The Intriguers

  CHAPTER XII

  THE FEVER PATIENT

  When Harding scrambled to his feet, with his pistol still aimed, Clarkelaughed.

  "You're not only very rash--and very clumsy--but you're lucky. That'sthe only vacant tepee in the whole village. And my friends don't seemto have heard you."

  They moved on very quickly and cautiously, and when they reached thethick willow bluff, where they were comparatively safe, Harding felteasier.

  It was noon when they stumbled into camp, Harding ragged and exhausted,and Clarke limping after him in an even more pitiable state. Thedoctor had suffered badly from the hurried march; but his conductorwould brook no delay, and the grim hints he had been given encouragedhim to put forth his utmost exertion.

  Blake was alive, but when Harding bent over him he feared that help hadcome too late. His skin looked harsh and dry, his face had grownhollow, and his thick, strong hair had turned lank and was falling out.His eyes were vacant and unrecognizing when he turned them upon Harding.

  "Here's your patient," the American said to Clarke. "We expect you tocure him, and you had better get to work at once."

  Then his face grew troubled as he turned to Benson.

  "How long has he been like that?" he asked.

  "The last two days. I'm afraid he's very bad."

  Harding sat down with a smothered groan. Every muscle seemed to ache;he could scarcely hold himself upright; and his heart was very heavy.He would miss Blake terribly. It was hard to think of going on withouthim; but he feared that this was inevitable. He was filled with a deeppity for the helpless man; but after a few moments his weary face grewstern. He had done all that he was able, and now Clarke, whom hebelieved to be a man of high medical skill, must do his part. If hewere unsuccessful, it would be the worse for him.

  "Did you have much trouble?" Benson asked, as he laid out a meal.

  "No; I suppose I was fortunate, because the thing was surprisinglyeasy. Of course, Clarke did not want to come."

  "I don't see how you overcame his objections."

  Harding broke into a dry smile.

  "In the kind of game I played with the doctor your strength depends onhow much you're willing to lose, and I put down all I had upon thetable. That beat him, because he wasn't willing to stake as much."

  "You mean your life? Of course, I know you were in some danger; butwas it so serious?"

  "It would have been if I'd shot him; and I think he saw I meant that.What's more, I may have to do so yet."

  Harding's tone was quietly matter of fact, but Benson no longerwondered at Clarke's submission. He had been a soldier and had facedgrave risks, but he was inclined to think that, even before he hadweakened it by excess, his nerve had never been so good as this youngAmerican's.

  "Well," he said, "I'm fond of Blake, and I recognize my debt to him; wewere once comrades in an adventure that was more dangerous than this;but I'm not sure that I'd have been ready to go as far as you. In away, though, you were quite justified; the fellow no doubt set a trapfor us. But if he's to have a fair chance, we had better give himsomething to eat. If he's as hungry as you are, he needs it."

  He called Clarke to join them by the fire. Weariness had deepened thelines on the doctor's face, and there were puffy pouches under hiseyes. He was obviously exhausted and scarcely able to move, but therewas something malignant in his look. He ate greedily, withoutspeaking, and then glanced up at the others.

  "Well," Benson asked, "what's your opinion?"

  "Your friend's state is dangerous. How he came to suffer from a severeattack of malaria in this bracing climate, I can't determine; and,after all, it's not an important point. He can't live much longer athis present temperature."

  "And the remedy?"

  "One of two is indicated, and the choice is difficult, because both arerisky."

  "Then they're risky to you as well as to your patient," Harding grimlyreminded him.

  Clarke made a contemptuous gesture, which was not without a touch ofdignity. His manner now was severely professional.

  "One course would be to put him into the coldest water we can find;it's drastic treatment, and sometimes effective, but there's a strongprobability of its killing him."

  "You had better mention the other."

  "The administration of a remedy of my own, which I'll admit few doctorswould venture to use. It's almost as dangerous as the first course,and in case of success recovery is slower."

  Harding pondered this for a moment or two. He distrusted the man, andbelieved he would feel no compunction about poisoning Blake, should heconsider it safe to do so, but he thought he had convinced him of thecontrary.

  "I must leave you to decide; but I warn you that I'll hold youresponsible if the result's unfortunate."

  "If you doubt my professional skill or good faith, why do you put yourpartner in my charge?"

  "I have some confidence in your sense of self-interest," Hardinganswered. "You'll serve the latter best by curing Blake."

  Clarke gave him a curious glance.

  "I'll try the draught, and it had better be done now," he said. "Thereis no time to lose."

  He moved toward Blake, who lay with half-closed eyes, breathing withapparent difficulty and making feeble restless movements. Stoopingbeside him, he took out a very small bottle and carefully let a fewdrops fall into a spoon. With some trouble, he got the sick man toswallow them; and then he sat down and turned to Harding.

  "I can't predict the result. We must wait an hour; then I may be ableto form some opinion."

  Harding lighted his pipe, and, though he found it strangely hard to sitstill, he smoked steadily. His mouth grew dry with the strain he wasbearing, but he refilled the pipe as it emptied, and bit savagely onits stem, crushing the wood between his teeth. There was, so far as hecould see, no change in Blake, and he was stirred by a deep pity and adaunting sense of loneliness. He knew now that he had grown to lovethe man; Blake's quick resourcefulness had overcome many of theobstacles they had met with, his whimsical humor had lightened thetoilsome march, and often when they were wet and worn out be hadbanished their dejection by a jest. Now it looked as if they wouldhear his cheerful laugh no more; and Harding felt that, if the worstcame, he would, in a sense, be accountable for his partner's death. Itwas his sanguine expectations that had drawn Blake into the wilds.

  Benson seemed to find the suspense equally trying, but he made noremark, and there was nothing to be learned from Clarke's impassiveface. Harding could only wait with all the fortitude he could muster;but he long remembered that momentous hour. They were all perfectlystill; there was no wind, a heavy gray sky overhung them, and the smokeof the fire went straight up. The gurgle of running water came softlythrough the silence.

  At last, when Harding felt the tension becoming unendurable, Clarkeglanced at his watch and reopened the small bottle.

  "We'll try again," he said gravely; and Harding thought he detectedanxiety in his tone.

  The dose was given; and Harding, feeling the urgent need of action ifhe were to continue calm, got up and wandered about the muskeg. Comingback after a while, he looked at Clarke. The doctor merely shook hishead, though his face now showed signs of uneasiness. Harding sat downagain and refilled his pipe, noticing that the stem was nearly bittenthrough. He gathered from Clarke's expression that they would soonknow what to expect, and he feared the worst. Now, however, he wasgrowing cool; his eyes were very stern, and his lips had set in anominously determined fashion. Benson, glancing at him once or twice,thought it boded trouble for the doctor if things went badly. TheAmerican had a ruthless air.

  At last Clarke, moving silently but quickly, bent over his patient,felt his pulse, and listened to his breathing. Harding leaned forwardeagerly. Blake seemed less restless; his face, which had beenfurrowed, was relaxing; there was a faint damp on it. He moved andsighed; and then, turning his head weakly, he closed his eyes.

  A few moments later Clarke stood up, stretching ou
t his arms with agesture of deep weariness.

  "I believe your partner has turned the corner," he said, "He must sleepas long as he is able."

  Harding crept away, conscious of a relief so overpowering that he wasafraid he might do something foolish and disturb his comrade if heremained. Scarcely noticing where he was going, he plunged into theswamp and plowed through it, smashing down the reeds and splashing inthe pools. Quick movement was balm to his raw-edged nerves, for thesuspense of the last two hours had tried him very hard.

  When he returned to camp, rather wet and muddy, Clarke was sitting byhis patient's side, and Harding saw that Blake was sleeping soundly.With a sense of thankfulness too deep for expression, he set aboutpreparing the evening meal. Now he could eat with appetite.

  Before he and Benson had finished their supper, Clarke joined them.

  "I believe the worst danger's over," he said; "though there's apossibility of a relapse. He'll need careful attention for severaldays."

  "Longer, I think," said Harding. "Anyhow, you'll have to make up yourmind to stay while it strikes us as necessary."

  "My time's valuable, and you run some risk in keeping me. You mustrecognize that there's a strong likelihood that the Stonies will pickup my trail."

  "If they get here, they'll run up against all the trouble they'll haveany use for," Harding replied. "However, I told our guide, who seemspretty smart at such matters, to take precautions; and I understandthat he fixed things so it would be hard to follow our tracks. You mayremember that he took us across all the bare rocks he could find, andmade us wade up a creek. Besides, as you seem to have played on yourfriends' superstitions, they may not find anything remarkable in yourdisappearing mysteriously."

  "You're a capable man," Clarke laughed. "Anyway, I find this caseappeals to my professional interest. For one thing, it's curious thatthe malaria should attack him in a severe form after a lengthy absencefrom the tropical jungles where he caught it. By the way, how long isit since he left India?"

  Harding shrewdly returned an evasive answer. He did not think itdesirable that Clarke should learn too much about his comrade'sconnection with India.

  "I can't fix the date, but it's some time. However, I understand hewas afterward in an unhealthy part of Africa, which may account for it.I don't think he's been in this country more than a year or two."

  "Did he ever speak of having malaria here? It is apt to return withina rather elastic period."

  "Not so far as I can recollect," said Harding.

  Seeing that he could extract no useful information from him, Clarkeabandoned the attempt and discussed the case from a medical point ofview. Then he rose, wearily.

  "As we're not out of the wood yet, and I don't expect I'll be neededfor a while, I'd better get some sleep," he said. "You must waken meif there's any sign of a change."

  Drawing his blanket round him, he lay down on a bed of branches andreeds, and his deep, regular breathing soon indicated that he wasasleep.

  Harding looked at Benson.

  "I guess he'll do all that's possible, for his own sake. It strikes mehe's a pretty good doctor."

  "I understand that he once promised to become a famous one," Bensonreplied. "Though I left you to deal with the matter, I kept my eye onhim; and my idea is that, while he wouldn't have scrupled much aboutletting Blake die if it had suited his purpose, as soon as you showedhim the danger of that course, his professional feelings cameuppermost. In fact, I believe Blake couldn't have got better treatmentin Montreal or London. Now that the fellow has taken his case up,he'll effect a cure. But I'll keep the first watch--you need a rest."

  In a few minutes Harding was fast asleep; and when he relieved Bensonlate at night, he found Clarke at his post. Shortly afterward Blakeopened his eyes and asked a few intelligent questions in a weak voicebefore he went to sleep again; and the next morning he was obviouslyimproving. Although a strong man often recovers rapidly from an attackof malarial fever, Clarke stayed several days, and gave Harding anumber of careful instructions on parting.

  "I don't think that can do much harm," said Harding, looking him in theface.

  "Your suspicions die hard," Clarke laughed.

  "That's so," returned Harding coolly. "As soon as you leave this camp,I lose my hold on you. However, I've given you the Indian for a guide,and he'll see you safe to about a day's march from your friends'village; and I've put up food enough for the journey. Consideringeverything, that's all the fee I need offer you."

  "There wouldn't be much use in urging my claim," Clarke acquiesced.

  "What about Benson? I noticed you didn't seem particularly anxious torenew your acquaintance. Are you willing to leave him with us?"

  Clarke smiled in an ironical manner.

  "Why do you ask, when you mean to keep him? So far as I'm concerned,you're welcome to the man; I make you a present of him. Have you hadenough of this trip yet, or are you going on?"

  "We're going ahead; you can do what you like about it. And now, whileI admire the way you pulled my partner through, there's not much moreto say. I wish you a safe journey. Good-morning."

  He turned back toward the fire, while Clarke stood a moment withclenched hand and a malignant look creeping into his eyes; then,following the Indian, the doctor silently moved forward across themuskeg.