Legacy (20 page)

When I saw his arm where the log had been, my legs weakened under me and I closed my eyes, kneeling down beside him to recover. The world seemed to spin. I could hear his voice, a faint whisper that I could barely understand.

I opened my eyes. His mouth was open as he took ragged gasps of air. His eyelids were clenched tightly against the pain.

'We're going to get help,' I said as confidently as I could. 'There's a doctor here. He's coming right down.'

'Don't let him . . . don't let him . . .' He moaned again, and tears spilled from between his closed eyelids. He was deathly pale.

'I can't hear you,' I said. 'Don't let him do what?'

The words came out in a great sob. 'Don't cut it off! For God's sake, don't cut. . .'

And then, as if exhausted by the effort the words had taken, he turned his head to one side and seemed to sink into himself.

Justin's voice was behind me, and from a distance I heard Father's voice and then horses on the road. The sound of the gunfire seemed to echo in my memory. I closed my eyes in gratitude that both of them were safe.

Justin's strong arms were helping me to stand up. 'You mustn't amputate,' I said as I leaned against him, vaguely conscious of his body warm against my breast. I was tired and wanted to go home, but I felt somehow obligated to speak for this man, who now lay so quietly at my feet. 'He told me just before he lost consciousness. That's all he could think about.'

'I'll have to be the judge of that,' Justin said quietly, 'after I take a look at him. But you've done amazingly well. You mean you got that log off his arm by yourself? Here, now, don't try to walk just yet. Looks like you've twisted that right ankle, haven't you?'

I nodded. Just standing on the ankle made me wince with pain. I also felt sightly dazed. 'What happened up there?' I asked. 'I heard gunshots.'

He tightened his arm around me, holding me closer to him. 'I'll tell you in a minute. First try to point your toe up. Not too much pain? Good. It looks as if you've not torn anything loose, then. We'll leave the shoe on for now and keep the swelling down till we get back to camp. Now can you manage to sit down here on the log while I have a look at this arm here? Don't worry, I'll tell you what happened. We're all safe.'

As he examined the arm of the unconscious man, Justin explained quickly that someone had been firing a rifle at the stump from a distance too far away from the sledge to be heard over the noise it made as it scraped over the rocks and dirt of the skid.

He paused, and I watched Justin's quick, slender fingers gently feel under the driver's throat for a pulse. He seemed to be encouraged by the result, whatever it was, for he relaxed his tight-lipped concentration somewhat as he snapped shut his thin gold watch and tucked it carefully back into his pocket.

'Is he all right?' I asked. 'He was so worried that he might have to lose his arm.'

'I'm going to look now. But we may know better after we get him back to camp.'

He took out a slender gold pocketknife and clicked open the blade. Deftly, without disturbing the man's arm, he slit through the red wool of the sleeve, now bloodstained. Then he peeled back a flap of the material and the wound lay bare.

'What do you think?' I asked.

'The bone's shattered. By rights we ought to amputate.'

'What do you mean by rights? Isn't there something else you can do?'

An edge came into his voice. 'I must say, Catherine, you're taking more of an interest in this case than I would have expected.'

'That's because you weren't here when he was conscious,' I shot back. 'His arm was all he wanted, all he could think about. Don't you feel anything of how important that is?'

'This is a textbook case.' His own voice was harder, and the words more clipped. I could see that Dr. McKay was not accustomed to having his opinion questioned. 'Needless to say, this bone is much too fragmented ever to mend. Anything else but amputation would be long and complicated, and I'll thank you to . . .'

'Oh, it would? And you might have to work a little longer and harder?' I could not keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

He looked at me coldly and then turned away. If there was one thing Justin McKay possessed in more than ordinary amounts, it was the drive and discipline to work more, and more intensely, than ordinary men. He was justifiably proud of his capacity for work, and to call that capacity into question here rankled him immensely.

But that was just what I wanted. He deserved every bit of irritation I could give him, I told myself, after yesterday. I felt proud, too, that now I had found my tongue and stood up to him!

He was checking the driver for other possible injuries, and ignoring me, when Father rode up behind us. Vince had gone for a wagon, he said, after he had made sure that I was all right.

On the way back up the road, Father and I sat at the front of the wagon. The injured logger was stretched out on a pad of folded rough blankets with a third blanket covering him. He had not yet regained consciousness, and every so often Justin, who sat at his side, would check his pulse, pressing skilled fingertips lightly just underneath the side of the man's jaw. Justin did not speak often during the ride, maintaining that easy impenetrable calm that answers questions with only a word or two and conveys the impression that the most sensible thing to do for the moment is simply to wait.

Father, on the other hand, was ready to talk about what had happened on the mountain. They had killed the sniper. Justin had drawn his fire and flushed him out from his cover, and Father had caught him with two pistol shots as he was trying to reload. There was little doubt that he had been the cause of the accidents on that particular skid. They had found the spot where he had dug himself in sometime ago - a place with a clear view of the stump and the rope that coiled around it.

I didn't understand how he could break a rope that thick with just a bullet or two, and I said so.

'Remember the strain that rope was under,' said Father. 'He didn't have to break it. Just a nick would weaken it, fray some of the fibers so the others would stretch. Then the heat of the coil and the weight of the sledge would do the rest.'

'So all he had to do was shoot at the stump. I see. He waited until there was enough noise from the sledge to cover the shot, and then he just fired away. But why didn't he stop more of the sledges, then? Was he working on one of the crews the rest of the time?'

Father nodded. 'Vince recognized him.' Then he began to talk of the celebration we would have back in camp. He grinned at me. 'Well, you wanted to help cheer 'em up, and now you've gone and given 'em something to cheer up about! Wait till they learn they've got Sam Rawlings's daughter to thank for getting that man. They'll cheer so loud that we're gonna need a new roof on the mess hall!'

'Nonsense, Father. I didn't do anything but stand there.'

'We'd all have been up waitin' at the top if it hadn't been for you. And we wouldn't have seen where those shots came from at all. Instead of bein' dead, that son-of-a-bitch with the rifle would have been laughin' up his sleeve back at the camp. We'd likely have had to shut down that skid altogether.'

We returned to camp, where I could wash up a bit in the cold spring water and make my hair more presentable. Later the men did cheer, just as Father had predicted. After supper they passed around the rich, aromatic cigars and the half-dozen bottles of imported whisky Father had brought for his camp, and around the long tables rose clouds of smoke and hearty laughter. There were songs roared out under the high-,beamed roof to the accompaniment of a mouth organ, and then one fellow with a Swedish accent stood up and led the men in three rousing cheers for Sam Rawlings! Father beamed.

When the last echoes had died away, the same man continued. 'And now, for the young lady' - he cupped his mouth in a hoarse stage whisper - 'vat's her name? Katrine! Hip, hip!'

And then the other men: 'Hurrah!'

I would never have believed that the cheers of those men could have moved me the way they did, but my heart rose within me and I felt a warm, dazed glow as I smiled at them and nodded my appreciation.

And then Justin McKay entered the room, his tall, erect figure framed in the doorway across from us in the last soft gold of the setting sun. A hush fell over the group, for everyone in the hall knew that 'the doc' had been out in the infirmary shed ever since we had got back to camp more than two hours ago, working on Frank Kelso, the grey-haired logger, who had still not regained consciousness when Justin had ordered us to leave him and the camp orderly to their work.

The man who had led the cheering was still on his feet. 'Vat's the news, Doc?' he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Justin looked around the room momentarily until he found where we were sitting. Then he said simply, 'He's awake. Some of you can see him, but one at a time. We saved his arm.'

A tremendous cheer erupted in the hall, and as Justin made his way to our table men rose from their seats to shake his hand or clap him on the back.

'He ought to be running for election,' I remarked to Father as Justin came closer.

'He's gonna be,' Father said. 'I've already talked to some of the right people. They want to send him to Washington in the fall.'

Justin was sliding into his seat, still shaking hands with a few men who had followed him over. When the last of them had gone, Justin grinned at Father. 'Quite a crew you've got here, Sam,' he said.

'They know when somebody does right by 'em, that's for sure,' Father replied. 'Now let's get you some dinner, eh?' He beckoned to one of the men who was waiting tables, and the fellow was soon on his way into the kitchen for some more hot venison and corn bread.

Justin turned to me, the blue eyes friendlier but still distant. 'I think I owe that cheer I just got now to you,' he said.

Later that night we were sitting before the small stone fireplace in foreman Vince's cabin, which he had given us for the night. I was to sleep in the bedroom at the back of the cabin, while Father and Justin would have cots out here, in the area Vince used as an office and sitting room. The chairs, framed of three-inch logs and with backs and seats of varnished wood slats, were surprisingly comfortable. Outside it was dark. A chilly mountain wind had prompted Vince to get a good fire blazing in the hearth before he had bidden us good night and headed for the bunkhouse. The cabin was warm and brightly lit with the kerosene lamp that hung, freshly trimmed, from a peg over the door.

All three of us felt the glow of the day's success, especially Father. I knew how relieved he must have been to have the trouble at the camp settled in such a quick and decisive way. Both of us knew, too, that the men would be working better and harder now at this critical time,when their wood was so badly needed in Father's mill. Father calculated that we could count on a record production from this camp during the next few weeks, at least.

'But, then,' he said with a wry smile, 'old Graybar'll have some other skunk on his payroll up here and we'll have some more trouble. Just you wait.' His face shone in the firelight, but he did not look as if he was getting angry about it, just as if he were stating a fact.

'I thought Graybar wanted to ease up for a while and be friendly,' said Justin. 'He's been saying that around town all week.'

'Old Brad's a lying sack of . . .' Father glanced in my direction, hesitating to use the word I knew he had in mind. '. . . manure,' he said finally. 'And so's that worthless son of his.'

I had a flash of inspiration. Here was my chance to spoil Steven's plan to tell Father about our past and to embarrass Justin McKay in the bargain!

'Oh, I don't know, Father,' I said casually. 'Dr. McKay seems to have a fairly high opinion of Steven Graybar. He's prepared to believe practically anything Steven Graybar tells him. Isn't that right, Justin?'