“Exercise has kept you and me in condition, Shorty. It's kept Wentworth in condition. You see what lack of exercise has done for the rest. Now it's up to us to prescribe exercise for these hospital wrecks. It will be your job to see that they get it. I appoint you chief nurse.”
“What? Me?” Shorty shouted. “I resign.”
“No, you don't. I'll be able assistant, because it isn't going to be any soft snap. We've got to make them hustle. First thing, they'll have to bury their dead. The strongest for the burial squad; then the next strongest on the firewood squad (they've been lying in their blankets to save wood); and so on down the line. And spruce-tea. Mustn't forget that. All the sour-doughs swear by it. These people have never even heard of it.”
“We sure got ourn cut out for us,” Shorty grinned. “First thing we know we'll be full of lead.”
“And that's our first job,” Smoke said. “Come on.”
In the next hour, each of the twenty-odd cabins was raided. All ammunition and every rifle, shotgun, and revolver was confiscated.
“Come on, you invalids,” was Shorty's method. “Shootin'-irons—fork 'em over. We need 'em.”
“Who says so?” was the query at the first cabin.
“Two doctors from Dawson,” was Shorty's answer. “An' what they say goes. Come on. Shell out the ammunition, too.”
“What do you want them for?”