Laughing Bill Hyde | Page 3

sailed away to make a quick fortune. I hope Alaska's unhealthy."
"Yeah?"
"You see, I'm a doctor. I'm a good doctor, too, but it takes a long time to prove it, out in the States, and I can't wait a long time."
Mr. Hyde pondered briefly. "I don't see's you got much on me, Doc," he said. "I frisk 'em while they're good and healthy, and you 'take' 'em when they're feeble. I don't see no difference to speak of."
"It's an interesting viewpoint," the physician agreed, seriously enough, "and I respect every man's opinion. Tell me, how did you acquire that cough?"
"Livin' in a ground-floor apartment."
"What's your business?"
"Harness-maker."
"Hm-m! You'll do well up here." The doctor was highly entertained. "I understand there's a horse at Nome."
"A horse!"
"Alaska isn't a stock country."
Laughing Bill was genuinely surprised. "No horses!" he murmured. "How the hell do you get away?"
"You don't. You stay and face the music."
"Now what do you know about that?" There was a brief silence. "Well, I bet I'll turn my hand to something."
"No doubt. You impress me as a man of resource." The doctor's eyes twinkled and Bill smiled. A bond of friendly understanding had already sprung up between the two men. "Now then, I'm interested in your case. I've a notion to try to cure you."
"Nothing doin' on the fees. I'm a dead card."
"Oh, I won't charge you anything! I'm merely interested in obscure ailments, and, if I'm not mistaken, you suffer from more than one--well, disease. I think you need curing about as badly as any man I ever saw."
Now Laughing Bill was not skilled in subtleties, and his relief at extricating himself from a trying predicament banished any resentment he might have felt at the doctor's double meaning. Since the latter was a good-natured, harmless individual he decided to humor him, and so, after they had visited for an hour or more, Mr. Hyde discreetly withdrew. But, oddly enough, during the days immediately following, Laughing Bill grew to like the young fellow immensely. This in itself was a novel experience, for the ex-convict had been a "loner" all his-life, and had never really liked any one. Dr. Evan Thomas, however, seemed to fill some long-felt want in Hyde's hungry make-up. He fitted in smoothly, too, and despite the latter's lifelong habit of suspicion, despite his many rough edges, he could not manage to hold the young man at a distance.
Thomas was of a type strange to the wanderer, he was educated, he had unfamiliar airs and accomplishments, but he was human and natural withal. He was totally ignorant of much that Mr. Hyde deemed fundamental, and yet he was mysteriously superior, while his indifferent good nature, his mild amusement at the antics of the world about him covered a sincere and earnest nature. He knew his business, moreover, and he revolutionized Bill's habits of hygiene in spite of the latter's protests.
But the disease which ravaged Mr. Hyde's constitution had its toes dug in, and when the steamer touched at St. Michaels he suffered a severe hemorrhage. For the first time in his life Laughing Bill stood face to face with darkness. He had fevered memories of going over side on a stretcher; he was dimly aware of an appalling weakness, which grew hourly, then an agreeable indifference enveloped him, and for a long time he lived in a land of unrealities, of dreams. The day came when he began to wonder dully how and why he found himself in a freezing cabin with Doctor Thomas, in fur cap and arctic overshoes, tending him. Bill pondered the phenomenon for a week before he put his query into words.
"I've had a hard fight for you, old man," the doctor explained. "I couldn't leave you here to die."
"I guess I must 'a' been pretty sick."
"Right! There's no hospital here, so I took this cabin--borrowed it from the Company. We don't burn much fuel, and expenses aren't high."
"You been standin' off the landlord?"
"Yes."
There was a considerable silence, then Bill said, fervently: "You're a regular guy, like I told you! But you got your pill business to attend to. I'm all right now, so you better blow."
Thomas smiled dubiously. "You're a long way from all right, and there's no place to 'blow' to. The last boat sailed two weeks ago."
"Last boat for where?"
"For anywhere. We're here for the winter, unless the mail-carrier will take us to Nome, or up the Yukon, after the trails open."
"I bet you'll do a good business right here, when folks see what you done for me," Bill ventured.
"Just wait till you look at the town--deserted warehouses, some young and healthy watchmen, and a Siwash village. You're the only possible patient in all of St. Michaels."
Bill lay silent for an hour, staring through the open cabin window at a gray curtain of