Part 24 (1/2)
”What's the matter, old chap?”
The dog leaped up ran to the door whimpering, and Powell went on the front porch. It was too dark to discern anything and no unusual sounds reached the man, but the dog, with a hysterical yelp darted from the porch into the shadows. The short, sharp barks that broke the stillness were barks of welcome such as always greeted the doctor upon his return to the ranch.
A woman's voice spoke to the dog, and Powell ran quickly in the direction the collie had taken. The way led to the Circle Cross; the voice was that of Glendon's wife.
”Be quiet, Tatters,” called Powell. As the noise abated, he reached Katherine Glendon's side, and in the faint light saw that she was carrying Donnie.
”Oh, I am so glad you are home!” she exclaimed. ”Donnie is hurt, I don't know how badly--but his arm is broken.”
Already the doctor had reached for the child.
”Let me have him. Don't try to explain anything now.”
They hurried toward the house, entered the room and Powell laid the child on the couch. The doctor knelt down beside the almost unconscious boy, then with gentle touch felt the broken arm. Chappo came through the door, his faded brown eyes were full of pity as he watched the mother who stood with tightly gripped hands waiting the doctor's words.
Donnie looked at her, his quivering lips showed the effort to control his emotions when he tried to move his arm and saw that it was broken.
”It really don't hurt very much, Marmee,” he said stoutly as Powell finished the examination and rose to his feet.
”We'll fix you up in no time,” the doctor announced cheerily. ”Nothing the matter with you except a broken bone, and that is in the very best place it could happen.” He turned to Katherine and continued, ”Don't worry, Mrs. Glendon. A healthy child's bones knit quickly and perfectly.
It's a simple fracture, fortunately, and above the elbow, so only one bone to knit. He'll be playing around tomorrow.”
Powell left her sitting by the couch, and Chappo listened carefully to the doctor's low-voiced instructions which were spoken in Spanish.
”I understand, Senor,” nodded the Mexican. ”Lots of times I have helped when there was no doctor. Horses, cows, dogs, and people, all bones are the same.”
The books on the table were removed for rolls of bandages and surgical splints, then Powell turned briskly to Donnie and put his arm about the child's shoulder as he said, ”Now, old man, Chappo and I will take care of that arm for you. It may hurt for a few seconds, but after that it won't bother you at all.”
”Let him brace himself against you, Mrs. Glendon,” continued the physician.
Chappo, at a nod from the doctor, grasped the boy's arm and pulled steadily. Donnie's face paled but not a sound escaped his tightly set lips. The doctor's fingers pressed the fractured bone and held it in place while the splints were adjusted. A sling in which the hand rested, finished the operation, then Powell arranged the pillows on the couch.
”Take it easy now, old man,” he said. ”You're the pluckiest boy I ever knew.”
Donnie tried to smile, but tears filled his eyes and he held out his uninjured hand to his mother. She sat on the couch beside him smoothing his hair and talking in a low voice, until at last, with his right hand still clasped in hers, he fell asleep.
”All right now,” Powell a.s.sured her, as he put away the articles on the table. ”He is exhausted from the nerve shock, nothing more.”
The doctor glanced at Katherine and exclaimed, ”Bless my heart! You need attention almost as badly as Donnie.”
He left the room and returned with a gla.s.s. ”Just a little port wine.
Drink every drop of it,” he ordered.
Her hand shook as she lifted the gla.s.s to her white lips, then she held out the empty gla.s.s and sank into a chair that Powell rolled before the fireplace. Her eyes closed wearily. The doctor understood the over taxed nerves, and as he glanced from mother to child, a feeling of rage against Glendon consumed him. The only sound in the room was the sputter of the burning wood. Katherine looked anxiously at the sleeping child, then at the doctor.
”He's all right,” Powell answered her unvoiced fear. ”It had been a terrible strain on you both. The bone will begin to knit in a few days and Donnie will have nothing to remind him of the accident in a short time. It's part of a boy's life to have such things as broken legs and arms,” he smiled.
”Please don't think I am ungrateful. There are some emotions one almost cannot express, because we feel them too deeply for words. I don't know how to thank you.”