Part 77

“Can't be too soon,” said “Mexico.”

“How is that?”

“Time's agin ye. Leather pants goin' out of fashion,” with a glance at the schapps which the editor delighted to wear. “People beginnin' to go to meetin' in this country.”

“I hear you're going yourself a little, 'Mexico,'” said McKenty, facetiously.

“Mexico” turned his eyes slowly upon the Member.

“Anything to say agin it?”

“Not at all, 'Mexico,' not at all. Good thing; but they say the doctor's got the boys rather away from you, that you're losing your grip.”

“Who says?”

“Oh, I hear it everywhere.”

“Guess it must be right, then,” replied “Mexico,” grimly.

“And they say he's got a line on you, 'Mexico,' getting you right up to the mourners' bench.”

“Do, eh?”

“Look here, 'Mexico,'” said McKenty, dropping his bantering tone, “you're not going to let the blank preacher-doctor combination work you, are you?”

“Don't know about that.”

“You don't?”

“No. But I do know that there ain't any other combination kin. I'm working for myself in this game. If any combination wants to shove my way, they can jump in. They'll quit when it don't pay to shove, I guess. Me the same. You fellers ain't any interest in me, I reckon.”

“Well, do you imagine the doctor has?”

“Mexico” paused, then said thoughtfully, “Blanked if I can git on to his game!”

“Oh, come, 'Mexico,' you can't get on to him? He's working you. You don't really think he has your interest at heart?”

“Can't quite tell.” “Mexico” wore a vexed and thoughtful air. “Wish I could. If I thought so I'd--”

“What?”

“Tie up to him tight, you bet your eternal life!” There was a sudden gleam from under “Mexico's” heavy brows and a ring in his usually drawling voice, that sufficiently attested his earnestness. “There ain't too many of that kind raound.”

“What do you think of that?” inquired the editor, as “Mexico” sauntered out of the door.

“Think? I think there's a law against gamblers in this province and it ought to be enforced.”

“That means war,” said the editor.

“Well, let it come. That doctor is the whole trouble, I can see. I'd give a thousand dollars down to see him out of the country.”

But there was no sign that the doctor had any desire to leave the country, and all who knew him were quite certain that until he should so desire, leave he would not. All through the winter he went about his work with a devotion that taxed even his superb physical strength to the uttermost. In addition to his work as Medical Superintendent of the railroad he had been asked to take oversight of the new coal mines opening up here and there in the Pass, which brought him no end of both labour and trouble. The managers of the mines held the most primitive ideas in regard to both safety in operating a mine and sanitation of miners' quarters. Consequently, the doctor had to enter upon a long campaign of education. It was an almost hopeless task. The directors were remote from the ground and were unimpressed by the needs so urgently reported by their doctor. The managers on the ground were concerned chiefly with keeping down the expenses of operation. The miners themselves were, as a class, too well accustomed to the wretched conditions under which they lived and worked to make any strenuous objection.

How to bring about a better condition of things became, with the doctor, a constant subject of thought. It was also the theme of conversation on the occasion of his monthly visits to the Kuskinook Hospital, where it had become an established custom for Dick and him to meet since his return from Scotland.