The Doctor [101]
and searched eagerly among the driftwood. "Dick! Dick!" he called over and over again in the wild cry of a wounded man. He paddled over to the canoe and examined it. "Ah, that's where he hit the rocks, just at the foot. But he shouldn't drown here," he continued, "unless they hit him. Let's see, where would that eddy take him?" For another anxious minute he stood observing the run of the water. "If he could keep up three minutes," he said, "he ought to strike that bar." With a few sweeps of his paddle he was on the sand bar. "Ha!" he cried. A paddle lay on the sand just above the water mark. "That never floated there." He leaped out and drew up his canoe, then, dropping on his knees, he examined the marks upon the bar. There on the sand was stamped the print of an open hand. "Now, God be thanked!" he cried, lifting his hands toward the sky, "he's reached this spot. He's somewhere on shore here." Like a dog on scent he followed up the marks to the edge of the forest where the bank rose steeply over rough rocks. Eagerly he clambered up, his eyes on the alert for any sign. He reached the top. A quick glance he threw around him, then with a low cry he rushed forward. There, stretched prone on the moss, a little pile of brushwood near him, with his match case in his hand, lay his brother. "Oh, Dick, boy!" he cried aloud, "not too late, surely!" He dropped beside the still form, turned him gently over and laid his hand upon his heart. "Too late! Too late!" he groaned. Like a madman he rushed out of the woods, flung himself down the rocky bank and toward his canoe, seized his bag and scrambled back again. Again, and more carefully, he felt for the heartbeat. He thought he could detect a feeble flutter. Hurriedly he seized his flask and, forcing open the closed teeth, poured a few drops of the whiskey down the throat. But there was no attempt to swallow. "We'll try it this way." With swift fingers he filled his syringe with the whiskey and injected it into the arm. Eagerly he waited with his hand upon the feebly fluttering heart. "My God! it's coming, I do believe!" he cried. "Now a little strychnine," he whispered. "There, that ought to help."
Once more he rushed to his canoe and brought his cooking kit and blanket. In five minutes he had a fire going and his tea pail swung over it with a little more than a cupful of water in it. In five minutes more he had half a cup of hot tea ready. By this time the heartbeat could be detected every moment growing stronger. Into the tea he poured a little of the stimulant. "If I can only get this down," he muttered, chafing at the limp hands. Once more he lifted the head, pried open the shut jaws, and tried to pour a few drops of the liquid down. After repeated attempts he succeeded. Then for the first time he observed that his hands were covered with blood. Gently he lifted the head and, examining the back of it, detected a great jagged wound. "Looks bad, bad." He felt the bone carefully and shook his head. "Fracture, I fear." Heating some more water he cleansed and dressed the wound. Half an hour more he spent in his anxious struggle, with intense activity utilizing every precious moment, when to his infinite joy and relief the life began to come slowly back. "Now I must get him to the hospital."
There were still five miles to paddle, but it was down stream and there were no portages. With swift despatch he cut a large armful of balsam boughs. With these and his blankets he made a bed in his canoe, cutting out the bow thwart, then lifting the wounded man and picking his steps with great care, he carried him to the canoe and laid him upon the balsam boughs on his right side. The moment the weight came upon that side a groan burst from the pallid lips. "Something wrong there," muttered the doctor, turning him slightly over. "Ah, shoulder out. I'll just settle this right now." By dexterous manipulation the dislocation was reduced, and at once the patient sank down upon the bed of boughs and lay quite still. A little further stimulation
Once more he rushed to his canoe and brought his cooking kit and blanket. In five minutes he had a fire going and his tea pail swung over it with a little more than a cupful of water in it. In five minutes more he had half a cup of hot tea ready. By this time the heartbeat could be detected every moment growing stronger. Into the tea he poured a little of the stimulant. "If I can only get this down," he muttered, chafing at the limp hands. Once more he lifted the head, pried open the shut jaws, and tried to pour a few drops of the liquid down. After repeated attempts he succeeded. Then for the first time he observed that his hands were covered with blood. Gently he lifted the head and, examining the back of it, detected a great jagged wound. "Looks bad, bad." He felt the bone carefully and shook his head. "Fracture, I fear." Heating some more water he cleansed and dressed the wound. Half an hour more he spent in his anxious struggle, with intense activity utilizing every precious moment, when to his infinite joy and relief the life began to come slowly back. "Now I must get him to the hospital."
There were still five miles to paddle, but it was down stream and there were no portages. With swift despatch he cut a large armful of balsam boughs. With these and his blankets he made a bed in his canoe, cutting out the bow thwart, then lifting the wounded man and picking his steps with great care, he carried him to the canoe and laid him upon the balsam boughs on his right side. The moment the weight came upon that side a groan burst from the pallid lips. "Something wrong there," muttered the doctor, turning him slightly over. "Ah, shoulder out. I'll just settle this right now." By dexterous manipulation the dislocation was reduced, and at once the patient sank down upon the bed of boughs and lay quite still. A little further stimulation