"He's offering a raise of fifty cents a day and transportation to Hope."
Gray scowled and Eliza inquired quickly:
"What's wrong, Uncle Tom?"
"Don't call me 'Uncle Tom,'" Slater exclaimed, irritably; "I ain't
related to you."
Miss Appleton smiled at him sweetly. "I had a dear friend once--you
remind me of him, he was such a splendid big man," she said.
Tom eyed her suspiciously.
"He chewed gum incessantly, too, and declared that it never hurt
anybody."
"It never did," asserted Slater.
"We pleaded, we argued, we did our best to save him, but--" She shook
her blond head sadly.
"What happened to him?"
"What always happens? He lingered along for a time, stubborn to the
last, then--" Turning abruptly to Dr. Gray, she asked, "Who is this man
Linn, and what is he doing?"
"He's an emissary of Curtis Gordon and he's hiring our men away from
us," snapped the physician.
"Why, Dan tells me Mr. O'Neil pays higher wages than anybody!"
"So he does, but Linn offers a raise. We didn't know what the trouble
was till over a hundred men had quit. The town is full of them, now,
and it's becoming a stampede."
"Can't you meet the raise?"
"That wouldn't do any good."
Tom agreed. "Gordon don't want these fellows. He's doing it to get even
with Murray for those wo--" He bit his words in two at a glance from
Gray. "What happened to the man that chewed gum?" he demanded abruptly.
"Oh yes! Poor fellow! We warned him time and again, but he was a sullen
brute, he wouldn't heed advice. Why don't you bounce this man Linn? Why
don't you run him out of camp?"
"Fine counsel from a champion of equal rights!" smiled Gray. "You
forget we have laws and Gordon has a press bureau. It would antagonize
the men and cause a lot of trouble in the end. What O'Neil could do
personally, he can't do as the president of the S. R. & N. It would
give us a black eye.
"We've go to do something dam' quick," said Slater, "or else the work
will be tied up. That would 'crab' Murray's deal. I've got a
pick-handle that's itching for Linn's head." The speaker coughed
hollowly and complained: "I've got a bad cold on my chest--feels like
pneumonia, to me. Wouldn't that just be my luck?"
"Do you have pains in your chest?" inquired the girl, solicitously.
"Terrible! But I'm so full of pains that I get used to 'em".
"It isn't pneumonia."
Slater flared up at this, for he was jealous of his sufferings.
"It's gumbago!" Eliza declared.
Dr. Gray's troubled countenance relaxed into a grin as he said:
"I'll give you something to rub on those leather lungs--harness-oil,
perhaps."
"Is this labor trouble really serious?" asked the girl.
"Serious! It may knock us out completely. Go away now and let me think.
Pardon my rudeness, Miss Appleton, but--"
Slater paused at the door.
"Don't think too long, Doc," he admonished him, "for there's a ship due
in three days, and by that time there won't be a 'rough-neck' left on
the job. It'll take a month to get a new crew from the States, and then
it wouldn't be any good till it was broke in."
When he was alone the doctor sat down to weigh the news "Happy Tom" had
brought, but the more squarely he considered the matter the more
alarming it appeared. Thus far the S. R. & N. had been remarkably free
from labor troubles. To permit them to creep in at this stage would be
extremely perilous: the briefest cessation of work might, and probably
would, have a serious bearing upon O'Neil's efforts to raise money.
Gray felt the responsibility of his position with extraordinary force,
for his chief's fortunes had never suffered in his hands and he could
not permit them to do so now. But how to meet this move of Gordon's he
did not know; he could think of no means of keeping these men at Omar.
As he had to Eliza, to meet the raise would be useless, and a new scale
of wages once adopted would be hard to reduce. Successful or
unsuccessful in its effect, it would run into many thousands of
dollars. The physician acknowledged himself dreadfully perplexed; he
racked his brain uselessly, yearning meanwhile for the autocratic power
to compel obedience among his men. He would have forced them back to
their jobs had there been a way, and the fact that they were duped only
added to his anger.
It occurred to him to quarantine the town, a thing he could easily do
as port physician in case of an epidemic, but Omar was unusually
healthy, and beyond a few surgical cases his hospital was empty.
His meditations were interrupted by Tom Slater, who returned to say:
"Give me that dope, Doc; I'm coughing like a switch engine." Gray rose
and went to the shelves upon which his drugs were arranged, while the
fat man continued, "That Appleton girl has got me worried with her
foolishness. Maybe I AM sick; anyhow, I feel rotten. What I need is a
good rest and a nurse to wait on me."
The physician's eyes in running along the rows of bottles encountered
one labeled "Oleum Tiglii," and paused there. "You need a rest, eh?" he
inquired, mechanically.
"If I don't get one I'll wing my way to realms eternal. I ain't been
dried off for three months." Gray turned to regard his caller with a
speculative stare, his fingers toyed with the bottle. "If it wasn't for
this man Linn I'd lay off--I'd go to jail for him. But I can't do
anything, with one foot always in the grave."
The doctor's face lightened with determination.
"Tom, you've been sent from heaven!"
"D'you mean I've been sent for, from heaven?" The invalid's red cheeks
blanched, into his mournful eyes leaped a look of quick concern. "Say!
Am I as sick as all that?"
"This will make you feel better." Gray uncorked the bottle and said,
shortly, "Take off your shirt."
"What for?"
"I'm going to rub your chest and arms."
Slater obeyed, with some reluctance, pausing to inquire, doubtfully:
"You ain't stripping me down so you can operate?"
"Nonsense!"
"I'm feeling pretty good again."
"It's well to take these things early. They all look alike at the
beginning."
"What things?"
"Grippe, gumbago, smallpox--"
"God'lmighty!" exclaimed Slater with a start. "I haven't got anything
but a light cold."
"Then this liniment ought to be just the thing."
"Humph! It don't smell like liniment," Tom declared, after a moment,
but the doctor had fallen to work on him and he submitted with
resignation.
Perhaps an hour later Dr. Gray appeared at the Appleton bungalow and
surprised Eliza by saying:
"I've come to you for some help. You're the only soul in Omar that I
can trust."
"Have you gone raving mad?" she inquired.
"No. I must put an end to Linn's activity or we'll be ruined. These
workmen must be held in Omar, and you must help me do it."
"They have the right to go where they please."
"Of course, but Gordon will let them out as soon as he has crippled us.
Tell me, would you like to be a trained nurse?"
"No, I would not," declared Eliza, vehemently. "I'm neither antiseptic
nor prophylactic."
"Nevertheless, you're going to be one--Tom needs you."
"Tom? What ails him?"
"Nothing at this moment, but--wait until to-morrow." The physician's
eyes were twinkling, and when he had explained the cause of his
amusement Eliza laughed.
"Of course I'll help," she said. "But it won't hurt the poor fellow,
will it?"
"Not in the least, unless it frightens him to death. Tom's an awful
coward about sickness; that's why I need some one like you to take care
of him. He'll be at the hospital to-morrow at three. If you'll arrange
to be there we'll break the news to him gently. I daren't tackle it
alone."
Tom was a trifle embarrassed at finding Eliza in Dr. Gray's office when
he entered, on the next afternoon. The boss packer seemed different
than usual; he was much subdued. His cough had disappeared, but in its
place he suffered a nervous apprehension; his cheeks were pale, the
gloom in his eyes had changed to a lurking uneasiness.
"Just dropped in to say I'm all right again," he announced in an
offhand tone.
"That's good!" said Gray. "You don't look well, however."
"I'm feeling fine!" Mr. Slater hunched his shoulders as if the contact
of his shirt was irksome to the flesh.
"You'd better let me rub you. Why are you scratching yourself?"
"I ain't scratching."
"You were!" The doctor was sternly curious; he had assumed his coldest
and most professional air.
"Well, if I scratched, I probably itched. That's why people scratch,
ain't it?"
"Let me look you over."
"I can't spare the time, Doc--"
"Wait!" Gray's tone halted the speaker as he turned to leave. "I'm not
going to let you out in this weather until I rub you."
This time there was no mistaking "Happy Tom's" pallor. "I tell you I
feel great," he declared in a shaking voice. "I--haven't felt so good
for years."
"Come, come! Step into the other room and take off your shirt."
"Not on your life."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't want no more of your dam' liniment."
"Why?"
"Because I'm--because I don't."
"Then I suppose I'll have to throw and hog-tie you." The physician rose
and laid a heavy hand upon his patient's arm, at which Tom exclaimed:
"Ouch! Leggo! Gimme the stuff and I'll rub myself."
"Tom!" The very gravity of the speaker's voice was portentous,
alarming. Mr. Slater hesitated, his gaze wavered, he scratched his
chest unconsciously.
Eliza shook her head pityingly; she uttered an inarticulate murmur of
concern.
"You couldn't get my shirt off with a steam-winch. I tell you I'm
feeling grand."
"Why WILL you chew the horrid stuff?" Miss Appleton inquired sadly.
"I'm just a little broke out, that's all."
"Ah! You're broken out. I feared so," said the doctor.
The grave concern in those two faces was too much for Slater's
sensitive nature; his stubbornness gave way, his self-control vanished,
and he confessed wretchedly:
"I spent an awful night, Doc. I'll bust into flame if this keeps up.
What is it, anyhow?"
"Is there an eruption of the arms and chest?"
"They're all erupted to hell."
Dr. Gray silently parted the shirt over Slater's bosom. "Hm-m!" said he.
"Tell him what it is," urged Eliza, in whom mirth and pity were
struggling for mastery.
"It has every appearance of-smallpox!"
The victim uttered a choking cry and sat down limply. Sweat leaped out
upon his face, beads appeared upon his round bald head.
"I knew I was a sick man. I've felt it coming on for three months, but
I fought it off for Murray's sake. Say it's chicken-pox," he pleaded.
"Never mind; it's seldom serious," Eliza endeavored to comfort the
stricken man.
"You wanted a good rest-"
"I don't. I want to work."
"I'll have to quarantine you, Tom."
Slater was in no condition for further resistance; a complete collapse
of body and mind had followed the intelligence of his illness. He began
to complain of many symptoms, none of which were in any way connected
with his fancied disease. He was racked with pains, he suffered a
terrible nausea, his head swam; he spoke bravely of his destitute
family and prepared to make his will. When he left the hospital, an
hour later, it was on a stretcher between four straining bearers.
That evening a disturbing rumor crept through the town of Omar. It
penetrated the crowded saloons where the laborers who had quit work
were squandering their pay, and it caused a brief lull in the ribaldry;
but the mere fact that Tom Slater had come down with smallpox and had
been isolated upon a fishing-boat anchored in the creek seemed, after
all, of little consequence. Some of the idlers strolled down the street
to stare at the boat, and upon their return verified the report. They
also announced that they had seen the yellow-haired newspaper woman
aboard, all dressed in white. It was considered high time by the
majority to leave Omar, for an epidemic was a thing to be avoided, and
a wager was made that the whole force would quit in a body as soon as
the truth became known.
On the second day Dr. Gray undertook to allay the general uneasiness,
but, upon being pressed, reluctantly acknowledged that his patient
showed all the signs of the dread disease. This hastened the general
preparations for departure, and when the incoming steamer hove in sight
every laborer was at the dock with his kit-bag. It excited some idle
comment among them to note that Dr. Gray had gone down the bay a short
distance to meet the ship, and his efforts to speak it were watched
with interest and amusement. Obviously it would have been much easier
for him to wait until she landed, for she came right on and drew in
toward the wharf. It was not until her bow line was made fast that the
physician succeeded in hailing the captain. Then the deserters were
amazed to hear the following conversation:
"I can't let you land, Captain Johnny," came from Dr. Gray's launch.
"And why can't you?" demanded Brennan from the bridge of his new ship.
"Have you some prejudice against the Irish?" The stern hawser was
already being run out, and the crowd was edging closer, waiting for the
gangplank.
"There is smallpox here, and as health officer I've quarantined the
port."
There came a burst of Elizabethan profanity from the little skipper,
but it was drowned by the shout from shore as the full meaning of the
situation finally came home. Then the waiting men made a rush for the
ship. She had not touched as yet, however, and the distance between her
and the pier was too great to leap. Above the confusion came Brennan's
voice, through a megaphone, commanding them to stand back. Some one
traitorously cast off the loop of the bow line, the ship's propellers
began to thrash, and the big steel hull backed away inch by inch, foot
by foot, until, amid curses and cries of rage, she described a majestic
circle and plowed off up the sound toward Hope.
By a narrow margin the physician reached his hospital ahead of the
infuriated mob, and it was well that he did so, for they were in a
lynching mood. But, once within his own premises, he made a show of
determined resistance that daunted them, and they sullenly retired.
That night Omar rang with threats and deep-breathed curses, and Eliza
Appleton, in the garb of a nurse, tended her patient cheerfully.
To the delegation which waited upon him the next morning, Dr. Gray
explained the nature of his duties as health officer, informing them
coolly that no living soul could leave Omar without incurring legal
penalties. Since he could prevent any ships from landing, and inasmuch
as the United States marshal was present to enforce the quarantine, he
seemed to be master of the situation.
"How long will we be tied up?" demanded the spokesman of the party.
"That is hard to say."
"Well, we're going to leave this camp!" the man declared, darkly.
"Indeed? Where are you going?"
"We're going to Hope. You might as well let us go. We won't stand for
this."
The physician eyed him coldly. "You won't? May I ask how you are going
to help yourselves?"
"We're going to leave on the next steamer."
"Oh, no you're not!" the marshal spoke up.
"See here, Doc! There's over two hundred of us and we can't stay here;
we'll go broke."
Gray shrugged his broad shoulders. "Sorry," he said, "but you see I've
no choice in the matter. I never saw a case of smallpox that looked
worse."
"It's a frame-up," growled the spokesman. "Tom hasn't got smallpox any
more than I have. You cooked it to keep us here." There was an angry
second to this, whereupon the doctor exclaimed:
"You think so, eh? Then just come with me."
"Where?"
"Out to the boat where he is. I'll show you."
"You won't show me no smallpox," asserted one of the committee.
"Then YOU come with me," the physician urged the leader.
"So you can bottle me up, too? No, thank you!"
"Get the town photographer with his flashlight. We'll help him make a
picture; then you can show it to the others. I promise not to
quarantine you."
After some hesitation the men agreed to this; the photographer was
summoned and joined the party on its way to the floating pest-house.
It was not a pleasant place in which they found Tom Slater, for the
cabin of the fishing-boat was neither light nor airy, but Eliza had
done much to make it agreeable. The sick man was propped up in his bunk
and playing solitaire, but he left off his occupation to groan as the
new-comers came alongside.
When the cause of the visit had been made known, however, he rebelled.
"I won't pose for no camera fiend," he declared, loudly. "It ain't
decent and I'm too sick. D'you take me for a bearded lady or a living
skeleton?"
"These men think you're stalling," Dr. Gray told him.
"Who? Me?" Slater rolled an angry eye upon the delegation. "I ain't
sick, eh? I s'pose I'm doing this for fun? I wish you had it, that's
all."
The three members of the committee of investigation wisely halted at
the foot of the companionway stairs where the fresh air fanned them;
they were nervous and ill at ease.
Drawing his covers closer, Slater shouted:
"Close that hatch, you bone-heads! I'm blowing away!"
The photographer ventured to remonstrate.
"It's mighty close in here, Doc. Is it safe to breathe the bugs?"
"Perfectly safe," Gray assured him. "At least Miss Appleton hasn't
suffered yet."
As a matter of fact the patient betrayed no symptoms of a wasting
illness, for his cheeks were ruddy, he had eaten three hearty meals
each day, and the enforced rest had done him good, so the committee saw
nothing about him to satisfy their suspicions. But when Tom weakly
called upon them for assistance in rising they shrank back and one of
them exclaimed:
"I wouldn't touch you with a fish-pole."
Eliza came forward, however; she permitted her charge to lean upon her
while she adjusted the pillows at his back; but when Dr. Gray ordered
him to bare his breast and arms Slater refused positively. He blushed,
he stammered, he clutched his nightrobe with a horny hand which would
have required a cold chisel to loosen, and not until Eliza had gone
upon deck would he consent to expose his bulging chest.
But Miss Appleton had barely left the cabin when she was followed by
the most timid member of the delegation. He plunged up the stairs,
gasping:
"I've saw enough! He's got it, and got it bad."
A moment later came the dull sound of the exploding flashlight, then a
yell, and out of the smoke stumbled his two companions. The spokesman,
it appeared, had also seen enough--too much--for with another yell he
leaped the rail and made for shore. Fortunately the tide was out and
the water low; he left a trail across the mud flat like that of a
frightened hippopotamus.
When the two conspirators were finally alone upon the deck they rocked
in each other's arms, striving to stifle their laughter. Meanwhile from
the interior of the cabin came the feeble moans of the invalid.
That evening hastily made photographs of the sick man were shown upon
the streets. Nor could the most skeptical deny that he presented a
revolting sight and one warranting Dr. Gray's precautions. In spite of
this evidence, however, threats against the physician continued to be
made freely; but when Eliza expressed fears for his safety he only
smiled grimly, and he stalked through the streets with such defiance
written on his heavy features that no man dared raise a hand against
him.
Day after day the quarantine continued, and at length some of the men
went back to work. As others exhausted their wages they followed. In a
fortnight Omar was once more free of its floating population and work
at the front was going forward as usual. Meanwhile the patient
recovered in marvelous fashion and was loud in his thanks to the
physician who had brought him through so speedily. Yet Gray stubbornly
refused to raise the embargo.
Finally the cause of the whole trouble appeared at the hospital and
begged to be released.
"You put it over me," said Mr. Linn. "I've had enough and I want to get
out."
"I don't know what you're talking about," answered the doctor. "No one
can leave here now."
"I know it wasn't smallpox at all, but it worked just the same, I'll
leave your men alone if you'll let me go out on the next Seattle
steamer."
"But--I thought you came from Hope?" Gray said, blandly.
Mr. Linn shifted his eyes and laughed uneasily. "I did, and I'm going
to keep coming from Hope. You don't think I'd dare to go back after
this, do you?"
"Why not?"
"Gordon would kill me."
"So! Mr. Gordon sent you?"
"You know he did. But--I've got to get out now. I'm broke."
"I didn't think it of Gordon!" The doctor shook his head sadly. "How
underhanded of him!"
Linn exploded desperately: "Don't let's four-flush. You were too slick
for him, and you sewed me up. I've spent the money he gave me and now
I'm flat."
"You look strong. We need men."
Gordon's emissary turned pale. "Say! You wouldn't set me to work? Why,
those men would string me up."
"I think not. I've spoken to the shift boss at mile 30, and he'll take
care you're not hurt so long as you work hard and keep your mouth shut."
An hour later Mr. Linn, cursing deeply, shouldered his pack and tramped
out the grade, nor could he obtain food or shelter until he had covered
those thirty weary miles. Once at his destination, he was only too glad
to draw a numbered tag and fall to work with pick and shovel, but at
his leisure he estimated that it would take him until late the
following month to earn his fare to the States.
XI
THE TWO SIDES OF ELIZA VIOLET APPLETON
Dan Appleton entered the bungalow one evening, wet and tired from his
work, to find Eliza pacing the floor in agitation.
"What's the matter, Sis?" he inquired, with quick concern.
His sister pointed to a copy of The Review which that day's mail had
brought.
"Look at that!" she cried. "Read it!"
"Oh! Your story, eh?"
"Read it!"
He read a column, and then glanced up to find her watching him with
angry eyes.
"Gee! That's pretty rough on the chief, Kid. I thought you liked him,"
he said, gravely.
"I do! I do! Don't you understand, dummy? I didn't write that! They've
changed my story--distorted it. I'm--FURIOUS!"
Dan whistled softly. "I didn't suppose they'd try anything like that,
but--they did a good job while they were at it. Why, you'd think O'Neil
was a grafter and the S. R. & N. nothing but a land-grabbing deal."
"How DARED they?" the girl cried. "The actual changes aren't so
many--just enough to alter the effect of the story--but that's what
makes it so devilish. For instance, I described the obstacles and the
handicaps Mr. O'Neil has had to overcome in order to show the magnitude
of his enterprise, but Drake has altered it so that the physical
conditions here seem to be insuperable and he makes me say that the
road is doomed to failure. That's the way he changed it all through."
"It may topple the chief's plans over; they're very insecure. It plays
right into the hands of his enemies, too, and of course Gordon's press
bureau will make the most of it."
"Heavens! I want sympathy, not abuse!" wailed his sister. "It's all due
to the policy of The Review. Drake thinks everybody up here is a thief.
I dare say they are, but--How can I face Mr. O'Neil?"
Dan shook the paper in his fist. "Are you going to stand for this?" he
demanded.
"Hardly! I cabled the office this morning, and here's Drake's answer."
She read:
"'Stuff colorless. Don't allow admiration warp judgment.' Can you beat
that?"
"He thinks you've surrendered to Murray, like all the others."
"I hate him!" cried Eliza. "I detest him!"
"Who? O'Neil or Drake?"
"Both. Mr. O'Neil for putting me in the position of a traitor, and
Drake for presuming to rewrite my stuff. I'm going to resign, and I'm
going to leave Omar before Murray O'Neil comes back."
"Don't be a quitter, Sis. If you throw up the job the paper will send
somebody who will lie about us to suit the policy of the office. Show
'em where they're wrong; show 'em what this country needs. You have
your magazine stories to write."
Eliza shook her head. "Bother the magazines and the whole business! I'm
thinking about Mr. O'Neil. I--I could cry. I suppose I'll have to stay
and explain to him, but--then I'll go home."
"No! You'll stay right here and go through with this thing. I need you."
"You? What for?"
"You can perform a great and a signal service for your loving brother.
He's in terrible trouble!"
"What's wrong, Danny?" Eliza's anger gave instant place to solicitude.
"You--you haven't STOLEN anything?"
"Lord, no! What put that into your head?"
"I don't know--except that's the worst thing that could happen to us. I
like to start with the worst."
"I can't sulk in the jungle any more. I'm a rotten loser, Sis."