Part 14 (1/2)

No sooner had the Indian entered than to Philip's astonishment the little doctor began talking rapidly to him in Cree. The guide's eyes lighted up intelligently, and at the end he replied with a single word, nodded, and grinned. Philip noticed that as he talked a slight flush gathered in the doctor's smooth cheeks, and that not only by his voice but by the use of his hands as well he seemed anxious to impress upon his listener the importance of what he was saying.

”He'll start back for Chippewayan this afternoon,” he explained to Philip a moment later. ”The dogs and sledge are mine, and he says that he can make it easily on snow-shoes.” Then he lighted his cigarette and added suggestively, ”He can't understand English.”

The Indian had caught a glimpse of Philip's belt and holster, and now muttered a few low words, as though he were grumbling at the stove. The doctor poised his cigarette midway to his lips and looked quickly across at Philip.

”Possibly you belong to the Northwest Mounted Police,” he suggested.

”Yes.”

”Heavens,” drawled the doctor again, ”and you the son of a millionaire banker! What you doing it for?”

”Fun,” answered Philip, half laughing. ”And I'm not getting it in sugar-coated pellet form either. Doctor. I came up here to get a man, found him, and was gloriously walloped for my trouble. I'm not particularly sorry, either. Rather glad he got away.”

”Why?” asked the doctor.

In spite of their short acquaintance Philip began to feel a sort of comrades.h.i.+p for the man opposite him.

”Well,” he said hesitatingly, ”you see, he was one of those criminals who are made criminals. Some one else was responsible--a case of one man suffering because of another man's sins.”

If the doctor had received the thrust of a pin he could not have jumped from his chair with more startling suddenness than he did at Philip's words.

”That's it!” he cried excitedly, beginning to pace back and forth across the cabin floor. ”It's more than a theory--it's a truth--that people suffer more because of other people than on account of themselves.

We're born to it and we keep it up, inflicting a thousand p.r.i.c.ks and a thousand sorrows to gain one selfish end and it isn't once in a hundred times that the boomerang comes home and strikes the right one down. But when it does--when it does, sir--”

As suddenly as he had begun, the doctor stopped, and he laughed a little unnaturally. ”Bos.h.!.+” he exclaimed. ”Let's see that head of yours, Steele. Speaking of pains and p.r.i.c.ks reminds me that, being a surgeon, I may be of some a.s.sistance to you.”

Philip knew that he had checked himself with an effort, and as his new acquaintance began to loosen the bandage he found himself wondering what mysterious mission could have sent a Chicago surgeon up to Fort Smith.

The doctor interrupted his thoughts.

”Queer place for a blow,” he said briskly. ”Nothing serious--slight abrasion--trifle feverish. We'll set you to rights immediately.” He bustled to his greatcoat and from one of the deep pockets drew forth a leather medicine case. ”Queer place, queer place,” he chuckled, returning with a vial in his hand. ”Were you running when it happened?”

Philip laughed with him, and by the time the doctor had finished he had given him an account of his affair with DeBar. Not until hours later, when the Cree had left on his return trip and they sat smoking before a roaring fire after supper, did it occur to him how confidential he had become. Seldom had Philip met a man who impressed him as did the little surgeon. He liked him immensely. He felt that he had known him for years instead of hours, and chatted freely of his adventures and asked a thousand questions about home. He found that the doctor was even better acquainted with his home city than himself, and that he knew many people whom he knew, and lived in a fas.h.i.+onable quarter. He was puzzled even as they talked and laughed and smoked their cigarettes and pipes. The doctor said nothing about himself or his personal affairs, and cleverly changed the conversation whenever it threatened to drift in that direction.

It was late when Philip rose from his chair, suggesting that they go to bed. He laughed frankly across into the other's face.

”Boffin--Boffin--Boffin,” he mused.

”Strange I've never heard of you down south, Doctor. Now what the deuce can you be doing up here?”

There was a point-blank challenge in his eyes. The doctor leaned a little toward him, as if about to speak, but caught himself. For several moments his keen eyes gazed squarely into Philip's, and when he broke the silence the same nervous flush that Philip had noticed before rose into his cheeks. ”To go roughing it down in South America. I believe you're honest--on the square.”

Philip stared at him in amazement.

”If I didn't,” he went on, rubbing his hands again over the stove, ”I'd follow your suggestion, and go to bed. As it is, I'm going to tell you why I'm up here, on your word of honor to maintain secrecy. I've got a selfish end in view, for you may be able to a.s.sist me. But nothing must go beyond yourself. What do you say to the condition?”

”I will not break your confidence--unless you have murdered some one,”

laughed Philip, stooping to light a fresh pipe. ”In that event you'd better keep quiet, as I'd have to haul you back to headquarters.”

He did not see the deepening of the flush in the other's face.

”Good,” said the doctor. ”Sit down, Steele. I take it for granted that you will help me--if you can. First I suppose I ought to confess that my name is not Boffin, but McGill--Dudley McGill, professor of neurology and diseases of the brain--”