Of the thirty or forty men previously employed
at the Bar Q, only two remained that winter--a
Chinaman and Batt Leeson at the Bull Camp.
The foothill ranch was completely deserted, and the
Bull was left alone to look after his several thousand
head of cattle.
When the plague reached the country regions, there
was a general exodus from the ranches, for tales were
rife of stricken men corralled like cattle in bunkhouses
and barns and left to shift for themselves.
That winter the cattle in the foothills roamed the
range like mavericks, rustling for their water and feed.
But even then they were better off than the purebred
stock at Barstairs, being hardy stuff bred to the range
and the open fields, where they found ample feed. The
pampered purebred cattle had always been used to
care and nursing, having been practically raised by
hand, and were accustomed to feed from troughs heaped
up with food by the watchful attendants and hands.
Now penned in narrow pastures and cattle sheds, where
the ground was bare as stone, they were irregularly
left to the tender mercies of the half-dazed and always
drunken Batt Leeson, and spasmodically fed and seldom
watered.
Chum Lee, paralyzed with fear of the "black plague,"
which had cut down all of his "boys" at the Bull Camp,
lived in terror that it would overtake him also. Chum
Lee had no desire to die in the white man's land; he
wanted to repose in peace under the sacred soil of his
ancestors. He would have run away from the camp,
but the barren country, with its vast blanket of snow,
gave no hope of any refuge, and he feared Bull Langdon
as though he were an evil spirit.
Back and forth between the two ranches the Bull's
great car tore like a Juggernaut of Fate. It did not
in the least concern the cattleman that his men had
died like flies, or that three--quarters of the country
was down with the plague. What alarmed and incensed
him was the fact that his cattle, the magnificent herd
that he had built up from the three or four head rustled
from the Indians, were roaming the range uncared-for
and neglected. Many of them, drifting before a bitter
blizzard, had perished in coulee and canyon, and worse
still was the deterioration of the purebreds. The loss
of a single head of this stock meant several thousand
dollars.
Nor was the Bull exclusively occupied with the loss
of his cattle; he brooded unceasingly over Nettie Day,
though the vision of her refused to leave his tortured
mind and at the thought of the child she had borne
he would rage up and down like a caged beast. The
child had made her more than ever his, he gloated; yet
how should he ever gain possession of her? He knew
that the "Loring woman's" words had not been idle,
and in imagination he saw the black walls of the
penitentiary looming in the future. Nevertheless, he
intended to have her; though the whole world might
stand against him, he would get her back. He would
bide his time, and his day would come---- The Loring
woman would not always be on guard. His day would
come.
Nettie was nursing the stricken farmers; the pariah
and despised of the foothills was going from ranch to
ranch caring for those who had condemned her. She
had sat up for many nights soothing and ministering
to their suffering; she had closed the eyes of their best
beloved, and her tears had dropped upon the faces of
their dead. In their hours of deepest anguish and
agony, they had clung to her cool, strong hands, as to
an anchor.
The country people had reversed their opinion and
judgment of Nettie Day; her past was forgotten; she
was their Nettie now.
By the end of January the plague had reached its
peak. Whole families had persisted and others were
slowly creeping back to health and hope again. It
would not be long, Dr. McDermott promised Nettie,
before she would be free to return to her baby and her
friend.
She began to count the days, and to scan the skies
for that shadowy arch across the heavens that in
Alberta precedes a "Chinook" and is the forerunner
of mild weather, for Dr. McDermott was expected to
come for her with the first Chinook. Nettie thought
with ceaseless yearning of her baby; away from him,
he had taken visible shape in her mind, and, at last able
to overlook the horror of his paternity, she loved him
with all the passion of her young warm heart. When
the Chinook at last broke up the fierce cold Dr. McDermott
kept his word, and on the day he was to come
for her, Nettie walked on air. She was going home--to
her baby!
When the doctor arrived, however, his face was
grave, and his heart lay heavy within him. His labors
were far from done. The Bow Claire Lumber Camp
had succumbed to the plague, and nearly a hundred
men were down.
Calgary had promised help, but its former promises
had not proved reliable, and in all that vast country
few would be found willing to go deep into the heart
of the timber lands to nurse the lumber-jacks.
The doctor's Ford chugged to the back door of the
Munson farmhouse, where Nettie had been nursing the
last of her patients. She was there to meet him, her
old plaid cape about her and the woolen tam upon her
head. Her face was aglow, and her eyes shone as
bright as stars; he had telephoned her to expect him
by noon, and had told her to be ready and not keep him
waiting.
Nettie had kissed the surviving three little Munsons
and their mother, suddenly filled with passionate
remorse for her past cruelty to the girl who had
now saved their lives. She had shaken hands with
the husky voiced father, who had simply and reverently
begged God's blessing for her, and to hide her
own tears, she had run from them and shut the door
between them. Now she was in the Ford, with the robes
tucked comfortably about her; breathlessly she squeezed
the arm of her old friend.
"Oh, doc, just to think, I'm goin' home now--home
to Angel and my baby! Oh, it's just heaven to be here
beside you and on our way."
The "doc" had one of the new self-starters and
there was no need of cranking this year. They buzzed
down the road in the "tin Lizzie," making a great
racket and leaving in their wake a malodorous cloud
of smoke. For some time they went along in silence,
and gradually Nettie's happy mood fell from her as
she noted the gravity of the doctor's face. She touched
his arm timidly, though her heart began to misgive
her.
"Can you really spare me now, doc?"
There was no answer from her old friend, and Nettie
pressed his arm, repeating her question.
"Can you, doc?" And then, as still he did not answer:
"Is any one else down now?"
"Nettie." Dr. McDermott had slowed up. He tried
to hide the anxiety in his face, for he did not intend
to ask any further sacrifice of the girl, but he wanted
her to know the facts. "Nettie, the Bow Claire Lumber
Camp is down."
"The Bow Claire!"
The color receded from her face, her hand went to
her heart as her thoughts flew instantly to Cyril. Slowly
she realized the meaning of the doctor's solemn words.
"Nearly a hundred men, Nettie, and not a soul to
care for them."
There was a long pause, while Dr. McDermott looked
steadily ahead. The car was pounding and sending
out jets of steam from its lately frozen radiator.
"Doc," cried the girl suddenly, "this ain't the road
to Bow Claire. Turn your car around!"
"A promise is a promise," said the doctor. "I promised
I'd bring you home to your child, lass, and I'll
keep my word if you say so."
"But I don't say so. I don't want to go home--yet.
I shouldn't be happy--even with my baby. My place
is where I am needed most, and you should know
where that is, doc."
"Dear lass," said the doctor gently. "They're needing
you sore at Bow Claire."
"Then turn your car around, doc, and don't you
m-mind if I seem to be c-cryin'. It's just because--because
I'm excited, and oh! I'm so g-glad of the
chance--of the opportunity, doc, to go 'long with
you to Bow Claire."
Dr. McDermott blinked through his misty glasses.
He swung his wheel sharply around, backed along the
slippery, thawing ground, and went over a culvert
into a snow bank on the side of the road.
There was a grinding cough of the engine, and it
stopped dead. Again and again Dr. McDermott started
the car, and back and forth it chugged in a vain effort
to pull out of the slippery snow pit. From under a
pile of produce and baggage, the doctor produced a
snow shovel and began the process of "digging out,"
making a road before and behind where the car might
back and get a fair start onto the road again. As
he shoveled the snow, digging under the car and all
around it, they heard the honk of an approaching motorist
and gradually Bull Langdon's huge touring car
swung into sight. At the sound of the automobile
horn, Dr. McDermott had straightened up, intending
to ask for aid, but when he saw who it was he doggedly
resumed his digging alone.
Bull Langdon took in the situation at a glance, and
the sight of Nettie cooled the fever that had possessed
him for days. She was visibly terrified at seeing him,
and shrank back inside the Ford. The Bull observed her
agitation with fierce delight and all the old feeling of
domination over her came back to him. He got down
from his car and examined the spot where the back
wheel seemed to have wedged itself in.
"Stuck, are you?" he gloated.
"We'll be out in a minute."
"Not on your life you won't. You'll not pull out of
that today."
"Very well, if that's what you think, suppose you
haul us out."
"Ain't got a rope, and my engine won't stand the
gaff."
Dr. McDermott's wrathful stare met the Bull's insolent
smile. He turned his back upon him, and applied
himself with savage energy to his work.
"Where you headed for?"
"None of your damned business."
"It ain't, heh?"
The Bull was now in high good humor. His hand
rested upon the Ford, close to where Nettie was crouching
behind the curtain. His bold eyes held hers fascinated
with terror.
"Tell you what I'll do," he suggested after a moment's
pause, "I'll take you aboard my car and pack
you wherever you're goin'. You can 'phone the garage
at Cochrane to send out and haul in your Lizzie."
Dr. McDermott could not see Nettie, but he could
feel the silent, desperate appeal which her fear of the
Bull prevented her crying aloud.
"No," he felt her imploring him. "No--never! I
would rather stay here forever than go with him."
He looked the cattleman up and down with the same
stare of cold contempt and reprobation as that which
had caused Bull Langdon to quail before Angella
Luring.
"We'll pull out without your help," said Dr. McDermott
curtly. "Don't need you. Don't want you."
"Hmph!" chuckled the Bull. He cut a chunk of
chewing tobacco, and bit calmly into it. He spat, and
blinked his eyes at Nettie, then buttoning up his big
beaver fur coat, he moved towards his car. Climbing
aboard, he grinned down at the girl as he pushed the
self-starter with his foot. The engine instantly responded
with its soft purring and the great car glided
along the road. A madness raged through the Bull
as he drove; his pent-up passion of months was finding
an outlet at last. The faster the car flew, the
greater was his sense of relief and elation, as he told
himself he would find the car still stalled in the same
spot at nightfall when he returned for the girl.
As soon as the Bull's car had disappeared from
sight Nettie was out of the Ford.
"Oh, doc, he'll be back. I know he will."
"Let him. Nothin' to be afraid of. Feel in the
pocket of the can--no, the other one. Give me that--"
Nettie passed the revolver to him, and the doctor
thrust it into his hip pocket.
"Now, lass, can you give me a hand?"
Together they pushed with might and main upon
the car; it went up a few paces, and slid back into the
snow. Again they pushed, and this time, at the doctor's
order, Nettie found and thrust under the wheel
a stone that held it in place. The doctor then climbed
aboard, and with Nettie pushing behind, the Ford
snorted forward a few feet, slipped back, but jerked
ahead again. There was a tremendous grinding noise,
and the whirling wheel went over the side of the culvert;
the car jumped forward. With a whoop of triumph,
Dr. McDermott made room for Nettie and they
were off again. With loud clanking the flivver flew
along those crazy roads, panted up incredibly steep
and slippery grades, plunged into snow fields and on
into the timber land, where only the narrow cattle
trails made a path through the woods to the lumber
camp. They "made the grade" in two and a half hours
of hard riding, and pulled into the dead-still camp
with a cheering honking of their horn.