The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Part 47

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

DORIS

Contrast to the rules of the hospital, the head-surgeon was chatting rather intimately with Pete's nurse. They were in the anteroom of the surgical ward. She was getting ready to go on duty.

"No, Miss Gray," said the surgeon positively, "he can't hold out much longer unless we operate. And I don't think he could stand an operation. He has amazing vitality, he's young, and in wonderful condition--outdoor life and pretty clean living. But he don't seem to care whether he lives or not. Has he said anything to you about--"

The surgeon paused and cleared his throat.

"No. He just stares at me. Sometimes he smiles--and, Dr. Andover, I've been here two years--and I'm used to it, but I simply can't help feeling--that he ought to have a chance."

The surgeon studied her wistful face and for a moment forgot that he was the head-surgeon of the General, and that she was a nurse. He liked Doris Gray because of her personality and ability. Two years of hard work at the General had not affected her quietly cheerful manner.

"You're wearing yourself out worrying about this case," said the surgeon presently. "And that won't do at all."

She flushed and her seriousness vanished. "I'm willing to," she said simply.

The doctor smiled and shook his finger at her. "Miss Gray, you know a good nurse--"

"I know, Dr. Andover, but he hasn't a friend in the world. I asked him yesterday if I should write to any one, or do anything for him. He just smiled and shook his head. He doesn't seem to be afraid of anything--nor interested in anything. He--oh, his eyes are just like the eyes of a dog that is hurt and wants so much to tell you something, and can't. I don't care what the newspapers say--and those men from the police station! I don't believe he is really bad. Now please don't smile and tell me I'm silly."

"I thought you just said he didn't have a friend in the world."

"Oh, I don't count--that way." Then hurriedly: "I forgot--he did ask me to write to some one--the first day--a Jim Ewell, in Arizona. He asked me to say he had 'delivered the goods.' I don't know that I should have done it without reporting it, but--well, you said he couldn't live--"

"Some outlaw pal of his, probably," said Andover, frowning. "But that has nothing to do with his--er--condition right now."

"And sometimes he talks when he is half-conscious, and he often speaks to some one he calls 'The Spider,'" a.s.serted Doris.

"Queer affair. Well, I'll think about it. If we do operate, I'll want you--"

The surgeon was interrupted by a nurse who told him there was a man who wanted to see Peter Annersley: that the man was insistent. The head-nurse was having supper, and should the caller be allowed in after visiting hours?

"Send him in," said the surgeon, and he stepped into the superintendent's office. Almost immediately The Spider sidled across the hallway and entered the room. The surgeon saw a short, shriveled, bow-legged man, inconspicuously dressed save for his black Stetson and the riding-boots which showed below the bottom of his trousers. The Spider's black beady eyes burned in his weather-beaten and scarred face--"the eyes of a hunted man"--thought the surgeon. In a peculiar, high-pitched voice, he asked Andover if he were the doctor in charge.

"I'm Andover, head-surgeon," said the other. "Won't you sit down?"

The other glanced round. Andover got up and closed the door. "You wish to see young Annersley, I understand."

"You looking after him?"

Andover nodded.

"Is he hurt pretty bad?"

"Yes. I doubt if he will recover."

"Can I see him?"

"Well,"--and the surgeon hesitated,--"it's after hours. But I don't suppose it will do any harm. You are a friend of his?"

"About the only one, I reckon."

"Well--I'll step in with you. He may be asleep. If he is--"

"I won't bother him."

The nurse met them, and put her finger to her lips. Andover nodded and stepped aside as The Spider hobbled to the cot and gazed silently at Pete's white face. Then The Spider turned abruptly and hobbled down the aisle, followed by Andover. "Come in here," said the surgeon as The Spider hesitated.

Andover told him briefly that there was one chance in a thousand of Pete's recovery; that the shock had been terrific, describing just where the bullet was lodged and its effect upon the sensory nerves.

Andover was somewhat surprised to find that this queer person knew considerable about gun-shot wounds and was even more surprised when The Spider drew a flat sheaf of bills from his pocket and asked what an operation would cost. Andover told him.

The Spider immediately counted out the money and handed it to Andover.

"And get him in a room where he can be by himself. I'll pay for it."

"That's all right, but if he should not recover from the operation--"

"I'm gambling that he'll pull through," said The Spider. "And there's my ante. It's up to you."

"I'll have a receipt made out--"

The Spider shook his bead. "His life'll be my receipt. And you're writing it--don't make no mistake."

Andover's pale face flushed. "I'm not accustomed to having my reputation as a surgeon questioned."

"See here," said The Spider, laying another packet of bills on the surgeon's desk. "Where I come from money talks. And I reckon it ain't got tongue-tied since I was in El Paso last. Here's a thousand. Pull that boy through and forget where you got the money."

"I couldn't do more if you said ten thousand," a.s.serted Andover.

"Gambling is my business," said The Spider. "I raise the ante. Do you come in?"

"This is not a sporting proposition,"--Andover hesitated,--"but I'll come in," he added slowly.

"You're wrong," said The Spider; "everything is a sporting proposition from the day a man is born till he cashes in, and mebby after. I don't know about that, and I didn't come here to talk. My money 'll talk for me."

Andover, quite humanly, was thinking that a thousand dollars would help considerably toward paying for the new car that he had had in mind for some time. He used a car in his work and he worked for the General Hospital. His desire to possess a new car was not altogether professional, and he knew it. But he also knew that he was overworked and underpaid.

"Who shall I say called?" asked Andover, picking up the packet of bills.

"Just tell him it was a friend."

Andover was quite as shrewd in his way as was this strange visitor, who evidently did not wish to be known. "This entire matter is rather irregular," he said,--"and the--er--bonus--is necessarily a confidential matter!"

"Which suits me,"--and The Spider blinked queerly.

Dr. Andover stepped to the main doorway. As he bade The Spider good-night, he told him to call up on the telephone about ten-thirty the next morning, or to call personally if he preferred.