The Doctor [85]
He stepped toward Craigin and said in a clear voice, "Mr. Craigin, these stores are necessary to save these men's lives. I want them and I'm going to take them. Murder me, if you like."
"Hear me, men." Craigin's voice was cold and deliberate. "These stores are in my charge. I am an officer of the law. If any man lays his hand on that latch I'll shoot him, so help me God."
"Hear me, Mr. Craigin," replied Dr. Bailey. "I'm here in consultation with Dr. Haines, who has turned over this matter to my charge. In a case of this kind the doctor's orders are supreme. This whole camp is under his authority. These stores are necessary, and I am going to get them." He well knew the weak spot in his position, but he counted on Craigin's nerve breaking down. In that, however, he was mistaken. Without haste, but without hesitation, he walked toward the storehouse door. When three paces from it Craigin's voice arrested him.
"Hold on there! Put your hand on that door and, as God lives, you're a dead man!"
Without a word the doctor turned again toward the door. The men with varying cries rushed toward the foreman. Craigin threw up his rifle. Immediately a shot rang out and Craigin fell to the snow, the smoking rifle dropping from his hand.
"Begob, I niver played baseball," cried Tommy, rushing in and seizing the rifle, "but many's the time I've had the divarsion in the streets av Dublin of bringin' down the polismen wid a brick."
A heavy horseshoe, heaved with sure aim, had saved the doctor's life. They carried Craigin into the office and laid him on the bed, the blood streaming from a ghastly wound in his scalp. Quickly Dr. Bailey got to work and before Craigin had regained consciousness the wound was sewed up and dressed. Then giving him over to the charge of Haines, Dr. Bailey went about the work he had in hand.
Before the noon hour had arrived the eight men who were discovered to be in various stages of diphtheria were comfortably housed in a roomy building rudely constructed of logs, tar paper, and tarpaulin, with a small cook-house attached and Tommy Tate in charge. And before night had fallen the process of disinfecting the bedding, clothing, bunk-house, and cookery was well under way, while all who had been in immediate contact with the infected men had been treated by the doctor with antitoxin as a precautionary measure.
Thus the first day's campaign against death closed with the issue still undecided, but the chances for winning were certainly greater than they had been. What the result would be when Craigin was able to take command again, no one could say. But in the meantime, for the next two days, the work on the dump was prosecuted with all vigour, the men feeling in honour bound to support the doctor in that part of the fight which fell to them.
XVIII
THE MEDICAL SUPERINTENDENT OF THE CROW'S NEST
Mr. Maclennan was evidently worried. His broad, good-humoured face, which usually wore a smile indicating content with the world and especially with himself, was drawn into a frown. The muskeg was beating him, and he hated to be beaten. He was bringing in General Manager Fahey to have a look at things. It was important to awaken the sympathy of the General Manager, if, indeed, this could be accomplished. But the General Manager had a way of insisting upon his contracts being fulfilled, and this stretch in Maclennan's charge was the one spot which the General Manager feared would occasion delay.
"There's the hole," said Maclennan, as they turned down the hill into the swamp. "Into that hole," he continued, pointing to where the dump ended abruptly in the swamp, "I can't tell you how many millions of carloads have been dumped. I used to brag that I was never beaten in my life, but that hole--"
"Maclennan, that hole has got to be filled up, bridged, or trestled, and we can't wait too long, either."
The General Manager's name was a synonym for a relentless sort of energy in railroad construction that refused to consider obstacles. Nothing could stand in his way.
"Hear me, men." Craigin's voice was cold and deliberate. "These stores are in my charge. I am an officer of the law. If any man lays his hand on that latch I'll shoot him, so help me God."
"Hear me, Mr. Craigin," replied Dr. Bailey. "I'm here in consultation with Dr. Haines, who has turned over this matter to my charge. In a case of this kind the doctor's orders are supreme. This whole camp is under his authority. These stores are necessary, and I am going to get them." He well knew the weak spot in his position, but he counted on Craigin's nerve breaking down. In that, however, he was mistaken. Without haste, but without hesitation, he walked toward the storehouse door. When three paces from it Craigin's voice arrested him.
"Hold on there! Put your hand on that door and, as God lives, you're a dead man!"
Without a word the doctor turned again toward the door. The men with varying cries rushed toward the foreman. Craigin threw up his rifle. Immediately a shot rang out and Craigin fell to the snow, the smoking rifle dropping from his hand.
"Begob, I niver played baseball," cried Tommy, rushing in and seizing the rifle, "but many's the time I've had the divarsion in the streets av Dublin of bringin' down the polismen wid a brick."
A heavy horseshoe, heaved with sure aim, had saved the doctor's life. They carried Craigin into the office and laid him on the bed, the blood streaming from a ghastly wound in his scalp. Quickly Dr. Bailey got to work and before Craigin had regained consciousness the wound was sewed up and dressed. Then giving him over to the charge of Haines, Dr. Bailey went about the work he had in hand.
Before the noon hour had arrived the eight men who were discovered to be in various stages of diphtheria were comfortably housed in a roomy building rudely constructed of logs, tar paper, and tarpaulin, with a small cook-house attached and Tommy Tate in charge. And before night had fallen the process of disinfecting the bedding, clothing, bunk-house, and cookery was well under way, while all who had been in immediate contact with the infected men had been treated by the doctor with antitoxin as a precautionary measure.
Thus the first day's campaign against death closed with the issue still undecided, but the chances for winning were certainly greater than they had been. What the result would be when Craigin was able to take command again, no one could say. But in the meantime, for the next two days, the work on the dump was prosecuted with all vigour, the men feeling in honour bound to support the doctor in that part of the fight which fell to them.
XVIII
THE MEDICAL SUPERINTENDENT OF THE CROW'S NEST
Mr. Maclennan was evidently worried. His broad, good-humoured face, which usually wore a smile indicating content with the world and especially with himself, was drawn into a frown. The muskeg was beating him, and he hated to be beaten. He was bringing in General Manager Fahey to have a look at things. It was important to awaken the sympathy of the General Manager, if, indeed, this could be accomplished. But the General Manager had a way of insisting upon his contracts being fulfilled, and this stretch in Maclennan's charge was the one spot which the General Manager feared would occasion delay.
"There's the hole," said Maclennan, as they turned down the hill into the swamp. "Into that hole," he continued, pointing to where the dump ended abruptly in the swamp, "I can't tell you how many millions of carloads have been dumped. I used to brag that I was never beaten in my life, but that hole--"
"Maclennan, that hole has got to be filled up, bridged, or trestled, and we can't wait too long, either."
The General Manager's name was a synonym for a relentless sort of energy in railroad construction that refused to consider obstacles. Nothing could stand in his way.