aze. An'
sure it's not me ye'd be blamin' at all. Didn't I tell the foreman the
man wuz dyin'? An' niver a breath did I draw fer the last twinty miles,
an' up an' down the hills like the divil wuz afther me wid a poker."

"Have you no doctor up there?"

"Docthor, is it? If that's what ye call him, fer the drunken baste that
he is, wallowin' 'round like Micky Murphy's pig, axin' pardon av the
pig."

"Are there any more sick?"

"Sick? Bedad, they're all sick wid fear, an' half a dozen worse than
poor Scotty there, God rest his sowl!"

The doctor thought a minute, then turning to Shorty he said, speaking
rapidly, "Go and bring to this room the foreman and Swipey. And say not
a word to anyone, mind that. And you," he said, turning to Tommy, "can
you start back in an hour?"

"I can that same, if I must."

"You know the road. We'll get another team and start within an hour. Get
something to eat."

In a short time both the foreman and the saloon-keeper were in the room.

"This man," said the doctor, "is dead. Diphtheria. There is no fear,
Swipey. Shut that door. But you must have him buried at once, and you
will both see the necessity of having it done quietly. I shall fumigate
this room. All this clothing must be burned and there will be no further
danger. You will see about this to-morrow. I am going up to No. 2
to-night."

"To-night, doctor!" cried the foreman. "It's blowing a regular blizzard.
Can't you wait till morning?"

"There are men sick at No. 2," said the doctor. "The chances are it's
diphtheria."

In an hour's time Tommy was at the door with the best team the camp
possessed.

"Have you had something to eat, Tommy?" inquired the doctor, stepping
out from the saloon.

"That's what I have," replied Tommy.

"All right, then. Give me the lines. You can have a sleep."

"Not if I know it, begob!" said Tommy. "I'll stay wid yez. It's mesilf
that knows a man whin I see him."

And off into the blizzard and the night they sped, the doctor rejoicing
to find in the call to a fight with death that excitement without which
it seemed he could not live.

XVII

THE FIGHT WITH DEATH

At Camp No. 2 Maclennan had struck what was called a hard proposition.
The line ran straight through a muskeg out of which the bottom seemed
to have dropped, and Maclennan himself, with his foreman, Craigin, was
almost in despair. For every day they were held back by the muskeg meant
a serious reduction in the profit