The Doctor threw off his coat and took charge of the stricken house. He sent his waiting messenger for a faithful nurse, a mountain woman whom he had trained, and began the fight for Mary's life. The collapse into which she had fallen would require weeks of patient care. There was no immediate danger of death, and while he awaited the arrival of help, he turned into the living-room to examine the body of the slain husband.
The head had fallen backward over the side of the lounge and a pool of blood, still warm and red, lay on the floor in a widening circle beneath it. His quick eye took in its significance at a glance. He sprang forward, ripped the shirt wide open and applied his ear to the breast.
“He's still alive!” he cried excitedly.
He examined the ugly wound in the left side and found that the knife had penetrated the lung. The heart had not been touched. The blow on the neck had not been fatal. The shock of the final stroke had merely choked the wounded man into collapse from the hemorrhage of the left lung. The position into which the body had fallen across the couch had gradually cleared the accumulated blood. There was a chance to save his life.
In ten minutes he had applied stimulants and restored respiration, but the deep wheeze from the stricken lung told only too plainly the dangerous character of the wound. It would be a bitter fight. His enormous vitality might win. The chances were against him.
Jim's lips moved and he tried to speak.
The Doctor placed his hand on his mouth and shook his head. The drooping eyelids closed in grateful obedience.
The beat of horses' hoofs echoed down the mountain road. His nurse and messenger were coming. He decided at once to move Mary to his own house. She must regain consciousness in new surroundings or her chance of survival would be slender. To awake in this miserable cabin, the scene of the tragedy she had witnessed, might be instantly fatal. Besides she must not yet know that the brute who had choked her was alive and might still hold the power of life and death over her frail body. She believed him dead. It was best so. He might be dead and buried before she recovered consciousness. The fever that burned her brain would completely cloud reason for days.
He hastily improvised a stretcher with a blanket and two strong quilting-poles which stood in the corner of the room. Nance helped him without question. She obeyed his slightest suggestion with childlike submission.
He placed Mary on the stretcher, wrapped her body in another warm blanket and turned to his nurse and messenger:
“Carry her to my house. Walk slowly and rest whenever you wish. Don't wake her. Tell Aunt Abbie to put her to bed in the south room overlooking the valley. Don't leave her a minute, Betty. She's in the first collapse of brain fever. You know what to do. I'll be there in an hour. You come back here, John. I want you.”
The mountaineer nodded and seized one end of the stretcher. The nurse took up the other and the Doctor held wide the cabin door as they passed out.
For three weeks he fought the grim battle with Death for the two young lives the Christmas tragedy had thrust into his hands. He gave his entire time day and night to the desperate struggle.
When pneumonia had developed and Jim's life hung by a hair, he slept on the couch in the living-room of the cabin and had Nance make for herself a bed on the floor of the kitchen.
The old woman remained an obedient child. She cooked the Doctor's meals and did the work about the house and yard as if nothing had disturbed her habits of lonely plodding. She believed implicitly all that was told her. Her son had pneumonia from cold he had taken in the long drive from Asheville. The house must be kept quiet. John Sanders was helping her nurse him. She was sure the Doctor would save him.
Even the knife with which she had stabbed him made no impression on her numbed senses. The Doctor had scoured every trace of blood from the blade and put it back in its place on the shelf, lest she should miss it and ask questions. She used it daily without the slightest memory of the frightful story it might tell.
Each morning before going to the cabin the Doctor watched with patience for the first signs of returning consciousness in Mary's fever-wracked body. The day she lifted her grateful eyes to his and her lips moved in a tremulous question he raised his hand gently.
“Sh! Child—don't talk! It's all right. You're getting better. I've been with you every day. You're in my house now. You'll soon be yourself again.”
She smiled wanly, put her delicate hand on his and pressed it gratefully.
“I understand. You thank me—you say that I am good to you. But I'm not. This is my life. I heal the sick because I must. I love this battle royal with Death. He beats me sometimes—but I never quit. I'm always tramping on his trail, and I've won this fight!”
The calm brown eyes held her in a spell and she smiled again.
“Sleep now,” he said soothingly. “Sleep day and night. Just wake to take a little food—that's all and Nature will do the rest.”
He stroked her hand gently until her eyelids closed.
Two days later Jim clung to the Doctor's hand and insisted on talking.
“Better wait a little longer, boy,” the physician answered kindly. “You're not out of the woods yet——”
“I can't wait—Doc——” Jim pleaded. “I've just got to ask you something.”
“All right. You can talk five minutes.”
“My wife, Doc, how is she? You took her to your house, John told me. She'll get well?”
“Yes. She's rapidly recovering now.”
“What does she say about me?”
“She thinks you're dead.”
“You haven't told her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She had all she could stand——”
Jim stared in silence.
“You think she'd be sorry to know I am alive?” he asked slowly.
“It would be a great shock.”
The steel blue eyes slowly filled with tears.
“God! I am rotten, ain't I?”
“There's no doubt about that, my son,” was the firm answer.
“Why did you fight so hard to save me—I wonder?”
“An old feud between Death and me.”
Jim suddenly seized the Doctor's hand.
“Say, you can't fool me—you're a good one, Doc. You've been a friend to me and you've got to help now—you've just got to. You're the only one on earth who can. You've a great big heart and you can't go back on a fellow that's down and out. Give me a chance! You will—won't you?”
The hot fingers gripped the Doctor's hand with pleading tenderness.
The brown eyes searched Jim's soul.
“If you can show me it's worth while——”
The fingers tightened their grip in silence.
“Just give me a chance, Doc,” he said at last, “and I'll show you! I ain't never had a chance to really know what was right and what was wrong. If I'd a lived here with my old mother she'd have told me. You know what it is to be a stray dog on the streets of New York? Even then, I'd have kept straight if I hadn't been robbed by a lawyer and his pal. I didn't know what I was doin' till that night here in this cabin—honest to God, I didn't——”
He paused for breath and a tear stole down his cheek. He fought for control of his emotions and went on in low tones.
“I didn't know—till I saw my old mother creepin' on me in the shadows with that big knife gleamin' in her hand! I tried to stop her and I couldn't. I tried to yell and strangled with blood. I saw the flames of hell in her eyes and I had kindled them there—God! I never knew until that minute! I'm broken and bruised lyin' on the rocks now in the lowest pit—— Give me your hand, Doc! You're my only friend—I'm goin' straight from now on—so help me God!”
He paused again for breath and sought the actor's eyes.
“You'll stand by me, won't you?”
A friendly grip closed on the trembling fingers.
“Yes—I'll help you—if I can.”
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