Chapter 15

“Dead? Cursed fool! He WOULD go against my will.”

“Against your will? Would you let a man in the last stages of diphtheria leave this camp against your will with the company's team?”

“Well, I knew he shouldn't go. But he wanted to go himself, and the foreman would have him out.”

“There are at least four men going about the camp--they are now in the cook-house where the breakfast is being prepared--who are suffering from a severe attack of diphtheria.”

“What do you propose? What can I do in this cursed hole?” said Dr. Haines petulantly. “No appliances, no means of isolation, no nurses, nothing. Beside, I have half a dozen camps to look after. What can I do?”

“Do you ask me?” The scorn in the voice was only too apparent. “Isolate the infected at least.”

Haines swore deeply to himself while, with trembling hand, he poured out a cupful of whiskey from a bottle standing on a convenient shelf. “Isolate? How can I isolate? There's no building in which--”

“Make one.”

“Make one? Young man, do you know what you are talking about? Do you know where you are? Do you know who is running this camp?”

“No. But I do know that these men must be isolated within an hour.”

“Impossible! I tell you it is impossible!”

“Dr. Haines, an inquest upon the man sent out from this camp last night would result in the verdict of manslaughter. There was no inquest. There will be on the next man that dies if there is any neglect.”

The seriousness of the situation began to dawn upon Haines. “Well,” he said, “if you think you can isolate them, go ahead. I'll see the foreman.”

“Every minute is precious. I gave those four men antitoxin. Are there others?”

“Don't know,” Haines growled, as with an oath he went out, followed by Dr. Bailey. Just outside the door they met the foreman.

“This is Dr. Bailey, Mr. Craigin.” Craigin growled out a salutation. “Dr. Bailey here says these sick men have diphtheria.”

“How does he know?” inquired Craigin shortly.

“He has examined them this morning.”

“Have you?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then you don't know they have diphtheria?”

“No,” replied Haines weakly.

“These men have diphtheria, Mr. Craigin, without a doubt, and they ought to be isolated at once.”

“Isolated? How?”

“A separate camp must be built and someone appointed to attend them.”

“A separate camp!” exclaimed Craigin; “I'll see them blanked first! Look here, Haines, let's have no nonsense about this. I'm three weeks, yes, a month, behind with this job here. This blank, blank muskeg is knocking the whole contract endways. We can't spare a single man half a day. And more than that, you go talking diphtheria in this camp and you can't hold the men here an hour. It's all I can do to hold them as it is.” And Craigin went off into an elaborate course of profanity descriptive of the various characteristics of the men in his employ.

“But what is to be done?” asked Haines helplessly.

“Send 'em out to the steel. They're better in the hospital, anyway. It's fine to-day. We'll send every man Jack out to-day.”

“These men can't be moved,” said Dr. Bailey in a quiet voice. “You sent a man out yesterday and he's dead.”

“He was bound to go himself. We didn't send him. Anyway, it's none of YOUR business. Look here, Haines, you know me. I'm not going to have any of this blank nonsense of isolation hospitals and all that blankety blank rot. Dose 'em up good and send 'em out.”

Dr. Haines stood silent, too evidently afraid of the foreman.

“Mr. Craigin, it would be murder,” said Dr. Bailey, “sure murder. Some of them might get through. Some would be sure to die. The consequences to those responsible--to Dr. Haines, for instance--would be serious. I am quite sure he will never give orders that these men should be moved.”

“He won't, eh? You just wait till you see him do it. Haines will give the orders right enough.” Craigin's laugh was like the growl of a bear. “There's a reason, ain't there, Haines? Now you hear me. Those men are going out to-day, and so are you, you blank, blank interferin' skunk.”

Dr. Bailey smiled sweetly at Craigin. “You may call me what you please just now, Mr. Craigin. Before the day is over you won't have enough names left. For I tell you that these men suffering from diphtheria are going to stay here, and are going to be properly cared for.”

Craigin was white. That this young pale-faced stranger should presume to come into his domain, where his word was wont to run as absolute law, filled him with rage unspeakable. But there were serious issues at stake, and with a supreme effort he controlled the passionate longing to spring upon this upstart and throttle him. He turned sharply to Haines.

“Dr. Haines, you think these men can go out to-day?”

Haines hesitated.

“You understand me, Haines; these men go out or--”

Haines was evidently in some horrible dread of the foreman. A moment more he paused and then surrendered.

“Oh, hang it, Bailey, I don't think they're so terribly ill. I guess they can go out.”

“Dr. Haines,” said Craigin, “is that your decision?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“All right,” said Craigin, with a triumphant sneer. He turned to Tommy, who was standing near with half a dozen men who had just come out from breakfast. “Here you, Tommy, get a couple of teams ready and all the buffalo robes you need and be ready to start in an hour. Do you hear?”

“I do,” said Tommy, turning slowly away.

“Tommy,” called Dr. Bailey in a sharp, clear tone, “you took a man out from this camp yesterday. Tell the men here what happened.”

“Sure, they all know it,” said Tommy, who had already told the story of poor Scotty's death and of the doctor's efforts to save him. “An' it's a fine bhoy he wuz, poor Scotty, an' niver a groan out av him all the way down, an' not able to swally a taste whin I gave it to him.”

Craigin sprang toward Tommy in a fury. “Here you blank, blank, blank! Do what I tell you! And the rest of you men, what are you gawkin' at here? Get to work!”

The men gave back, and some began to move away. Dr. Bailey walked quickly past Craigin into the midst of the group.

“Men, I want to say something to you.” His voice commanded their instant attention. “There are half a dozen of your comrades in this camp sick with diphtheria. I came up here to help. They ought to be isolated to prevent the spread of the disease, and they ought to be cared for at once. The foreman proposes to send them out. One went out yesterday. He died last night. If these men go out to-day some of them will die, and it will be murder. What do you say? Will you let them go?” A wrathful murmur ran through the crowd, which was being rapidly increased every moment by others coming from breakfast.

“Get to your work, you fellows, or get your time!” shouted Craigin, pouring out oaths. “And you,” turning toward Dr. Bailey, “get out of this camp.”

“I am here in consultation with Dr. Haines,” replied Dr. Bailey. “He has asked my advice, and I am giving it.”

“Send him out, Haines. And be quick about it!”

By this time the men were fully roused. One of them came forward.

“What do you propose should be done, Doctor?” he inquired.

“Are you going to work, McLean?” shouted Craigin furiously. “If not, go and get your time.”

“We're going to talk this matter over a minute, Mr. Craigin,” said McLean quietly. “It's a serious matter. We are all concerned in it, and we'll decide in a few minutes what is to be done.”

“Every man who is not at work in five minutes will get his time,” said Craigin, and he turned away and passed into the office.

“What do you propose should be done, Doctor?” said McLean, ignoring the foreman.

“Build a camp where the sick men can be placed by themselves and where they can be kept from infecting the rest of the camp. Half a day's work of a dozen men will do it. If we send them out some of them will die. Besides, it is almost certain that some more of you have already been infected.”

At once eager discussion began. Some, in dread terror of the disease, were for sending out the sick immediately, but the majority would not listen to this inhuman proposal. Finally McLean came again to Dr. Bailey.

“The men want to know if you can guarantee that the disease can be stamped out here if you have a separate camp for an hospital?”

“We can guarantee nothing,” replied Dr. Bailey. “But it is altogether the safer way to fight the disease. And I am of the opinion that we can stamp it out.” The doctor's air and tone of quiet confidence, far more than his words, decided the men's action. In a minute more it was agreed that the sick men should stay and that they would all stand together in carrying out the plan of isolation.

“If he gives any of us time,” said Tommy, “we'll all take it, begob.”

“No, men,” said the doctor, “let's not make trouble. I know Mr. Maclennan slightly, and he's a just man, and he'll do what's fair. Besides, we don't want to interfere with the job. Give me a dozen men--one must be able to cook--and in half a day the work will be finished. I will be personally responsible for everything.”

At this point Craigin came out. “Here's your time, McLean,” he said, thrusting a time check at him.

McLean took it without a word and went over and stood by Dr. Bailey's side.

“Who are coming?” called out McLean.

“All of us,” cried a voice. “Pick out your men, McLean.”

“All right,” said McLean, looking over the crowd.

“I'm wan,” said Tommy, running over to the doctor's side. “I seen him shtand by Scotty whin the lad wus fightin' fer his life, an' if I'm tuk it's him I want beside me.”

One by one McLean called his men, each taking his place beside the doctor, while the rest of the men moved off to work.

“Mr. Craigin, I am going to use these men for half a day.” said Dr. Bailey.

For answer Craigin, in mad rage, throwing aside all regard for consequences, rushed at him, but half a dozen men were in his path before he had taken the second step.

“Hold on, Mr. Craigin,” said McLean, “we want no violence. We're going to do what we think right in this matter, so you may as well make up your mind to it.”

“And Mr. Craigin,” continued the doctor, “we shall need some things out of your stores.”

Craigin stepped back from the crowd and on to the office steps. “Your time is waiting you, men. And listen to me. If any man goes near that there storehouse door, I'll drop him in his tracks. I've got the law and I'll do it, so help me God.” He went into the office and returned in a moment with a Winchester, which he loaded in full view of the men.

“Never mind him, boys,” said the doctor cheerily, “I'm going to have breakfast. Come, Tommy, I want you.”

In fifteen minutes he came out, with the key of the storehouse in his hand, to find the men still waiting his orders and Craigin on guard with his Winchester.

“Don't go just yet,” said McLean to the doctor in a low voice, “we'll get round him.”

“Oh, he'll not shoot,” said Dr. Bailey.

“He will. He will. I knew him in Michigan. He'll shoot and he'll kill, too.”

For a single instant the doctor hesitated. His men were about him waiting his lead. Craigin with his rifle held them all in check. A moment's thought and his decision was taken. 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. The thing behind which he put the weight of his determination simply had to move in one direction or other. The contractor that failed expected no mercy, and received none.

“We're doing our best,” said Maclennan, “and we will continue to do our best. Hello! what's this? What's Craigin doing up here? Hold up, Sandy. We'll look in.”

At the door of the hospital Dr. Haines met him.

“Hello, Doctor! What have you got here?”

“Isolation hospital,” replied the doctor shortly.

“What hospital?”

“Isolation.”

“Has Craigin gone mad all at once?”

“Craigin has nothing to do with it. There's a new boss in camp.”

A look of wrathful amazement crossed Maclennan's countenance. Haines was beginning to enjoy himself.

“A new boss? What do you mean?”

“What I say. A young fellow calling himself Dr. Bailey came into this camp three days ago, raised the biggest kind of a row, laid up Craigin with a broken head, and took charge of the camp.” Maclennan stood in amazement looking from Haines to the General Manager.

“Dr. Bailey? You mean Bailey from No. 1? What has he got to do with it? And how did Craigin come to allow him?”

“Ask Craigin,” replied Haines.

“What have you got in there, Doctor?” asked Mr. Fahey.

“Diphtheria patients.”

“How many?”

“Well, we began with eight three days ago and we've ten to-day.”

“Well, this knocks me out,” said Maclennan. “Where's Craigin, anyway?”

“He's down in his own room in bed.”

Maclennan turned and got into the sleigh. “Come on, Fahey,” he said, “let's go down. Something extraordinary has happened. You can't believe that fellow Haines. What are you laughing at?”

Fahey was too much of an Irishman to miss seeing the humour of any situation. “I can't help it, Maclennan. I'll bet you a box of cigars that man Bailey is an Irishman. He must be a whirlwind. But it's no laughing matter,” continued the General Manager, sobering up. “This has a very serious aspect. There are a whole lot of men sick in our camps. You contractors don't pay enough attention to your health.”

“Health! When you're driving us like all possessed there's no time to think of health.”

“I tell you, Maclennan, it's bad policy. You have got to think of health. The newspapers are beginning to talk. Why, look at that string of men you met going out. Of course, the great majority of them never should have come in. Hundreds of men are here who never used either shovel or axe. They cut themselves, get cold, rheumatism, or something; they're not fit for their work. All the same, we get blamed. But my theory is that every camp should have an hospital, with three main hospitals along this branch. There's one at Macleod. It is filled, overflowing. A young missionary fellow, Boyle, has got one running out at Kuskinook supported by some Toronto ladies. It's doing fine work, too; but it's overflowing. There's a young lady in charge there, a Miss Robertson, and she's a daisy. The trouble there is you can't get the fellows to leave, and I don't blame them. If ever I get sick send me to her. I tell you, Maclennan, if we had two or three first-class men, with three main hospitals, a branch in every camp, we'd keep the health department in first-class condition. The men would stay with us. We'd get altogether better results.”

“That's all right,” said Maclennan, “but where are you to get your first-class men? They come to us with letters from Directors or some big bug or other. You've got to appoint them. Look at that man Haines. He doesn't know his work and he's drunk half the time. Dr. Bailey seems to be different. He certainly knows his work and he never touches whiskey. I got him up from the Gap to No. 1. In two weeks' time he had things in great shape. Funny thing, too, when he's fighting some sickness or busy he's all right, but when things get quiet he hits the green table hard. He's a wonder at poker, they say.”

The General Manager pricked up his ears. “Poker, eh? I'll remember that.”

“But this here business is going too far,” continued Maclennan. “I didn't hire him to run my camps. Well, we'll see what Craigin has to say.”

As they drove into the camp they were met by Narcisse, the cook.

“Bo' jour, M'sieu Maclenn'. You want something for hit?”

“Good-day, cook,” said Maclennan. “Yes, we'll take a cup of tea in a few minutes. I want to see Mr. Craigin.”

Narcisse drew near Maclennan and in subdued voice announced, “M'sieu Craigin, he's not ver' well. He's hurt hisself. He's lie on bed.”

“Why, what's the matter with him?”

Narcisse shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, some leet' troub'. You pass on de office you see de docteur.”

“Why, Haines is up at the hospital. We just saw him.”

“Hain!” said Narcisse, with scorn indescribable. “Dat's no docteur for one horse. Bah! De mans go seeck, seeck, he can noting. He know noting. He's get on beeg drunk! Non! Nodder docteur. He's come in, fin' tree, four mans seeck on de troat, cough, cough, sore, bad. Fill up de cook-house. Can't do noting. Sainte Marie! Dat new docteur, he's come on de camp, he's mak' one leet' fight, he's beeld hospital an' get dose seeck mans all nice an' snug. Bon. Good. By gar, dat's good feller!”

The smile broadened on Fahey's face. “I say, Maclennan, he's captured your camp. He's got the cook, dead sure.”

The smile didn't help Maclennan's temper. He opened the office door and passed into Craigin's private room at the back. Here he found Dr. Bailey in charge. As he opened the door the doctor put up his hand for silence and backed him out into the office.

“Excuse me, Mr. Maclennan,” he said, “he's asleep and must not be disturbed.”

Maclennan shook hands with him with a cold “How are you,” and introduced him to Mr. Fahey.

“Is Mr. Craigin ill?” inquired Fahey innocently.

“He has met with a slight accident,” replied the doctor. “He is doing well and will be about in a day or two.”

“Accident?” snorted Maclennan; then clearing his throat as for a speech he began in a loud tone, “Dr. Bailey, I must say--”

“Excuse me,” said the doctor, opening the office door and marshalling them outside, “we'd better go somewhere else if we are going to talk. It is important that my patient should be kept perfectly quiet.” The doctor's air was so entirely respectful and at the same time so masterful that Maclennan found himself walking meekly toward the grub-house behind the doctor, with Fahey, the smile on his face broader than ever, bringing up the rear. Maclennan caught the smile, but in the face of the doctor's quiet, respectful manner he found it difficult to rouse himself to wrath. He took refuge in bluster.

“Upon my word, Dr. Bailey,” he burst forth when once they were inside the grub-house, “it seems to me that you have carried things on with a high hand in this camp. You come in here, a perfect stranger, you head a mutiny, you lay up my foreman with a dangerous wound, with absolutely no authority from anyone. What in the blank, blank do you mean, anyway?” Maclennan was rather pleased to find himself at length taking fire.

“Mr. Maclennan,” said the doctor quietly, “it is natural you should be angry. Let me give you the facts before you pass your final judgment. A man was sent to me from this camp in a dying condition. Diphtheria. I learned there were others suffering here with the same disease. I came in at once to offer assistance. Consulted with Dr. Haines. We came to a practical agreement as to what ought to be done. Mr. Craigin objected. There was some trouble. Unfortunately, Mr. Craigin was hurt.”

“Dr. Bailey,” said the General Manager, “it will save trouble if you will go somewhat fully into the facts. We want an exact statement of what occurred.” The authoritative tone drew Dr. Bailey's attention to the rugged face of the speaker, with its square forehead and bull-dog jaw. He recognized at once that he had to deal with a man of more than ordinary force, and he proceeded to give him an exact statement of all that had happened, beginning with the death of Scotty Anderson.

“That is all, gentlemen,” said the doctor, as he concluded his tale; “I did what I considered was right. Prompt action was necessary. I may have been mistaken, but I think not.”

“Mistaken!” cried Fahey, with a great oath. “I tell you, Maclennan, we've had a close shave. We may, perhaps, explain that one man's death, but if six or eight men had gone out of this camp in the condition in which the doctor says they were, the results would have been not only deplorable as far as the men are concerned, but disastrous to us with the public. Why, good heavens above! what a shave it was! Dr. Bailey, I am proud to meet you,” continued Fahey, putting out his hand. “You had a most difficult situation to deal with and you handled it like a general.”