“It was Couchée,” he said. “He hit me with the butt of his whip, and I’ve had funny spells ever since. Before I have another I want to tell you what I’m up against, Rookie. My Gawd, it’s a funny chance that ran me up against you— just in time! Listen.”
He told McTabb briefly of Scottie Deane’s death, of Couchée’s flight from the cabin, and the present situation there.
“There isn’t a minute to lose,” he finished, tightening his hold on McTabb’s hand. “There’s the kid and the mother, and I’ve got to get back to them, Rookie. The rest is up to you. We’ve got to get a woman. If we don’t— soon—”
He rose to his feet and stood there looking at McTabb. The other nodded.
“I understand,” he said. “You’re in a bad fix, Billy. It’s two hundred miles to the nearest white woman, away over near Du Brochet. You couldn’t get an Indian to go within half a mile of a cabin that’s struck by the plague, and I doubt if this white woman would come. The only game I can see is to send to Fort Churchill or Nelson House and have the force send up a nurse. It will take two weeks.”
Billy gave a gesture of despair. Indian Joe had listened attentively, and now rose quietly from his position in front of the stove.
“There’s Indian camp over on Arrow Lake,” he said, facing Billy. “I know squaw there who not afraid of plague.”
“Sure as fate!” cried McTabb, exultantly. “Joe’s mother is over there, and if there is anything on earth she won’t do for Joe I can’t guess what it is. Early this winter she came a hundred and fifty miles— alone— to pay him a visit. She’ll come. Go after her, Joe. I’ll go Billy MacVeigh’s bond to get the Service to pay her five dollars a day from the hour she starts!” He turned to Billy. “How’s your head?” he asked.
“Better. It was the run that fixed me, I guess.”
“Then we’ll go over to Couchée’s cabin and I’ll bring back the kid.”