"A smash?" he inquired. Then, his eyes on the bottle at Dave's side: "What's that--brandy?"

"Brandy." The lumberman pa.s.sed it across to him. "Yes, a smash-up. This poor chap's badly damaged, I'm afraid. Found him with a heavy beam lying across the small of his back. You were the nearest doctor, so I sent for you. Eh? oh, yes," as the doctor pointed at the blood on his clothes. "When you've finished with him you can put a st.i.tch in me--some of the boys too. I'll leave you to it, Doc, they'll need me in the mill. I gave him brandy, and it roused him to consciousness."

"Right. You might get back in half an hour."

Dr. Symons moved over to the sick man, and Dave put on his coat and left the office.

When he returned the doctor met him with a grave face.

"What's the night like?" he asked. "I've got to ride back."

He went to the door, and Dave followed him out.

"His back is broken," he said, when they were out of ear-shot. "It's just a question of hours."

"How many?"

"Can't say with any certainty. It's badly smashed, and no doubt other things besides. Paralysis of the----"

"Has he said anything? Has he shown any inclination to talk?"

"No. That is, he looked around the room a good deal as though looking for some one. Maybe you."

"Can nothing be done for the poor chap?"

"Nothing. Better get him a parson. I'll come over to-morrow to see him, if he's alive. Anyway I'll be needed to sign a certificate. I must get back to home by daylight. I've got fever patients. Now just come inside, and I'll fix you up. Then I'll go and see to the boys. After that, home."

"You're sure nothing----"

"Plumb sure! Sure as I am you're going to have a mighty bad chest if you don't come inside and let me stop that oozing blood I see coming through your clothes."

Without further protest Dave followed the doctor into the office, and submitted to the operation.

"That's a rotten bad place," he a.s.sured him, in his brisk way. "You'll have to lie up. You ought to be dead beat from loss of blood. Gad, man, you must go home, or I won't answer----"

But Dave broke in testily.

"Right ho, Doc, you go and see to the boys. Send your bill in to me for the lot."

As soon as he had gone, Dave sat thoughtfully gazing at the doomed sawyer. Presently he glanced round at the brandy bottle. The doctor had positively said the poor fellow was doomed. He rose from his seat and poured out a stiff drink. Then he knelt down, and supporting the man's head, held it to his lips. He drank it eagerly. Dave knew it had been his one pleasure in life. Then he went back to his chair.

"Feeling comfortable?" he inquired gently.

"Yes, boss," came the man's answer promptly. Then, "Wot did the Doc say?"

"Guess you're handing in your checks," Dave replied, after a moment's deliberation.

The sawyer's eyes were on the brandy bottle.

"How long?" he asked presently.

"Maybe hours. He couldn't say."

"'E's wrong, boss. 'Tain't hours. I'm mighty cold, an'--it's creepin'

up quick."

Dave looked at his watch. It was already past two o'clock.

"He said he'd come and see you in the morning."

"I'll be stiff by then," the dying man persisted, with his eyes still on the bottle. "Say, boss," he went on, "that stuff's a heap warming--an' I'm cold."

Dave poured him out more brandy. Then he took off his own coat and laid it over the man's legs. His fur coat and another fur robe were in the cupboard, and these he added. And the man's thanks came awkwardly.

"I can't send for a parson," Dave said regretfully, after a few moments' silence. "I'd like to, but Parson Tom's away up in the hills.

It's only right----"

"He's gone up to the hills?" the sick man interrupted him, as though struck by a sudden thought.

"Yes. It's fever."

Mansell lay staring straight up at the roof. And as the other watched him he felt that some sort of struggle was going on in his slowly moving mind. Twice his lips moved as though about to speak, but for a long time no sound came from them. The lumberman felt extreme pity for him. He had forgotten that this man had so nearly ruined him, so nearly caused his death. He only saw before him a dimly flickering life, a life every moment threatening to die out. He knew how warped had been that life, how worthless from a purely human point of view, but he felt that it was as precious in the sight of One as that of the veriest saint. He racked his thoughts for some way to comfort those last dread moments.

Presently the dying man's head turned slightly toward him.

"I'm goin', boss," he said with a gasp. "It's gettin' up--the cold."

"Will you have--brandy?"

The lighting of the man's eyes made a verbal answer unnecessary. Dave gave him nearly half a tumbler, and his ebbing life flickered up again like a dying candle flame.

"The Doc said you wus hurt bad, boss. I heard him. I'm sorry--real miser'ble sorry--now."

"Now?"

"Yep--y' see I'm--goin'."

"Ah."

"I'm kind o' glad ther' ain't no pa.s.son around. Guess ther's a heap I wouldn't 'a' said to him."

The dying man's eyes closed for a moment. Dave didn't want to break in on his train of thought, so he kept silent.

"Y' see," Mansell went on again almost at once, "he kind o' drove me to it. That an' the drink. He give me the drink too. Jim's cur'us mean by you."

"But Jim's gone east days ago."

"No, he ain't. He's lyin' low. He ain't east now."