Corporal Cameron of the North West Mounted Police Part 50

The maid smiled an undisturbed smile.

"Bucket? What bucket, eh? What bucket are ye talkin' aboot?" she enquired.

"Say, you're smart, ain't yeh! But I got a young feller that's broke his leg and--"

"His leg?" said the maid indifferently. "Well, he's got another?"

"Yes, you bet he has, but one leg ain't much good without the other. How would you like to hop around on one leg? And he's hurt inside, too, his lights, I guess, and other things." Sam's anatomical knowledge was somewhat vague. "And besides, his girl's takin' on awful."

"Oh, is she indeed?" replied the maid, this item apparently being to her of the very slightest importance.

"Say, if you only saw her," said Sam.

"Pretty, I suppose," said the maid with a touch of scorn.

"Pretty? No, ugly as a hedge fence. But say, I wish she was here right now. She'd bring you to your--to time, you bet."

"Would she, now? I'd sort her." And the little maid's black eyes snapped.

"Say, what'll I do? Jist got to have a doctor."

"Ye'll no git him till to-morrow."

"To-morrow?"

"How far oot are ye?"

"Twelve miles."

"Twelve miles? Ye'll no get him a minute afore to-morrow noon."

"Say, that young feller'll croak, sure. Away from home too. No friends.

All his folks in Scotland."

"Scotland, did ye say?" Something appeared to wake up in the little maid. "Look here, why don't ye get a doctor instead o' daunderin' your time here?"

"Git a doctor?" echoed Sam in vast surprise. "And ain't I tryin' to git a doctor? Where'll I git a doctor?"

"Go to the hospital, ye gawk, and ask for Dr. Turnbull, and tell him the young lad is a stranger and that his folk are in Scotland. Hoots, ye gomeril, be off noo, an' the puir lad wantin' ye. Come, I'll pit ye on yer way." The maid by her speech was obviously excited.

Sam glanced at the clock as he pa.s.sed out. He had been away an hour and a half.

"Jumpin' Jeremiah! I've got to hurry. She'll take my head off."

"Of course ye have," said the maid sharply. "Go down two streets there, then take the first turn to your left and go straight on for half a dozen blocks or so. Mind ye tell the doctor the lad's frae Scotland!"

she cried to Sam as he drove off.

At the hospital Sam was fortunate enough to catch Dr. Turnbull in the hall with one or two others, just as they were about to pa.s.s into the consulting room. Such was Sam's desperate state of mind that he went straight up to the group.

"I want Dr. Turnbull," he said.

"There he is before you," replied a sharp-faced young doctor, pointing to a benevolent looking old gentleman.

"Dr. Turnbull, there's a young feller hurt dreadful out our way. His leg's broke. Guess he's hurt inside too. And he's a stranger. His folks are all in Scotland. Guess he's dyin', and I've got--I've got a horse and buggy at the door. I can git you out and back in a jiffy. Say, doctor, I'm all ready to start."

A smile pa.s.sed over the faces of the group. But Dr. Turnbull had too long experience with desperate cases and with desperate men.

"My dear Sir," he replied, "I cannot go for some hours."

"Doctor, I want you now. I got to have somebody right now."

"A broken leg?" mused the doctor.

"Yes, and hurt inside."

"How did it happen?" said the doctor.

"Eh? I don't know exactly," replied Sam, taken somewhat aback.

"Somethin' fell on him. But he needs you bad."

"I can't go, my man, but we'll find some one. What's his name did you say?"

"His name is Cameron, and he's from Scotland."

"Cameron?" said the sharp-faced young doctor. "What does he look like?"

"Look like?" said Sam in a perplexed voice. "Well, the girls all think he looks pretty good. He's dark complected and he's a mighty smart young feller. Great on jumpin' and runnin'. Say, he's a crackajack. Why, at the Dominion Day picnic! But you must a' heard about him. He's the chap, you know, that won the hundred yards. Plays the pipes and--"

"Plays the pipes?" cried Dr. Turnbull and the young doctor together.

"And his name's Cameron?" continued the young doctor. "I wonder now if--"

"I say, Martin," said Dr. Turnbull, "I think you had better go. The case may be urgent."

"Cameron!" cried Martin again. "I bet my bat it's--Here, wait till I get my coat. I'll be with you in a jerk. Have you got a good horse?"

"He's all right," said Sam. "He'll git you there in an hour."

"An hour? How far is it?"

"Twelve miles."

"Great heavens! Come, then, get a move on!" And so it came that within an hour Cameron, opening his eyes, looked up into the face of his friend.

"Martin! By Jove!" he said, and closed his eyes again. "Martin!" he said again, looking upon the familiar face. "Say, old boy, is this a dream? I seem to be having lots of them."

"It's no dream, old chap, but what in the mischief is the matter? What does all this fever mean? Let's look at you."