The veteran geldings that had pulled Dr. McDermott
for years over the roads of Alberta had
long since been replaced by a gallant little Ford,
that purred and grunted its way along the roads and
trails in all kinds of weather, and performed miraculous
feats over the roughest of trails, across fields, plowed
land, chugging sturdily through to the medical man's
goal.
Many of the farmers belonged to that type that
seemed to believe implicitly in the proverb, "Where ignorance
is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." They laughed or
poohpoohed the doctor's warning admonitions in regard
to the plague, already as far west as Winnipeg. They
"joshed" and "guyed" him, and asked: "Lookin' for
trade, doc? You can't make me sick with your pills,
so you better keep them to home. Haw, haw!" And
they threw the disinfectant and pills (to be taken
should certain symptoms develop) away out of sight
and mind, and made jokes when he was gone about,
"Doc gettin' cold feet like the city guys. If he don't
look out he'll be gittin' just like them paper collar
dudes in town and want soothin' syrup for white liver."
They hugged to themselves the imbecile delusion that
since they lived a cleaner and healthier life than mere
city dwellers, they would prove immune to diseases that
were a peculiarity of the city.
It may not be out of place to mention here that
county and city hospitals numbered among their patients
far more people from the country than the cities,
and that the insane asylums were almost wholly recruited
from the lone farm and ranch houses, where the
monotonous pressure of the long life of loneliness took
its due toll of those condemned, as it were, to solitary
confinement.
Howbeit, the "doc" kept his stubborn vigil. He did
not propose to be caught "napping," and he traveled
the roads of Alberta, going from ranch to ranch, with
his warnings and instructions and despised pills.
While returning from some such expedition into the
foothills he stopped, in the dawn of the day, to fasten
the curtains about his car, as the wind of the wild night
before had turned with the morning into a snowstorm.
A straight, level road was before him, and the doctor
figured on making Cochrane in half an hour. Up to
this time, in spite of the weather and the perilous trail
to Banff, he had had no trouble with the engine. Now,
however, as he cranked, the Ford, a peculiarly temperamental
and uncertain car, refused to produce the
spark. He lifted the hood, made an inspection, cranked
again and again; held his side, and groaned and grunted
with the exertion, raged and cussed a bit, regretted the
old veterans; then, throwing his dogskin coat over the
engine, he searched for the trouble underneath. He
was lying on his back, a sheepskin under him, tinkering
away with the "dommed cantankerous works," when,
putting out his head to look for his wrench, he saw
something approaching on the road that caused him to
sit bolt upright in blank astonishment.
Her cape flapping about her, her head weighed down
with the falling snow, her eyes wide and blank, snow-blind,
Nettie Day swept before the wind on the Banff
trail. The doctor, on his feet now, blocked her further
passage, for she seemed not to see him but to be walking
in a somnambulist's trance.
"What are you doin' on the road at this hour, lass?"
She did not answer, but stared out blankly before
her, shaking her snow-crowned head.
A quick professional glance at the girl and the doctor
realized her condition and the need for immediate
action. She made no demur; indeed, was touchingly
meek, as he assisted her into the car. He tucked the
fur robe about her, buttoned the curtains tightly, and,
his face puckered with concern, he poured out a stiff
"peg" of whisky. She drank mechanically, gulping
slightly as the spirits burnt her throat. Her eyes were
drooping drowsily, and when the doctor put his sheepskin
under her head, she sighed with intense weariness,
and then lay still at the bottom of the car.
The doctor "doggoned" that engine, shoved the
crank in, and, miraculously, there was the healthy chug-chug
of the engine, and the little car went roaring on
its way.
"You're a dommed good lad!" gloated Dr. McDermott
and pulled on his dogskin gloves, wiped the frost
from the glass, threw a glance back to make sure the
girl was all right, and put on top speed.