AFFAIRS at Owl River Post were in a bad way. From the flagpole before the long buildings situated at a sharp bend of the river, the scarlet plague flag whipped and writhed in the wind, while at the top of the steep bank, Hume, the factor, stood frantically waving them off.
"Ut's all right, Hume, me bye!" called the Inspector. "Ut's me -- Costello, fresh vaccinated, an' out av harm's way. How ye farin'?"
"Bad enough. My clerk, an' a Company Injun have got it. I've got two other Injuns in a tent for observation. The sick men are in my quarters, an' I'm livin' in the tradin' room."
"Who's tendin' 'em?"
"I am."
"Have ye had ut?"
"No."
"Vaccinated?"
"A long time ago -- so long I don't remember."
Costello proceeded immediately to vaccinate Hume and the two Indians who submitted to the ordeal in dumb terror, which no amount of expltnation served to abate.
"Be'n flyin' quite a while, be the wind-whipped look av ut," opined Costello, pointing to the patch of scarlet at the top of the pole.
Hume nodded and leading the way into the trading room, moved behind the counter and produced a book. "I raised it the twelfth an' it's the twenty-seventh, now. The clerk was the first to come down. He's dryin' up now. But, the Injun's bad. I think he'll die."
"Who brought ut here?"
Hume shook his head: "I don't know. There's be'n a sprinklin' of Injuns ----"
"Any of 'em come from Mueller's?" asked Costello, recalling what Berry had said about spreading the disease.
"I don't think so. Have they got it at Mueller's?"
"I don't know. I'm goin' there, now. There was no one else? No white men?"
"Only one. He was here, let's see," Hume consulted his book, "it was the third. He bought two pounds of tobacco."
"He wasn't, be chance, a cock-eyed man with a red beard showin' grey?"
"He was that. I kep' close eye on him, for I figured him for a rum peddler. But, I guess I was wrong. He seemed harmless an' good-natured enough -- for all his looks. Hung around half a day, hobnobbin' an' wrastlin' with Johnnie Bean, the clerk, but never once did he mention liquor."
"Where'd he come from, an' where'd he go?"
"He come in from the east -- had only a light back-pack. Said he'd left his outfit eight or ten miles down the river. He was huntin' Mueller's, an' when I told him the way, he headed back down the river again."
Costello nodded: "He wrastled wid the clerk, an' the clerk was the furst to come down?"
"But he didn't come down till nearly two weeks after that," said Hume.
"That's as ut should be, accordin' to the books. Ut takes that long to take holt. We'll be goin' now. Av the Injun dies, burn the body -- ut's safest. Here's some medicine, though little faith I've got in ut. Av ye've be'n exposed as long as ye have, the chances are ye won't get ut. Some folks don't -- ye're lucky."
"What ye thinkin' about, son?" queried the Inspector, as the two sat that evening over their camp fire, half way between Owl River post and Mueller's.
'Young Downey grinned: "I was just thinkin' what a lot of different things a man has to know to be a good policeman."
"Ut often surprises mesilf that Oi carry tit all in wan head," chaffed Costello.
"I really mean it," answered the other, seriously.
"I've kept my eyes and my ears open, and the more I see and hear, the more I wonder."
"'Tis the way to learn," approved Costello. "'Tis the ability a man's got to profit be his experience an' observation that makes the difference between a wise man an' a fool. 'Tis what min call common sense -- an' ut can't be learnt out av books. Take this patrol, ye've seen an' heard nothin,' barrin' maybe a few tricks av the trail, that ye're own common sense wouldn't have told ye to do."
"Yes, but there's a lot of information a man must have that all the common sense in the world couldn't teach him. For instance, you knew just how long it takes smallpox to take hold of a man. And, when Bill Berry told you he lived on Third Street in Montreal, you knew he was lying because you knew there wasn't any Third Street."
Inspector Costello grinned a grin. "Two weeks before we started Oi knew no more of smallpox than Hume knows. Whin Oi knew Oi had the smallpox to fight, Oi pestered the doctors wid questions, an' borryed all their books on smallpox till Oi can rattle off its symptoms, its kinds, an' raysults. 'Twas but common sense to find out all Oi cud about the disease Oi had to fight."
"But, how did you know there was no Third Street in Montreal?"
"Oi don't know. Fer all Oi know, there may be a half a dozen Third Streets in Montreal. 'Twas common sense told me he was lyin,' an' Oi grabbed the furst thing Oi cud lay me tongue to to let him know that Oi know'd ut. An' 'twas common sense told me to throw in a hint that maybe Mueller had tipped him off. From what he said, an' what happened at Owl River, I know that fer some rayson Mueller is spreadin' the red death ----"
"But, what possible good would that do him?"
Costello shrugged: "Maybe he figured that if some ay the posts nearby was wiped out he'd have less competition, fer he carried a general trade line besides his hooch. They're small posts, an' he prob'ly figured the Company wouldn't bother wid startin' 'em up again. We're almost sure Mueller's spreadin' ut -- but unless we can get a deposition, or make wan av them talk on the witness stand, we'll never be able to prove ut. Anyhow, we'll know tomorrow. 'Tis time we was gettin' some sleep."
Mueller had built his trading establishment upon the highest point of a small wooded island in a lake whose many jutting points gave it its name. As the two officers approached, they noticed that smoke arose from only one of the three buildings, a small cabin built near the larger log trading room. Save for a half-dozen snarling dogs that huddled in the lee of the log wall, no sign of life was visible. There was no plague flag flying. Ignoring the cabin from which the smoke rose, Inspector Costello walked directly to another cabin and threw open the door. "It would be here where Berry said he had the liquor cached." be said. The cabin was windowless, and peering into the black interior, as their eyes became accustomed to the darkness a sight presented itself that caused even the hardened Costello to utter an exclamation of horror.
Sprawled upon the floor were the frozen bodies of three Indians, their emaciated faces hardly recognizable from disfigurement of the dread disease. On a pole bunk at one end of the room lay another body -- a woman, partially covered by a tangle of filthy robes and blankets. Costello entered the room. "That's Mueller's wife," he said, and turned away in disgust. Moving one of the bodies he shifted a floor puncheon, and stooping, lighted a match and held the flickering flame in the aperture. When the match had burned itself out, he rose to his feet and replaced the puncheon. "Ut's there," he announced, "ten or a dozen kegs like them we smashed fer Berry. An' now, we'll go an' see Mueller."
Passing around the trading room, the two noticed that the snow was drifted against the door. Also, it was drifted against the door of the building from which the smoke rose. Costello hammered on the door with his fist, and receiving no answer, hammered again.
An indistinguishable sound came from the interior, as though someone were trying to speak through half-closed lips.
"Open the door!" demanded the officer, "ut's Inspector Costello, av the Royal North-West Mounted Police."
Again came the indistinguishable sounds.
"Open, or Oi'll smash ut in!" roared Costello, and the demand was followed by a peculiar shuffling, scraping sound from the interior, and a moment later the door swung inward to reveal a sight that, to his dying day, Downey will never forget. A great blond giant of a man, his two hands gripping the back of the chair he had pushed ahead to steady him on his journey from the bed to the door, stood swaying while horrid toneless sounds that were hardly distinguishable as words poured from his swollen lips. Thick saliva flowed from the corners of his mouth and clung to the matted yellow beard, and two eyes, burning with fever, glared from beneath a forehead blotched fiery red and spotted with great yellow pustules the size of peas. The fetor from the tightly closed, super-heated room swept past the man like a blast from Avernus, causing the two involuntarily to step backward.
The act seemed to rouse the giant to fury. Reeling he released his grip, to shake a ponderous fist, while a jumbled torrent of obscene abuse poured from his lips in hoarse, gutteral croaks: "You lie! I ain't got it! I ain't -- I can't -- I had it -- long time ago! I tell you I ain't -- I ain't -- I ain't! God -- my head -- my throat's all raw, an' my mouth -- got it all over -- inside an' out Christ -- I'm burnin' up! Gimme ----"
"Git back there!" commanded Costello, "back to yer bed!"
The man obeyed. Shoving the chair before him, swaying and reeling, missing the hot stove by inches, he sank muttering upon the robes of his bunk.
"Oi've be'n, an' Oi've seen," said the Inspector, sniffing the putrid air in disgust, "but niver a cesspool like this -- whiskey, smallpox an' human filth! We'll let air in before we cross the doorsill. A lungful of yon would poison a wolf."
On the bunk, the man tossed and mumbled in the semi-delirium of intoxication and fever. After a few moments, Costello entered the room. From a nail beside the door, he took a large key which he tossed to Downey: "Go to the tradin' room an' get some new blankets," he ordered. "We'll waste no time fumigatin' here. We'll get him out an' kick the stove over an' let her burn."
As Downey disappeared with the key, he heard Mueller in a fresh outburst of raving: "You lie! I ain't got it! You'll not burn ----"
"Shut up!" commanded Costello. "Ye're rotten wid ut -- an' serves ye right! Lavin' yer wife die like a dog, an' tryin' to spread ut through the North ----"
"It's a lie!" croaked the man, swinging his feet to the floor and half rising. "Shut that door! I'm freezin' -- burnin' up, an' freezin'!" Reaching for a dipper he plunged it into a pail of whiskey and water and swallowed its contents in great painful gulps. Coughing and retching, he blurted his words: "She ain't dead -- she got it -- made her go with the other dam' Injuns -- you lie -- I didn't spread it ----"
"That'll do," said Costello. "Where's yer plague flag? An' how about sendin' Bill Berry to Owl River Post ----?"
Mueller was sitting up, now, upon the edge of the bunk, his eyes glaring like the eyes of a wounded beast: "It's a lie! Dam' the plague flag! Where's Bill Berry?"
"He's safe an' sound with the two kegs av liquor he got from ye, all smashed an' beyond harm. 'Twas him told av yer spreadin' the smallpox to Owl River Post."
With a roar, the man lurched to his knees, and the next moment was on his feet, a cocked carbine in his hands. As Costello leaped forward the gun roared, and the Inspector, crumpled in a heap in the middle of the floor.
Half way from the store to the cabin young Downey halted abruptly at the sound of a shot. Hurling his armful of blankets to the snow, he dashed forward, remembering that both revolvers were in the pack on the sled. In the doorway, he paused to see Mueller working frantically at the lever of his carbine, the mechanism of which had jammed. At sight of the younger man, the crazed giant raised the gun to club Costello, who was struggling to rise. Snatching a heavy billet of firewood from the pile Downey hurled it with all his strength. It caught Mueller fair in the face, and he crashed backwards, carrying the stove with him, scattering coals and blazing brands upon the grease-soaked floor. Gasping in the smoke that instantly filled the little room, the youngster reached Costello and, grasping him by the feet, pulled him out into the snow. Then he returned for Mueller. But, already the room was a holocaust. The light spruce floor, saturated with the grease of years, and the tinder-dry spruce boughs that served as a mattress for the bunk were a fury of red blaze that leaped through the smoke and threatened momentarily to engulf the lad in a fiery embrace. In vain he tried to reach the spot where Mueller had fallen. Flames scorched his face, singed his eyebrows, and the fur of his cap and mittens. His lungs seemed bursting, and his eyes were nearly closed with the sting of the smoke when he finally reached the door where Costello lay with his head upon the sill roaring for him to come out.
Dragging the Inspector to safety, Downey built a fire in the stove of the trading room and, half-dragging, half-carrying, succeeded in getting him onto a pile of new blankets close beside the stove. Examination revealed a badly shattered shoulders job which, on the face of it, clearly required the service of an expert. Undaunted, young Downey set to work with a will and at the end of an hour had completed a very creditable job of first aid.
"'Tis a pretty kettle of fish, altogether," growled Costello, as he lay propped against a pile of bolt goods. "An' the patrol only jest begun! Who'd thought the crazy divil would shoot, or could shoot, an' him nine-tinths dead wid the smallpox! He must have had the gun hid in his bed -- the first Oi seen av ut was end on. 'Twas a grand shot ye made, lad, wid the fire chunk. Wan second more an' he'd of bashed me head in." "I'm sorry I couldn't get him out of the cabin," said the youngster, with a glance toward the window that gave view of the smoking ashes.
"'Twas a merciful death fer um," opined the Inspector. "He had his ticket. Ye saved um days av sufferin'."
While Downey prepared supper, the Inspector dozed fitfully on his blankets. "Where ye be'n?" he inquired, as the other entered the door, stamping the snow from his feet, "an' what the divil got into them dogs?"
"They're Mueller's," explained Downey. "There's six of 'em -- good ones, too, but pretty well gaunted up. They haven't been fed for days. There's two deer carcasses in the fur room, an' I gave 'em a good big feed of deer meat and salt pork. I've got some nice cuts of it ready for us."
After supper the Inspector filled his pipe. "What's yer idea av the thing to do now?" he asked, as the boy seated himself beside him.
"You're in command," reminded Downey, with a grin.
"True, lad, but I'm minded to see what ye've done in the way av figurin', fer I know yer wits has not be'n idle."
"Well -- you've got to get to a doctor, and I've got to carry on the patrol. I figure that with Mueller's dogs, I can get you to Owl River, and Hume can get some Indians to take you back to Prince Albert. Then, I'll go on."
"Ye'll go on, eh? Cover around twelve hundred miles av winter trail alone on yer first patrol -- an' ut's not only coverin' the trail ---there's things to be done."
"An' only me to do 'em," smiled the boy. "But, the patrol has got to go through. I'm goin' to do the best I know how. I can get directions from one post to the next -- maybe some of 'em can lend me an Injun -- but whether they do or not, I'll get through."
"Aye, Cammie, bye, Oi think ye will -- though 'tis a tough daytail fer a rookie. Ye'll take over the patrol from now on. What's yer plans -- between here an' Hume's?"
"The other cabin, the one with the -- Injuns in, I'm going to burn tonight -- bodies, whiskey, an' all. In the morning I'll shut this place up tight, an' burn some of those sulphur candles in it. Then, I'll harness Mueller's dogs, put you on his toboggan, are strike out for Owl River Post. Our dogs, with our outfit, will follow along." The boy paused, and the Inspector nodded, as he slowly puffed his pipe. "Is that the way you'd do it?"
Costello blew a cloud of smoke from his lungs: "Ut is, except maybe, my first thought would be to burn this tradin' room along with the cabin. But, fumigatin' might do as well -- ut's what fumigation is for. Anyway, ye're judgment stands. The destruction av property should be avoided whinever possible. An' now, bye, ye'd better be about yer burnin' an' git to bed. Ye've a hard day be foor ye -- an' many a hard day -- an' here's a bit av advice that may stand ye in good stead -- on a long trail never cut down on ye're rest. A man can cut down on his grub amazin' an' keep goin' -- but not his sleep."
"I'll remember that," answered the boy, and picking up a kerosene can, he stepped out into the night.