Part 59

"Are you sure it's smallpox?"

Cavanagh smiled. "The indications are all that way. That last importation of Basques brought it probably from the steerage of the ship. I'm told they've had several cases over in the Basin."

"Have you been vaccinated?"

"Yes; when I was in the army."

"Then you're all right."

"I hope so."

There was a certain comic relief in this long-distance diagnosing of a "case" by a boy, and yet the tragic fact beneath it all was that Wetherford was dying, a broken and dishonored husband and father, and that his identity must be concealed from his wife and daughter, who were much more deeply concerned over the ranger than over the desperate condition of his patient. "And this must continue to be so," Cavanagh decided. And as he stood there looking toward the girl's fair figure on the bridge, he came to the final, fixed determination never to speak one word or make a sign that might lead to the dying man's identification. "Of what use is it?" he asked himself. "Why should even Lize be made to suffer? Wetherford's poor misspent life is already over for her, and for Lee he is only a dim memory."

Redfield came near enough to see that the ranger's face, though tired, showed no sign of illness, and was relieved. "Who is this old herder?" he asked. "Hasn't he any relatives in the country?"

"He came from Texas, so he said. You're not coming in?" he broke off to say to the young physician, whom Lize had shamed into returning to the cabin.

"I suppose I'll have to," he protested, weakly.

"I don't see the need of it. The whole place reeks of the poison, and you might carry it away with you. Unless you insist on coming in, and are sure you can prevent further contagion, I shall oppose your entrance. You are in the company of others--I must consider their welfare."

The young fellow was relieved. "Well, so long as we know what it is I can prescribe just as well right here," he said, and gave directions for the treatment, which the ranger agreed to carry out.

"I tried to bring a nurse," explained Redfield, "but I couldn't find anybody but old Lize who would come."

"I don't blame them," replied Ross. "It isn't a nice job, even when you've got all the conveniences."

His eyes, as he spoke, were on the figure of Lee, who still stood on the bridge awed and worshipful, barred of approach by Lize. "She shall not know," he silently vowed. "Why put her through useless suffering and shame? Edward Wetherford's disordered life is near its end. To betray him to his wife and daughter would be but the reopening of an old wound."

He was stirred to the centre of his heart by the coming of Lee Virginia, so sweet and brave and trustful. His stern mood melted as he watched her there waiting, with her face turned toward him, longing to help. "She would have come alone if necessary," he declared, with a fuller revelation of the self-sacrificing depth of her love, "and she would come to my side this moment if I called her."

To the District Forester he said no more than to Redfield. "Edwards is evidently an old soldier," he declared. "He was sent up here by Gregg to take the place of a sick herder. He took care of that poor herder till he died, and then helped me to bury him; now here he lies a victim to his own sense of duty, and I shall not desert him." And to himself he added: "Nor betray him."

He went back to his repulsive service sustained and soothed by the little camp of faithful friends on the other side of the stream. The tender grace of the girl's attitude, her air of waiting, of anxiety, of readiness to serve, made him question the basis of his family pride. He recognized in her the spirit of her sire, tempered, sweetened, made more stable, by something drawn from unknown sources. At the moment he felt that Lee was not merely his equal but his superior in purity of character and in purpose. "What nonsense we talk of heredity, of family," he thought.

Standing over the wasted body of his patient, he asked again: "Why let even Lize know? To her Ed Wetherford is dead. She remembers him now as a young, dashing, powerful horseman, a splendid animal, a picturesque lover. Why wring her heart by permitting her to see this wreck of what was once her pride?"

As for Wetherford himself, nothing mattered very much. He spoke of the past now and then, but not in the phrase of one who longs for the return of happy days--rather in the voice of one who murmurs a half-forgotten song. He called no more for his wife and child, and if he had done so Cavanagh would have reasoned that the call arose out of weakness, and that his better self, his real self, would still desire to shield his secret from his daughter.

And this was true, for during one of his clearest moments Wetherford repeated his wish to die a stranger. "I'm goin' out like the old-time West, a rag of what I once was. Don't let them know--put no name over me--just say: 'An old cow-puncher lies here.'"

Cavanagh's attempt to change his hopeless tone proved unavailing. Enfeebled by his hardships and his prison life, he had little reserve force upon which to draw in fighting such an enemy. He sank soon after this little speech into a coma which continued to hold him in its unbroken grasp as night fell.

Meantime, seeing no chance of aiding the ranger, Redfield and the Forester prepared to return, but Lee, reinforced by her mother, refused to accompany them. "I shall stay here," she said, "till he is safely out of it--till I know that he is beyond all danger."

Redfield did not urge her to return as vigorously as Dalton expected him to do, but when he understood the girl's desire to be near her lover, he took off his hat and bowed to her. "You are entirely in the right," he said. "Here is where you belong."

Redfield honored Lize for her sympathetic support of her daughter's resolution, and expressed his belief that Ross would escape the plague. "I feel that his splendid vigor, combined with the mountain air, will carry him through--even if he should prove not to be immune. I shall run up again day after to-morrow. I shall be very anxious. What a nuisance that the telephone-line is not extended to this point. Ross has been insisting on its value for months."

Lee saw the doctor go with some dismay. Young as he was, he was at least a reed to cling to in case the grisly terror seized upon the ranger. "Mr. Redfield, can't you send a real doctor? It seems so horrible to be left here without instructions."

The Forester, before going, again besought Cavanagh not to abandon his work in the Forestry Service, and intimated that at the proper time advancement would be offered him. "The whole policy is but beginning," said he, "and a practical ranger with your experience and education will prove of greatest value."

To this Ross made reply. "At the moment I feel that no promise of advancement could keep me in this country of grafters, poachers, and assassins. I'm weary of it, and all it stands for. However, if I could aid in extending the supervision of the public ranges and in stopping forever this murder and burning that goes on outside the forestry domain, I might remain in the West."