MAJOR HENRY SAYS "OUCH"
The sun was just peeping above the Medicine Range that we had crossed, when we led Sally away, back through the brush and around to strike the trail beyond the lean-to camp. After we had gone about half a mile Major Henry posted me as a rear-guard sentry, to watch the trail, and he and the other Scouts continued on until it was safe to stop and pack the burro.
The two renegade recruits did not appear. Probably they were still sleeping, with the blankets over their faces to keep out the light! In about half an hour I was signaled to come on, and when I joined the party Sally had been packed with the squaw hitch and now we could travel light again. I tell you, it was a big relief to get those loads transferred to Sally. Even the Red Foxes were glad to be rid of theirs.
Things looked bright. We were over the range; we had this stroke of luck, in running right upon Sally; the trail was fair; and the way seemed open. It wouldn't be many hours now before the Red Fox Scouts could branch off for the railroad, and get aboard a train so as to make Salt Lake in time to connect with their party for the grand trip, and we Elks had three days yet in which to deliver the message to the Mayor of Green Valley.
For two or three hours we traveled as fast as we could, driving Sally and stepping on her tracks so as to cover them. We felt so good over our prospects—over being upon the open way and winning out at last—that we struck up songs:
"Oh, the Elk is our Medicine;
He makes us very strong—"
for us; and:
"Oh, the Red fox is our Medicine—"
for the Red Fox Scouts. And we sang:
"It's honor Flag and Country dear,
and hold them in the van;
It's keep your lungs and conscience clean,
your body spick and span;
It's 'shoulders squared,' and 'be prepared,'
and always 'play the man':
Shouting the Boy Scouts forev-er!
Hurrah! Hurrah! For we're the B. S. A.!
Hurrah! Hurrah! We're ready, night and day!
You'll find us in the city street and on the open way!
Shouting the Boy Scouts forev-er!"
But at the beginning of the second verse Major Henry suddenly quit and sat down upon a log, where the trail wound through some timber. "I've got to stop a minute, boys," he gasped. "Go ahead. I'll catch up with you."
But of course we didn't. His face was white and wet, his lips were pressed tight as he breathed hard through his nose, and he doubled forward.
"What's the matter?"
"I seem to have a regular dickens of a stomach-ache," he grunted. "Almost makes me sick."
That was serious, when Major Henry gave in this way. We remembered that back on the trail when we had sighted Sally he had spoken of a "side-ache" and had sent Fitzpatrick to do the reconnoitering; but he had not spoken of it again and here we had been traveling fast with never a whimper from him. We had supposed that his side-ache was done. Instead, it had been getting worse.
"Maybe you'd better lie flat," suggested Red Fox Scout Ward. "Or try lying on your side."
"I'll be all right in a minute," insisted the major.
"We can all move off the trail, and have breakfast," proposed Fitz. "That will give him a chance to rest. We ought to have something to eat, anyway."
So we moved back from the trail, around a bend of the creek. The major could scarcely walk, he was so doubled over with cramps; Scout Ward and I stayed by to help him. But there was not much that we could do, in such a case. He leaned on us some, and that was all.
He tried lying on his side, while we unpacked Sally; and then we got him upon a blanket, with a roll for a pillow. Red Fox Scout Van Sant hustled to the creek with a cup, and fixed up a dose.
"Here," he said to the major, "swallow this."
"What is it?"
"Ginger. It ought to fix you out."
So it ought. The major swallowed it—and it was so hot it made the tears come into his eyes. In a moment he thought that he did feel better, and we were glad. We went ahead with breakfast, but he didn't eat anything, which was wise. A crampy stomach won't digest food and then you are worse.
We didn't hurry him, after breakfast. We knew that as soon as he could travel, he would. But we found that his feeling better wasn't lasting. Now that the burning of the ginger had worn off, he was as bad as ever. We were mighty sorry for him, as he turned and twisted, trying to find an easier position. A stomach-ache like that must have been is surely hard to stand.
Fitz got busy. Fitzpatrick is pretty good at doctoring. He wants to be a doctor, some day. And the Red Fox Scouts knew considerable about first-aids and simple Scouts' remedies.
"What kind of an ache is it, Tom?" queried Fitz. We were too bothered to call him "Major." "Sharp? Or steady?"
"It's a throbby ache. Keeps right at the job, though," grunted the major.
"Where?"
"Here." And the major pointed to the pit of his stomach, below the breast-bone. "It's a funny ache, too. I can't seem to strike any position that it likes."
"It isn't sour and burning, is it?" asked Red Fox Scout Ward.
"Uh uh. It's a green-apple ache, or as if I'd swallowed a corner of a brick."
We had to laugh. Still, that ache wasn't any laughing matter.
"Do you feel sick?"
"Just from the pain."
"We all ate the same, and we didn't drink out of that tin can, so it can't be poison, and it doesn't sound like just indigestion," mused Fitz to us. "Maybe we ought to give him an emetic. Shall we, Tom?"
"I don't think I need any emetic. There's nothing there," groaned the major. "Maybe I've caught cold. I guess the cramps will quit. Wish I had a hot-water bag or a hot brick."
"We'll heat water and lay a hot compress on. That will help," spoke Red Fox Scout Van Sant. "Ought to have thought of it before."
"Wait a minute, boys," bade Fitz. "Lie still as long as you can, Tom, while I feel you."
He unbuttoned the major's shirt (the major had taken off his belt and loosened his waist-band, already) and began to explore about with his fingers.
"The ache's up here," explained the major. "Up in the middle of my stomach."
"But is it sore anywhere else?" asked Fitz, pressing about. "Say ouch."
The major said ouch.
"Sore right under there?" queried Fitz.
The major nodded.
We noted where Fitz was pressing with his fingers—and suddenly it flashed across me what he was finding out. The ache was in the pit of the stomach, but the sore spot was lower and down toward the right hip.
Fitz experimented here and there, not pressing very hard; and he always could make the major say ouch, for the one spot.
"I believe he's got appendicitis," announced Fitz, gazing up at us.
"It looks that way, sure," agreed Red Fox Scout Van Sant. "My brother had appendicitis, and that's how they went to work on him."
"My father had it, is how I knew about it," explained Fitz.
"Aw, thunder!" grunted the major. "It's just a stomach-ache." He hated to be fussed with. "I'll get over it. A hot-water bag is all I need."
"No, you don't," spoke Fitz, quickly—as Red Fox Scout Ward was stirring the fire. "Hot water would be dangerous, and if it's appendicitis we shan't take any risks. They use an ice-pack in appendicitis. We'll put on cold water instead of hot, and I'm going to give him a good stiff dose of Epsom salts. I'm afraid to give him anything else."
That sounded like sense, except that the cold water instead of the hot was something new. And it was queer that if the major's appendix was what caused the trouble the ache should be off in the middle of his stomach. But Fitz was certain that he was right, and so we went ahead. The treatment wasn't the kind to do any harm, even if we were wrong in the theory. The Epsom salts would clean out most disturbances, and help reduce any inflammation. (Note 64.)
The major was suffering badly. To help relieve him, we discussed which was worse, tooth-ache or stomach-ache. The Red Foxes took the tooth-ache side and we Elks the stomach-ache side; and we won, because the major put in his grunts for the stomach-ache. We piled a wet pack of handkerchiefs and gauze on his stomach, over the right lower angle, where the appendix ought to be; and we changed it before it got warmed. The water from the creek was icy cold. We kept at it, and after a while the major was feeling much better.
And now he began to chafe because he was delaying the march. It was almost noon. The two renegade recruits had not come along yet. They might not come at all; they might be looking around for Sally, without sense enough to read the sign. But the major was anxious to be pushing on again.
"I don't think you ought to," objected Fitz.
"But I'm all right."
"You may not be, if you stir around much," said Red Fox Scout Ward.
"What do you want me to do? Lie here for the rest of my life?" The major was cross.
"No; but you ought to be carried some place where you can have a doctor, if it's appendicitis."
"I don't believe it is. It's just a sort of colic. I'm all right now, if we go slowly."
"But don't you think that we'd better find some place where we can take you?" asked Fitz.
"You fellows leave me, then, and go on. Somebody will come along, or I'll follow slow. Those Red Foxes must get to their train, and you two Elks must carry the message through on time."
"Not much!" exclaimed both the Red Foxes, indignant. "What kind of Scouts do you think we are? You'll need more than two men, if there's much carrying to be done. We stick."
"So do we," chimed in Fitz and I. "We'll get the message through, and get you through, too."
The major flushed and stood up.
"If that's the way you talk," he snapped (he was the black-eyed, quick kind, you know), "then I order that this march be resumed. Pack the burro. I order it."
"You'd better ride."
"I'll walk."
Well, he was our leader. We should obey, as long as he seemed capable. He was awfully stubborn, the major was, when he had his back up. But we exchanged glances, and we must all have thought the same: that if he was taken seriously again soon, and was laid out, we would try to persuade him to let us manage for him. Fitz only said quietly:
"But if you have to quit, you'll quit, won't you, Tom? You won't keep going, just to spite yourself. Real appendicitis can't be fooled with."
"I'll quit," he answered.
We packed Sally again, and started on. The major seemed to want to hike at the regulation fast Scouts' pace, but we held him in the best that we could. Anyway, after we had gone three or four miles, he was beginning to pant and double over; his pain had come back.
"I think I'll have to rest a minute," he said; and he sat down. "Go ahead. I'll catch up. You'd better take the message, Fitz. Here."
"No, sir," retorted Fitz. "If you think that we're going on and leave you alone, sick, you're off your base. This is a serious matter, Tom. It wouldn't be decent, and it wouldn't be Scout-like. The Red Foxes ought to go—"
"But we won't," they interrupted—
"—and we'll get you to some place where you can be attended to. Then we'll take the message, if you can't. There's plenty of time."
The major flushed and fidgeted, and fingered the package.
"Maybe I can ride, then," he offered. "We can cache more stuff and I'll ride Sally." He grunted and twisted as the pain cut him. He looked ghastly.
"He ought to lie quiet till we can take him some place and find a doctor," said Red Fox Scout Van Sant, emphatically. "There must be a ranch or a town around here."
"We'll ask this man coming," said Fitz.
The stream had met another, here, and so had the trail; and down the left-hand trail was riding at a little cow-pony trot a horseman. He was a cow-puncher. He wore leather chaps and spurs and calico shirt and flapping-brimmed drab slouch hat. When he reached us he reined in and halted. He was a middle-aged man, with freckles and sandy mustache.
"Howdy?" he said.
"Howdy?" we answered.
"Ain't seen any Big W cattle, back along the trail, have you?"
No, we hadn't—until suddenly I remembered.
"We saw some about ten days ago, on the other side of the Divide."
"Whereabouts?"
"On a mesa, northwest across the ridge from Dixon Park."
"Good eye," he grinned. "I heard some of our strays had got over into that country, but I wasn't sure."
We weren't here to talk cattle, though; and Fitz spoke up:
"Where's the nearest ranch, or town?"
"The nearest town is Shenandoah. That's on the railroad about eight miles yonder. Follow the right-hand trail and you'll come out on a wagon-road that takes you to it. But there's a ranch three miles up the valley by this other trail. Sick man?" The cow-puncher had good eyes, too.
"Yes. We want a doctor."
"Ain't any doctor at Shenandoah. That's nothing but a station and a store and a couple of houses. I expect the nearest doctor is the one at the mines."
"Fifteen miles into the hills, from the ranch."
"How far is Green Valley?" asked the major, weakly.
"Twenty-three or four miles, by this trail I come along. Same trail you take to the ranch. No doctor now at Green Valley, though. The one they had went back East."
"Then you let the Red Fox Scouts take me to the station and put me on the train for somewhere, and they can catch their own train; and you two fellows go ahead to Green Valley," proposed the major to Fitz.
"Ain't another train either way till to-morrow morning," said the cow-puncher. "They meet at Shenandoah, usually—when they ain't late. If you need a doctor, quickest way would be to make the ranch and ride to the mines and get him. What's the matter?"
"We don't know, for sure. Appendicitis, we think."
"Wouldn't monkey with it," advised the cow-puncher.
"Then the Red Foxes can hit for the railroad and Fitz and Jim and I'll make the ranch," insisted the major.
"We won't," spoke up Red Fox Scout Ward, flatly.
"We'll go with you to the ranch. We'll see this thing through. The railroad can wait."
"Well," said the cow-puncher, "you can't miss it. So long, and good luck."
"So long," we answered. He rode on, and we looked at the major.
"I suppose we ought to get you there as quick as we can," said Fitz, slowly. "Do you want to ride, or try walking again, or shall we carry you?"
"I'm better now," declared our plucky corporal. He stood up. "I'll walk, I guess. It isn't far."
So we set out, cautiously. No, it wasn't far—but it seemed mighty far. The major would walk a couple of hundred yards, and then he must rest. The pain doubled him right over. We took some of the stuff off Sally, and lifted him on top, but he couldn't stand that, either, very long. We tried a chair of our hands, but that didn't suit.
"I'll skip ahead and see if I can bring back a wagon, from the ranch," volunteered Red Fox Scout Van Sant; and away he ran. "You wait," he called back, over his shoulder.
We waited, and kept a cold pack on the major.
In about an hour and a half Van came panting back.
"There isn't any wagon," he gasped. "Nobody at the ranch except two women. Men folks have gone and taken the wagon with them."
That was hard. We skirmished about, and made a litter out of one of our blankets and two pieces of driftwood that we fished from the creek; and carrying the major, with Sally following, we struck the best pace that we could down the trail. He was heavy, and we must stop often to rest ourselves and him; and we changed the cold packs.
At evening we toiled at last into the ranch yard. It had not been three miles: it had been a good long four miles.