Billy Topsail, M.D.: A Tale of Adventure With Doctor Luke of the Labrador

by Norman Duncan

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  _In Which Ha-Ha Shallow is Foiled, Archie Armstrong Displays Swift Cunning, of Which He is Well Aware, and Billy Topsail, Much to His Surprise, and not Greatly to His Distaste, is Kissed by a Lady of Poor Luck Barrens_

  Another advance of the right foot; an increased depth of two inches; asudden, upward thrust of the water; a rolling stone: Billy Topsailtottered--struggled for balance, like a man on a tight-rope, and caughtand held it; but in the wrenching effort his pack had shifted anddisturbed his natural poise. He faced up-stream, feet spread, body bent,arms extended; and in this awkward posture, at a disadvantage, he swayeddangerously, incommoded by the pack, his legs quivering in the current.

  Deliberately, then, Billy contorted himself until the pack slipped fromhis shoulder to its place on his back; and upright again, establishedonce more, he dragged his left foot by inches against the current, setit above the right, forced it into place, and turned to face theopposite shore. He was fairly mid-stream, now. Another confident,successful step--a moment more of cool behaviour and intelligentprocedure--and the grip of the current would begin to fail.

  All this while the tumbling water had worked its inevitable effect. Itwas noisy; it ran swift; it troubled Billy Topsail--the speed andclatter of it. And he was now confused and dizzy. Now, too, he wasconscious of the roar of the stream below. More clamorously, morevividly, it asserted itself--reiterated and magnified its suggestion ofdisaster. It could not be ignored. Billy Topsail abstracted hisattention. It returned to the menace.

  There it was--the roar of the stream below: the deep, narrow rush of it,swelling over the boulders, curling around them, plunging irresistiblytowards the Black Pool ice, and vanishing into the stifling gloombeneath, in a swift, black, silent stream, flecked with creamy puffs offoam. A misstep, a false stone, a lost balance--a man would then driftfast and helpless, bruised by the bottom, flung against the boulders andstunned, smothered by the water, cast into Black Pool and left to sinkin still water. It was the logical incident of failure.

  Aware of the cumulative effect of fear, conscious of the first creepingparalysis of it, Billy Topsail instantly determined upon the next step.It must be taken--it must be taken at once. Already the weakness andconfusion of terror was a crippling factor to be dealt with. He mustact--venture. He moved in haste; there was a misstep, an incautiousfaith in the foothold, a blind chance taken--and the current caught him,lifted him, tugged at him, and he lost his feet, flung his arms in theair, toppled over, drifted off with the current, submerged, and wasswept like driftwood into the deep rush below.

  He rose, gasped, sank--came breathless to the surface; andself-possessed again, and fighting for life against hope, instinctively,but yet with determined intelligence, grasping breath when he could anddesperately seeking handhold, foothold--fighting thus he was dragged abruising course through the narrowing channel towards Black Pool and atlast momentarily arrested his drift with a failing grip of a boulder.

  Archie Armstrong ran down-stream. No expedient was in his horrifiedmind. The impulse was to plunge in and rescue Billy if he could.That was all. But the current was swifter than he; he wasoutstripped--stumbling along the rocky, icy shore. When he cameabreast of Billy, who was still clinging to the rock in mid-stream,he did plunge in; but he came at once to a full stop, not gone afathom into the current, and stood staring.

  Billy Topsail could not catch the bottom in the lee of the rock. Eventhere the current was too strong, the depth of water too great, the leetoo narrow, the rock too small for a wide, sufficient backwater. BlackPool was within twenty fathoms. Billy's clutch was breaking. In a momenthe would be torn away. Yet there was a moment--a minute or more ofopportunity. And having assured himself of this grace, Archie Armstrongsplashed ashore, without a word or a sign, scaled the bank and randown-stream to the bridge of Black Pool ice.

  The bridge was rotten. It was rotten from bank to bank. It would notbear the weight of a man. Archie Armstrong knew it. Its fall wasimminent. It awaited the last straw--a dash of rain, a squall of wind.The ice was thick; there was a foot of it. And the bridge was heavy; itsattachment to the low cliffs was slight; in a day--next day, perhaps--itwould fall of its own weight, lie inert in the pool, drift slowly awayto the open reaches of Skeleton Arm and drive to sea.

  Archie Armstrong, hanging by his hands from the edge of the low cliff,broke a great fragment from the rock and thus reduced the stability ofthe whole; and hanging from the edge of the same low cliff, a fewfathoms below, grasping the roots of the spruce, he broke a secondfragment loose with his weight--a third and a fourth. And the structurecollapsed. It fell in thick, spacious fragments on the quiet water ofthe pool, buoyant and dry, and covered the face of the water, heldimprisoned by the rocks of the narrow exit.

  When Billy Topsail came drifting down, Archie Armstrong, waiting on theice, helped him out and ashore.

  "Better build a fire, Archie," said Billy, presently.

  "I'm doing that very thing, Billy."

  "Thanks, Archie."

  "Cold, b'y?"

  "I'll take no harm from the wettin'."

  "Harm! A hardy kid like you! I laugh!"

  Billy grinned.

  "When I'm rested," said he, "I'll wring out my clothes. By the timewe've had a snack o' soggy grub I'll be dry. An' then we'll go on."

  "On it is!"

  Billy looked up.

  "Archie," said he, "that was marvellous--clever!"

  "Clever?" inquired Archie. "What was clever?"

  And Archie Armstrong grinned. He knew well enough what was clever.

  * * * * *

  Nobody was mad at Poor Luck Barrens. But somebody was in a ravingdelirium of fever. And that was big George Tulk--Trapper George ofBread-and-Butter Tickle. It was a tight little tilt on the edge of thetimber--winter quarters: a log shanty, with a turf roof, deep in a driftof snow, to which a rising cloud of smoke attracted the attention ofArchie and Billy Topsail. No; what was alarming at Poor Luck Barrens wasnot a frenzy of insanity--it was the delirium of pneumonia.

  Jinny Tulk was glad enough to receive the help of Billy Topsail andArchie Armstrong.

  By and by Billy asked:

  "Was it you put the letter in the cleft stick?"

  Jinny smiled.

  "Ay," said she.

  "I found it," said Billy.

  With that Jinny Tulk kissed Billy Topsail before he could stop her. Shewas old enough for that; and she was so wholesome and pretty that whenBilly had reflected upon the incident he determined that he would nottry to stop her should she attempt it again.

  "How'd you like it?" Archie teased him, privately, when Doctor Luke hadarrived and Trapper George was resting.

  Billy blushed.

  "'Twasn't so awful," was his stout reply.

  Archie burst out laughing. Billy blushed again. Then he, too, laughed.

  "I 'low I got my reward," said he.

  By that time Trapper George was doing well. Doctor Luke was watchfullyat work. And Doctor Luke and Jinny Tulk, with the help of a spell offrosty weather and an abundance of healing fresh air, and assisted bythe determined constitution of Trapper George Tulk himself, who hadformed the fixed habit of surviving adverse conditions--Doctor Luke andJinny Tulk worked an improvement, which passed presently into a stateof convalescence and ultimately became a cure. It was no easy matter.Trapper George Tulk put one foot over the border--took a long look intothe final shadows. But Doctor Luke was a good fighter. And he happenedto win.