Part 45

“They won't let him in anywhere. They're all afraid, an' he's chokin' to death.”

The doctor turned down his cards. “What do you say? Choking to death?” He passed his hand over his eyes. His professional instinct began to assert itself.

“Yes,” continued Shorty. “There's somethin' wrong with him; he can't swallow. An' we can't git him in.”

The doctor pushed back his chair. “Here, men,” he said, “I'm going to quit.”

A chorus of oaths and imprecations greeted his proposal.

“You can't quit now!” growled “Mexico” fiercely, like a dog that is about to lose a bone. “You've got to give us a chance.”

“Well, here's your chance then,” cried the doctor. “Let's stop this tiddle-de-winks game. You can't have up more than a hundred apiece. I'll put my pile against your bets, there's three thousand if there's a dollar, and quit. Come on.”

The greatness of the opportunity staggered them.

Then they flung themselves upon it. “It's a go!” “Come on!” “Give us your cards!” Quickly the cards were dealt. One by one the men made up their hands. The crowd about crushed in upon them in breathless excitement. Never had there been seen in that camp so reckless a stake.

“Now, then, show down,” growled “Mexico.”

The doctor laid down his cards face up. One by one they compared their hands. He had won. With an oath “Mexico” made a grab for the pile, reaching for his hip at the same time with the other hand, but the doctor was first, and before anyone could move or speak “Mexico” was lying in the corner, his toes quivering above his upturned chair.

“Look after the brute, someone. He doesn't understand the game,” said the doctor with cool contempt, crumpling up the bills and pushing them down into his pocket. “Where's your sick man?”

“This way, doctor,” said Shorty, hurrying out toward the sleigh. The doctor passed him on a run.

“What does this mean?” he cried. “Why haven't you got him inside somewhere?”

“That's what I say, docthor,” answered Tommy, “but the bloody haythen wudn't let him in.”

“How's this, Swipey?” said the doctor sternly, turning to the saloon-keeper, who still stood in the door.

“He's not comin' in here. How do I know what he's got?”

“I'll take that responsibility,” replied the doctor. “In he goes. Here, take him up on the robe, men. Steady, now.”

Swipey hesitated a moment, but before he could make up his mind what to do, the doctor was leading his men with their burden past the bar door.

“Show us a room at the back, Swipey, upstairs. It must be warm. Be quick about it.”

Swearing deep oaths, Swipey led the way. “It must be warm, eh? Want a bath in it next, I suppose.”

“This will do,” said the doctor when they reached the room. “Now, clear out, men. I want one of you. You'll do, Shorty.” Without hurry, but with incredible speed and dexterity, he had the man undressed and in bed between heated blankets. “Now, hold the light. We'll take a look at his throat. Heavens above! Stay here, Shorty, till I come back.”

He ran downstairs, and, bareheaded as he was, plunged through the storm to his office, returning in a few minutes with his medical bag and two hot-water bottles.

“We're too late, Shorty, I fear, but we'll do our best. Get these full of hot water for me.”

“What is it, Doctor?” cried Shorty anxiously.

“Go quick!” The doctor's voice was so sharp and stern that before Shorty knew, he was half way downstairs with the hot-water bottles. With swift, deft movements the doctor went about his work.

“Ah, that's right. Now, Shorty, hold the light again. Now the antitoxin. It's hours, days, too late, perhaps, hardly any use with this mixed infection, but we'll try it. There. Now we'll touch up his heart. Poor chap, he can't swallow. We'll give it to him this way.” Again he filled his syringe from another bottle and gave the sick man a second injection. “There. That ought to help him a bit. Now, what fool sent a man in this condition twenty miles through a storm like this? Shorty, don't let that teamster go away without seeing me. Have him in here within an hour.” Shorty turned to go. “Wait. Do you know this man's name?”

“I heard Tommy call him Scotty Anderson. He's from the old country, I think.”