“Does a soldier rest in the midst of battle, father? When the enemy is in retreat, when it is beaten, then I will rest,” Morely said gravely.
For a time the bell in the chapel tolled daily. Gradually at fewer intervals, until a week had passed without a death.
“We’ve licked it, father!” An exultant light shone in Morely’s eyes, but his face was drawn, white from fatigue.
A week passed without a new case. The convalescent were growing stronger.
“There is little to do now at the Post, father. I have time to visit some cabins in the woods. There may be sick in them.”
In one cabin he found a dead body. The cabin was burned.
Toward evening he saw the blaze from a camp fire.
“Some traveler. Better investigate,” he thought.
His webs were almost soundless as he approached, yet Hardy’s keen ears heard the faint crunch.
“Help,” he called.