The Peace of Roaring River

“At any rate, he seems to be holding his own,” he finally admitted. “I can’t see that he is a bit worse. It seems to me that you’re a pretty capable nurse. Some brains and lots of good strong will.”

He looked away from her as he talked and began to rub his hands together.

“Tell you what,” he said, turning again to her. “This night might be the decisive one, and I think I’ll stick it out here again. I’ll catch the freight back in the morning, as I did to-day. We’ll have a look at the wound now, and see how those drains are working. Did you follow my orders? But I think I needn’t ask. Put more water on the stove, Stefan.”

Madge had been holding the lamp for him, and when the doctor passed his hand over Hugo’s forehead the eyes opened and the man blinked. Also there seemed to be a relaxing of the tense, hollow-cheeked face.

“She–she’s saving my life,” he whispered, hoarsely. “She’s tireless and–and kindness itself. Don’t–don’t let her get played out.”

He put out a brown hand that had rapidly become very thin and touched the girl’s arm, after which he lay back, exhausted by his slight effort. The doctor went to work again, baring the wound, injecting fluids, adjusting the drains, and as he busied himself he always found the girl at his side, with all that he needed ready at his hand.

“That’ll do for a while,” he finally said. “The drainage is good. He isn’t absorbing much poison now, that’s sure. If we can keep up his strength he’s going to pull through, I hope. Get us a bite of supper, Stefan, I’m as hungry as a bear.”

During the night the doctor dozed off again, at times, like a man well versed in conserving his energy. But whenever he awoke he found Madge wide awake, intently observing the patient or busy with something for his comfort. The sky had cleared again and the great trunks were again cracking in the frost of the bright and starlit night. Dr. Starr had been staring for some moments at the girl. He shivered a little and drew his stool nearer the stove. Stefan was again snoring on the floor.

“Come over here,” he told Madge in a low voice, “bring your seat with you. I want to get something off my mind.”

“You needn’t answer if you don’t wish to,” he told her, “but–but there’s something rather tragic about that little face of yours. I don’t think it’s idle curiosity, but I’d like to know. I might as well confess that I’ve been questioning that fellow Stefan about you, but the sum of his knowledge is best represented by zero. I can assure you that I don’t want to intrude and that I won’t be a bit offended if you tell me it’s none of my business.”

“What do you want to know?” asked Madge, rather frightened, although she did not know why.

“You are aware, of course, that we doctors are used to seeing pain and usually try to get at the cause, so that we may better know how to relieve it. I should judge that you have known a lot of suffering; that sort of thing leaves marks. Fortunately, they can often be effaced in the young. I have been thinking that you were in need of a friend. No! Don’t draw back! I’ll say right now that my wife ’s the best woman on earth and I’ve got four kids. You ought to see the little rascals. Now I might as well tell you that I’m grateful to you for taking such good care of my patient. I’d also be glad of a chance to help you a little, or give advice if you happen to need any.”

Madge stared at him for a moment during which her eyes became somewhat blurred. The doctor’s offer seemed like the first really disinterested and friendly one that had been proffered to her for some years. In that vast New York she had become unused to that sort of thing. The other people in this place had been ever so kind, of course, but it was on account of their friend Hugo. At first she hesitated.

“You look like a man that can be trusted,” she said, very low.

“I feel that I am,” he answered, simply.

Then, gradually, moved by that desire to confess and trust in a friend that is one of the best qualities of human nature, she told of her coming, in halting, interrupted words. The doctor kept silent, nodding now and then so that she became impressed with a certainty that he understood. At times that deep red color suffused her cheeks, but they would soon become pale again, all the more so for her dark-ringed eyes. Little by little her story became easier to tell. She had sketched it out in a few broad lines, but the man to whom she spoke happened to know the world. Her speaking relieved her burdened heart and gave her greater strength.

“And–and I think that’s all,” she faltered at last. “Do–do you really understand? Do you think I’ve been a shameless creature to venture into this? Can you realize what it is to be at the very end of one’s tether?”

The doctor looked at her, the tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes becoming more pronounced. He put out his long-fingered, capable hand to her, and she stretched out her own, timidly, in response.

“You and I, from this time on, are a pair of friends,” he told her. “Indeed, I’m acquainted with that huge beehive you came from, with its drones and its workers, its squanderers and its makers. I studied there for a couple of years, and I know why some of the women have a choice between the river and even fouler waters. But let me tell you what I think of this matter. The desperate effort you made to save yourself may not have been very good judgment. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred such an endeavor would be worse than jumping from the frying-pan into the fire. But at least it argues something strong and genuine in you. You came because you felt that you could not give up the fight without one last supreme trial. Such a thing would take a lot of pluck.”

He stopped for a moment, looking into the whites of her eyes.

“And now you’ve made up your mind that all your struggle has been in vain and that the end is in sight. Now I can’t tell where that end lies, Miss Nelson, but it looks to me as if it had retired into the far distance. You are going to keep on taking care of this man, of course. He needs you badly, in the first place, and the toil and stress of it will be good for your soul. And then saving a life is tremendously interesting. There’s nothing like it. But your new life is only to begin when this job is finished.”

“I–I don’t understand,” said the girl, watching him eagerly.

“When you’re through with this case, Stefan will bring you back to Carcajou. There he’ll put you on the train and send you to me. I can assure you that my wife will welcome you. She’s that sort, strong and friendly and helpful. My poor little chaps don’t see very much of their daddy, but they’ve got a mother who’s a wonder, to make up for it. Now our village can’t yet afford a trained nurse, though some day I’m going to have a little hospital and two or three of them. The railroad will help. But in the meanwhile you’re going to work for me, at little more than a servant’s wages. You’re quick and intelligent and have a pair of gentle and capable hands. There are scores and scores of little houses and shacks where your presence would be simply invaluable. My wife tries it, but she can’t do it all, with the kids and the husband to look after. I shall work you like a horse, when you get strong enough, but every bit of the work will help some poor devil. My wife can give you a bed, a seat at our table and plenty of good wise friendship. In all this you’re going to give away a lot more than you will receive. How does it strike you?”

But Madge was weeping silently, with her face held in her hands. The doctor had certainly not tried to make his proposition very attractive, and yet she felt as if she were emerging from deep waters in which she had been suffocating. Now there was pure air to breathe and there would always be God’s sunlight to cheer one and bring blessed warmth. From the slough of despond she was being drawn into the glory of hope.

“I shall try,” she promised. “Oh, how hard I’m going to try! It–it seems just like some wonderful dream. But–but can I really earn all this–are you sure that it isn’t–”

“Charity on my part?” interrupted the doctor. “Not a bit, Miss Nelson. We’re scantily provided with women in these new countries. And there are enough poor fellows who get hurt in the mines, or on the railroad, to give you plenty of employment without counting the regular settlers. A good woman’s face at their side may make the end easier for some of them and help others get well quicker.”

“If–if you are very sure–”

“I know what I’m talking about. You see, Miss Nelson, there is really no need of any one despairing in one of those big cities, so long as there is enough strength and courage left to get out of them. In this great expanse of wilderness toilers are needed, but we can’t use mollycoddles. The men have to hew and dig and plow, and need women to work at their sides, to look after the injured, to teach the little ones, to keep the rough crowd civilized and human. More than all they are needed to become the mothers of a strong breed engaged in the conquest of a new world, one that is being made first with the axe and the hoe and in which the victory represents germinating seed and happy usefulness. Countries such as this are not suited to the dross of humanity. We cannot find employment for the weak, the lazy, or the shiftless. The first of these are to be pitied, of course, but we cannot help them. To the red-blooded and the clean of heart it offers all that sturdy manhood and womanhood can desire. Surely you can see how wide our horizons are, how full of promise is this new world that stretches out its welcoming arms to you!”

“I see–I see it all,” answered the girl. “Oh, what a glorious vision it is! How can I ever thank you?”

“You don’t have to,” replied the man, sharply. “If you decide to accept my offer I will be the one to feel grateful.”

He looked at her keenly, and was doubtless satisfied with what he saw. Then he tilted back the legs of his stool, rested his head on the log wall behind him, and took another good sound nap.

He went away again just before sunrise, and Madge was left once more alone with the sick man. Soon she noticed that his eyes opened frequently, and followed her when she happened to move about the room. She could see that her presence strengthened him. In Hugo’s mind, however, there was the dim impression that he was returning from a long blindfolded journey that had left no impressions of anything but vague pain and deep weariness. And it was utterly wonderful to be greeted by a gentle voice and given care such as had not been his since childhood.

CHAPTER XIV

The Hoisting

On the few rests the dogs were compelled to take on their way back to Carcajou, Dr. Starr again questioned Stefan, carefully. The story Madge had told him was interesting, it sounded a little like some of those tales of detectives and plots marvelously unraveled, but the trouble was that no sleuth was at work and the mystery was as deep as ever. He inquired carefully in regard to the enemies Hugo might have made, but struck an absolute blank. Yes, there was one fellow Hugo had licked, but a couple of weeks later the young man had obliged him with a small loan, which had been cheerfully repaid, and the individual in question had moved a couple of hundred miles east. Oh, that was way back last summer!

Having thus easily eliminated the masculine element of Carcajou, it took no great effort on the doctor’s part to turn to the women. Were there any who had reason to dislike him; had he made love to any of them?

“Hugo make lofe to any gals in Carcajou!” exclaimed Stefan, holding a burning match in his fingers and letting it go out. “Hugo don’t nefer make lofe to nobotty. Dere’s McGurn’s gal over to the store as looked like she vanted bad to make lofe to him; alvays runnin’ after Hugo, she vos. Vhen he go in de post-office she alvays smile awful sveet at Hugo, and dere’s dem as say she vere pretty mad because he don’t never pay no attention. Vhat he care for de red-headed t’ing?”

“She looks after all the mail, doesn’t she?” asked the doctor.

“Yes, McGurn he too busy vid oder t’ings. De gal tends to all de letters an’ papers.”

This seemed an indication worth following. When they reached the depot at Carcajou, Joe Follansbee informed them that the freight would be about an hour late. Madge had, during the course of her story, told the doctor all about the visit of the Carcajou Vigilantes, and from Stefan he had obtained the names of the people who had made up the party. Most of them were known to him, since he was frequently called to Carcajou, especially when the mill was running. From the girl he had obtained the letters she received from Hugo, as she had formerly believed. The matter could not be allowed to rest. He must investigate things further. Meeting old man Prouty, whom he had once cured of rheumatism, he drew him aside. The old man quite willingly told of his share in the event.

“We only wanted to see that everything was straight and aboveboard,” he told the doctor. “And there wouldn’t have been no fuss there at all if Sophy McGurn hadn’t come out kinder crazy; the way them excitable women-folks does, sometimes.”

“What did she do?” asked Dr. Starr.

“Oh, she went an’ accused that young ’ooman over there of havin’ tried to murder Hugo. Said somethin’ about the gal wantin’ to get square on him for–for somethin’ or other as ain’t very clear. But soon as Pat Kilrea he begins to pin her down to facts she takes it all back an’ says she don’t really know nothin’.”

“Thanks, Mr. Prouty, I’m very much obliged to you. I’ll stroll over there.”

He walked over to the general store and post-office where he was greeted by old McGurn, who at his request produced a box of cigars.

“Yes, Doc, I can recommend them,” he said. “There was a drummer stopped here last week who said they smelled just like real Havanas. I bought two barrels of crockery off him.”

The doctor nodded, admiring the drummer’s diplomacy, and walked over to the other counter behind which Miss Sophy was standing.

“How do you do, Miss McGurn?” he said, amiably.

“How d’ye do? How’s Hugo–Hugo Ennis?” she asked, eagerly.

“He may perhaps pull through, though he’s still hanging on to a pretty thin chance. I suppose you know that you’re soon going to be called as a witness?”

“Me?” she exclaimed. “What for?”

“Well, that story about an accident looks rather fishy to me, you know. I have an idea that it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have the sheriff come over here and investigate things a little. We’re beginning to get too civilized on this line to stand for gun-play. I’ve talked over the matter with some of the people who went with you to Roaring River, and I gather that you are the only one who can enlighten us a little.”

“I–I don’t know anything!” she stammered.

“You’re probably too modest, Miss McGurn, or you may perhaps be trying to shield some one. That shows your kind heart, of course, but it won’t quite do for the law. At any rate you will tell us what aroused your suspicions. It’s very important, you know, for the slightest clue may be of service. And then, of course, there is the matter of the letters.”

“What letters?” cried the girl, biting her lips.

“Oh, just some letters that passed through this office. Let me see, where did I put them? Always indispensable to secure all documents. Miss Nelson gave them to me.”

Very slowly he pulled the letters out of his pocket, while his keen eyes searched Sophy’s face, gravely. She was distinctly ill at ease, he observed.

“There has been a queer mix-up. These documents can hardly be called forgery, since there is no attempt to imitate the real handwriting of the person who is supposed to have written them. It’s simply a clumsy attempt to deceive, as far as I can see. But the strange thing is that several letters came from New York, apparently, and have never been received. It seems that they must have come through this office and the post-office authorities will be asked to trace them. They are always glad to hear of any irregularities, of course, and will send an expert here, naturally, if mere inquiry does not suffice. Those chaps are wonderfully clever, you know. They seem to be able to find out anything they want to know. The letters I am showing you came through Carcajou, there’s your stamp on the envelopes. The detective will compare this handwriting with that of every man, woman and child in Carcajou and the neighborhood, and while it is certainly disguised, there’s so much of it that they will certainly find out who sent them. It–it’s going to prove devilish tough for somebody, you may be sure. Of course I’m no lawyer and can’t tell what the charge will be, perhaps conspiracy of some sort, or making use of the mails for some fraudulent or–or some prohibited purpose. But that’s evidently no concern of ours and I know you’ll help the authorities to the best of your ability. You will naturally do all you can because no postmaster likes to have any irregularity in his office. That sort of thing generally means taking it away from the holder and putting it in other hands. Your father would be pretty angry if anything like that happened, because while you attend to the mails, he’s really the responsible party.”

Miss Sophy may not have realized how keenly the doctor was looking at her. He was now feeling quite certain that his suspicions had fallen on the guilty party. Here was a jealous woman who evidently knew a good deal. Putting two and two together is the very essence of scientific thought and Dr. Starr was no beginner. Sophy’s foot was beating a rapid tattoo on the floor. On her face the color kept going and coming.

“Somebody has done a very foolish thing,” continued the doctor. “Perhaps it was not realized that it was also a very wicked one. At any rate there is a lot of trouble coming. I will bid you good-day.”

He turned on his heels, lighting the cigar he had bought and looking quite unconcerned. Sophy hastened around the counter and intercepted him at the door, following him out. She touched his arm.

“Do–do they suspect any one?” she asked.

“I think I may have spoken too much, Miss McGurn,” answered the doctor, with a face that had suddenly become exceedingly stern. “It is not for me to answer your question. Of course, it’s in my power to tell the sheriff that there is no longer any suspicion that the shooting was otherwise than accidental, and I could perhaps also persuade Miss Nelson not to follow this matter of the letters any further. I think that she would follow my advice in the matter. But I have no intention of interfering until–until I know everything–down–to–the–last–word!”

He accentuated this by striking with his fist into an open hand, slowly, as if driving in a rebellious spike. They were alone on the little veranda of the store. Within her breast the girl’s heart was throbbing with fear–with the terror of exposure and unknown punishments. She felt that this man knew the exact truth and she had the sensation of some animal cornered and seeing but a single avenue of escape.

“But I have found out everything I wanted to know, Miss McGurn,” Dr. Starr told her, suddenly. “Unless I have a written confession in my hands I shall let matters take their course. It–is–for–you–to–choose.”

He looked at his watch.

“My train should be here in fifteen minutes,” he told her. “After that it will be too late!”

Then the girl broke down. Wild thoughts had come and gone. If a weapon had been at hand she might, in obedience to the behest of a wild and fiery nature, have stabbed the man who so calmly faced her. But she felt utterly helpless and her fear and despair became supreme.

“I–I’ll write whatever you want me to, if–if you promise not to tell!” she cried.

“I’m not quite prepared to accept conditions,” he answered. “I intend to show the paper to Ennis and to Miss Nelson. They have a right to know the truth. But I can promise that they will carry the matter no farther, and that I shall see that neither the sheriff nor the post-office authorities will interfere. There are but a few minutes left now.”

She rushed into the store again and went to the desk. Her father was no longer in the room. With feverish speed she wrote while the doctor bent over her, suggesting a word now and then. Finally she signed the paper and handed it to him.

“I think you had better give me those answers now,” he suggested. “Those directed to A. B. C.”

From Box 17 she took the letters and handed them over without a word, and the doctor carefully placed them in his pocket with the others.

“I think you’ve been very wise in taking my advice, Miss McGurn,” he told her. “It was the only way out of trouble. Isn’t that the freight’s whistle? I’ll hurry off. Good-day to you.”

He stepped quickly across the space that separated him from the station. On the platform Joe Follansbee greeted him pleasantly.

“A fine clear day, doctor,” said the station agent.

“Yes, everything is beautifully clear now,” answered Dr. Starr amiably. “Shouldn’t wonder if this were about the last of the cold weather.”

Then he got on the caboose, where the crew welcomed him. As one of the company doctors he had the right to ride on anything that came along, and the men were always glad to see him. They made him comfortable in a corner and offered him hot tea and large soggy buns. But he thanked them, smilingly, and sat down in a corner. From his bag he took out a medical journal and was soon immersed in an exceedingly interesting article on hysteria.

Strangely enough, at that very moment Miss Sophy had run up to her room and thrown herself on the bed, face downwards and buried in a pillow. She was weeping and uttering incoherent cries. When her mother came in, alarmed, the old lady was indignantly ordered out again while the girl’s feet beat against the mattress hurriedly, and she bit the knuckles of her hands.

CHAPTER XV

The Peace of Roaring River

It is particularly in the great north countries that the season changes from the lion into the lamb, with a swiftness that is perfectly bewildering. The sick man was getting well. Over a week since, Dr. Starr had declared that all danger had passed. And as the days went by the cold that had shackled the land disappeared so that the frosted limbs by the great falls wept off their coating of gems, and the earth, in great patches, began to show new verdure. Then had come twenty-four hours of a pelting, crashing rain, that had melted away more snow and ice. After the rain was over and the sky had cleared again, Madge had gone out and stood by the brink of the great falls, where she watched the thundering turbid flood as it madly rushed into the great pit below. Incessantly great cakes of ice poised on the brown-white edge above for an instant, and hurled themselves furiously into the chasm as if bent on everlasting devastation. The river itself was rising swiftly and from time to time the great logs that had remained stranded in the upper reaches of the river also plunged into the vortex, where they twisted and sank and rose, endlessly.

There was something fascinating in this vast turmoil of mighty forces, in this leaping forth of a great river now liberated and escaping towards the great lakes and thence to the ocean. Hitherto Madge had gazed upon them timidly, with sudden shivers, as if all this had represented part of the great peril of life and actually threatened her. But now it seemed to have become a part of the immensity of this world, a fragment of the wondrous heritage of nations still to be born. And just as the flood still had a long journey to travel ere it found rest in the Atlantic’s bosom, so now Madge felt that her own course represented but the beginning of a new and greater life.

In spite of many nights spent at that bedside, she looked far better and more robust than when she had first reached Roaring River. Courage had returned to her and with it the will to endure, to live, to seize upon her share of the wondrous glory of this new world that was so fresh and beautiful. And yet her thoughts were very sober; she did not feel that she had reached utter happiness. Her life would now be one of usefulness, according to the doctor’s promise. She felt that faces might become cheerier at her coming and that little children–the children of other people–would welcome her and crow out their little joy.

Several long nights of quiet rest had built her up into a woman that was no longer the factory drudge or the recent inmate of hospitals. One of the Papineau children had come over to remain with Hugo, lest he should need anything. Madge attended him during the day, concocting things on the stove, dressing the fast closing wound and administering the drugs left by the doctor, with the greatest punctuality, and the man’s eyes followed her every motion, generally in silence. She also spoke little. It was as if, upon both of them, a timidity had come that made it hard for them to exchange thoughts. The first time he had wanted to speak of the problem of her coming she failed to encourage him.