And here was our second Sunday.

CHAPTER XXI

THE LAST DASH

That young doctor was fine. He took things right into his own hands, and Major Henry said all right. The major was weak but game. He was gamer than any of us. Fitz and Red Fox Scout Ward had slept some by turns, and the two women were ready to help, too; but the doctor gave Red Fox Scout Van Sant and me the choice of going to sleep or going fishing.

It was Sunday and we didn't need the fish. We didn't intend to go to sleep; we just let them show us a place, in the bunk-house, and we lay down, for a minute. For we were ready to help, as well as the rest of them. A Scout must not be afraid of blood or wounds. We only lay down with a blanket over us, instead of going fishing--and when I opened my eyes again the sun was bright and Fitz and Ward were peeking in on us.

They were pale, but they looked happy.

Van and I tried to sit up.

"Is it over with?" we asked.

"Sure."

"Did he take it out? Was that what was the matter?"

"Yes. Want to see it?"

No, we didn't. I didn't, anyway.

"How is he? Can we see him?"

"The doctor says he'll be all right. Maybe you can see him. He's out from under. It's one o'clock."

One o'clock! Phew! We were regular deserters--but we hadn't intended to be.

We tumbled out, now, and hurried to wash and fix up, so that we would look good to the major. Sick people are finicky. The daughter was in the kitchen, but the mother and the doctor were eating. There was a funny sweetish smell, still; smell of chloroform. It is a serious smell, too.

The doctor smiled at us. "I ought to have taken yours out, while you were asleep," he joked. "I've been thinking of it."

"Is he all right?" we asked; Fitz and Ward behind us, ready to hear again.

"Bully, so far."

"Indeed he is," added the mother.

"Can we see him?"

"You can stand on the threshold and say one word: 'h.e.l.lo.'"

We tiptoed through. The bed was clean and white, with a sheet outside instead of the colored spread; and the major was in it. The Elks' flag was spread out, draped over the dresser, where he could see it. His eyes opened at us. He didn't look so very terrible, and he tried to grin.

"How?" he said.

"h.e.l.lo," said we; and we gave him the Scouts' sign.

"Didn't even make me sick," he croaked. "But I can't get up. Don't you fellows wait. You go ahead."

"We will," we said, to soothe him. Then we gave him the Scouts' sign again, and the silence sign, and the wolf sign (for bravery) (Note 66), and we drew back. The doctor had told us that we could say one word, and we had been made to say three!

We had seen that the major was alive and up and coming (not really up; only going to be, you know); but this was another anxious day, I tell you! Having an appendix cut out is no light matter, ever--and besides, here was the fourteenth day on the trail! The major would not be able to stir for a week and a half, maybe; yet Green Valley, our goal, was only twenty-one miles away!

"It's all a question of the nursing that he has now, boys," said the doctor, in council with us. "I'm going to trust that to you Scouts; these women have all they can do, anyway. We got the appendix out just in time--but if it hadn't been for your first-aid treatment in the beginning we might have been too late. That old appendix was swollen and ready to burst if given half a chance. His pure Scout's blood and his Scout's vitality will pull him through O. K. That's what he gets, from living right, following out Scouts' rules. But he must have attention night and day according to hygiene. We don't want any microbes monkeying with that wound I made."

"No, you bet," we said.

"I'll leave you complete directions and then I'm going back to the mines; but I'll ride over again to-morrow morning. Can't you keep him from fussing about that message?"

"We'll try," we said.

"If you can't, then one of you can jump on a horse and take it over, so as to satisfy him. You can make the round trip in five hours."

Well, we were pledged not to do _that_; horse or other help was forbidden. But we did not say so. What was the use? And it didn't seem now as though either Fitz or I could stand it to leave the major even for five hours. The Red Fox Scouts of course must skip on, to the railroad, or they'd miss their big Yellowstone trip, and we two Elks would be on night and day duty, with the major. The doctor said that he would be out of danger in five days. By that time the message would be long overdue. It was too bad. We had tried so hard.

The doctor left us written directions, until he should come back; and he rode off for the mines.

Fitz and I took over the nursing, and let the two women go on about their ranch work. They were mighty nice to us, and we didn't mean to bother them any more than was absolutely necessary. The two Red Foxes stayed a while longer. They said that they would light out early in the morning, if the major had a good night, in time to catch the train all right. But they didn't; we might have smelled a mouse, if we hadn't been so anxious about the major. They were good as gold, those two Red Foxes.

You see, the major kept fussing. He was worried over the failure of the message. He had it on his mind all the time. To-morrow was the fifteenth day--and here we were, laid up because of him. We told him no matter; we all had done our Scouts' best, and no fellows could have done more. But we would stick by him. That was our Scouts' duty, now.

He kept fussing. When we took his temperature, as the doctor had ordered, it had gone up two degrees. That was bad. We could not find any other special symptoms. His cut didn't hurt him, and he had not a thing to complain of--except that we wouldn't carry the message through in time.

"You'll have to do it," said Red Fox Scout Van Sant to Fitz and me.

"But we can't."

"Why not?"

That was a silly question for a Scout to ask.

"We can't leave Tom."

"Yes, you can. Hal and I are here."

"You've got to make that train, right away."

"No, we haven't."

"But you'll miss the Yellowstone trip!"

"We can take it later."