The Fourth Watch Part 16

Reaching for the lantern his hand trembled as he lighted it.

"Wait here," he commanded, "till I hitch Dexter to the pung; or no, you'd better come with me and give a hand. There is no time to lose."

Dan obeyed without a word and held the lantern while Stephen harnessed the horse.

"Where's Midnight?" Stephen asked, as he deftly drew the reins through the terrets.

"She ran away. I heard the sleigh crashing after her as she ran."

"She'll kill herself! But no, she's too wise for that. She'll go home and whinny at the door, and then what will Nellie think! We must hurry along as fast as possible. She will he frantic with fear."

"Guess we'd better bring the parson back to your place," Dan remarked as Dexter swung down the road.

"Bring him to my place!" exclaimed Stephen in surprise. "What can we do for him there?"

"Won't he need the doctor?"

"Yes, he may. But we can't go all the way to Bradin now."

"Guess you won't have to do that."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"He's at the Stickles'."

"At the Stickles'?"

"Yep. The little girl got hurt, so we went after the doctor."

"Oh, I see--I see now," Stephen mused. "That's a different matter. It's only three miles to the Stickles'. But the road will be bad to-night, for the wind's across country, and the drifts there pile fast and deep. But I shall go if necessary, even if I have to crawl on all fours. I won't have to do that, though, for Dexter will take me through if any horse can."

It did not take them long to cover the one mile of road between the cabin and the place where the accident had occurred. By the light of the lantern it was not difficult to find the spot. An uncanny feeling crept over them as they drew near, and saw the parson lying there in the snow just as Dan had left him. With the lantern in his hand Stephen leaped from the pung and looked intently into the face of the prostrate man. It did not take him long to ascertain that life still remained in his body, and a prayer of thankfulness went up from his heart as he thought of the dear old man and the anxious Nellie.

Quickly and as carefully as possible they lifted him into the pung, covered him with a warm robe, and then sped back to the cabin. As soon as they had laid him upon the bed, Stephen reached for a heavy coat hanging on the wall.

"I'm off now," he said. "You keep watch. I'll be back as soon as I can."

The injured man lay perfectly motionless, to all outward appearance dead.

Dan stood looking at him for some time after Stephen had left, puzzled and bewildered. What could he do? What would Nellie think of him now? He sank upon the stool by the bedside And buried his face in his hands--a forlorn little creature, trying to think. Presently he glanced towards the bed, and gazed long and intently upon the parson's face. Many were the thoughts which crowded into his mind as he sat there. A deep affection for the old man had sprung up in his heart. To him he was like some superior being with his great strength and wonderful knowledge. Then to think he should care for him, Dan Flitter, so small, who could neither read nor write, who was nothing but a sponger. The thought of Farrington's insult came to him, and what he had said about the parson. It had rankled continually in his breast, and now it arose in greater force than ever. Why were the people saying such things about this good man? He had listened to men talking in the store and along the road. They had said and hinted many things, and he had been silent. But, though silent, his mind and heart had been at work.

Often while lying in his little bed at night he had brooded over the matter. He longed to do something to clear the parson, and show the people that they were wrong. But what could he do? They would not listen to him.

They hinted that the parson had stolen the gold, and what could he say? It needed more than words. These were the thoughts which had been beating through his brain for days, giving him at times that listless manner, far-away look, and lack of interest in his studies, which worried Nellie so much. So sitting on guard by the injured man's side this night with large, dreamy eyes, thoughtful face--more thoughtful than ordinary for a child of his age--he recalled the various scenes since the night of the fire. Suddenly his face flushed, the dreamy expression faded from his eyes, as the dim light of dawn is dispersed by the fulness of day. They shone with a new radiance as he turned them upon the parson's face. He rose to his feet and walked quickly up and down the room. He was once again a creature of the wild. The glory of a lofty purpose fired his blood. He had experienced it before when, out in the woods, he had followed the tracks of the nimble deer, or listened to the whirr of the startled pigeon. But now it was a n.o.bler chase, a loftier purpose, in which the honour of a faithful friend was at stake.

A sound from the bed startled him. Glancing quickly in that direction he noticed the lips of the wounded man moving. No sign of consciousness, however, did he give. He was in another world, the strange, mysterious world, where the mind roams at will and language flows from the fountain-head of the inner being.

"'The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for thee--drink this--.'" He was in church at the Communion service, administering the cup.

"Four thousand dollars." He was at the auction now, eager and intent.

"Poor la.s.sie, poor little lamb." This time it was the injured Stickles child. And thus he rambled on from one thing to another, while Dan stood like a statue in the room staring upon him. Suddenly he opened his eyes, looked around in a dazed manner, and then fixed them upon the boy's face.

He moved a little, and at once a cry of pain escaped his lips.

"Dan! Dan!" he exclaimed. "What is the matter? Where am I, and what is the meaning of this pain in my shoulder?"

The look in his face was most pathetic, and Dan longed to do something to relieve his suffering.

"Does yer shoulder hurt much?" the lad asked.

"Yes, yes, the pain is intense. Tell me how it happened."

"We were chucked from the sleigh, an' I guess you struck a stump," was the reply.

"Is this Stephen's cabin?"

"Yep. He's gone fer the doctor, so I'm keepin' watch."

The parson remained very quiet, and did not speak for some time. He still felt confused, and his shoulder was giving him great pain. He realized, however, how much he owed to Dan. What if he had been alone when the accident occurred?

"Did you come back for Stephen?" he at length questioned.

"Yep."

"And you were not hurt? Are you sure?"

"Sure's I'm livin'."

"And you were not afraid to come alone to the cabin for help?"

"No, I didn't mind."

"You're a brave boy, Dan. You've done much for me to-night. Saved my life, in fact."

"Oh, I didn't do much. Not worth mentionin'," and the lad took his seat by the bedside.

How the time did creep by. Often Dan went to the door and looked out. He strained his ears in order to hear the sound of bells, but the wind moaning and tearing through the tree-tops alone fell upon his ears. At last, when his patience was almost exhausted, the door was flung open, and Doctor Leeds entered, covered with snow, and a most anxious look upon his face. It did not take long for the practised eye and hand to ascertain the trouble. The shoulder had been dislocated, and would have to be replaced.

Then the parson showed of what stuff he was made. Hardly a sound escaped his lips as the doctor, a.s.sisted by Stephen, performed the painful operation.

"There!" exclaimed the physician, as he bound up the wounded member, "we'll have you round again in a short time. Now, some would have squaked and yelled like a baby, but you're a man through and through." "Thank you, Doctor. You are very good. But how about the little la.s.s? You didn't leave her for me? Tell me the truth," and the parson's eyes sought the doctor's face.

"Oh, don't you worry about her," was the good-natured reply. "Sweepstakes took me over the road like the wind, and I had the poor little leg all fixed up before Stephen arrived. She'll do very well now without my care.

But come, we must get you home at once."

"Do you think I am able to go?"

"Able! certainly you're able. Home's the only place for you, though the journey may cause you some pain."

"And you will come too, Doctor? You muat be very tired, and need a good rest."

"Yes, I'm going with you. I'm not going to leave you yet. You're worth fifty ordinary men, and we must not run any risk. Besides that, sir, I do want a glimpse of your dear Nellie, and a little chat with her. I haven't rested my eyes upon her for months, and do you think I'm going to miss such an opportunity? No, sir, not a bit of it."