies! What
next?"
There was no answer from the sharpshooter, who had gotten his horse
into a steady trot and was putting the road behind him in a manner
that needed all Ninian's efforts to match. If Nimrod had been as
little used to the trail as his rider was to him the space between the
two animals would have widened irretrievably; but he was the better
bred of the two, and though he didn't waste his strength in a first
spurt, as Prince did, he fell into a steady, easy gait, that soon told
to his advantage.
It was one of the perfect moonlight nights which come in that
cloudless region, when one can easily "read fine print," if so
inclined, or see across country almost as well as in the day. The
swift motion, the exhilarating air, the sense of freedom from city
walls and cramped spaces, started the reporter into singing, and later
into the silence of wonder over the astonishing power of his own
voice.
"Hurrah! If that's my warble I never heard it before! It's a marvelous
atmosphere that makes a rag time tune sound like a nightingale's
music. If 'Forty-niner' would join it----Hello! what's up? What
in--the name--of--all things!"