Then, with stunning suddenness, came the news—terrible news to the law-abiding element, glorious news to the rest—that Spirit-of-Iron was ill, perhaps upon his death-bed! The Lieutenant-Governor felt that the solid rock on which he stood had melted away.
Blythe, stammering, white-faced, brought the news to Dr. Quick, who hurried over. All the twinkle went out of the doctor's eyes when he saw Hector.
"He would go round the infectious wards with me!" the doctor groaned, cursing himself. "It's typhus!"
It was easy to isolate the patient. But to keep the news from the lawless crowd was impossible. Within twenty-four hours the whole Territory knew that the one man the malcontents really feared was hors de combat.
There was a waitress in Discovery, known to every soul in town as Seattle Sue. Her face was painted, her hair dyed, her language unfit for drawing-rooms, but she had that rare physical phenomenon, a heart of pure gold. In the early days of the rush, when the temporary hospitals were full, this girl had volunteered to nurse in her spare time—no small sacrifice, since her duties as a waitress occupied twelve hours daily. Today, Seattle Sue was the best nurse in Discovery.
"We'll get Seattle Sue!" said Dr. Quick. "We must save him!"
Here it was, too, that Nita Oswald showed the mettle of her pastures. Appreciating what it all meant, she was at Hector's door, offering her services, before the doctor had finished his preliminary examination.
With Blythe and the doctor, the two women made a powerful quadruple alliance. But the stake was tremendous. It would tax them all to the utmost to pull Hector through.
Outside, day after day, the crowd clamoured for bulletins. The men of the Force threatened mutiny if they, at least, were not kept informed. But Lancaster would allow no bulletins. It was better that the malcontents should not know that the great chief was dying.
The delirium, the worst feature of the case, came on in a few days. At times the Superintendent was quite calm, whispering, muttering, sighing, smiling; then they guessed, from phrases here and there, that he thought himself a boy again or at home. At others he talked violently, shouted, gave orders, laughed; then they knew that he was living through his daily life in the Force, as he had lived it twenty years, or fighting over many of his desperate battles. At other times—most frequent—he became a raving lunatic, at grips with some awful menace, struggling against terrific odds, crying bitterly over his physical helplessness, making desperate efforts to get up and rush outside. They did not know that at these times he was dealing with the local crisis.