CHAPTER XXXV
"CAUGHT IT JUST IN TIME"
At exactly ten-thirty the next morning The Spider was at theinformation desk of the General Hospital, inquiring for Andover.
"He's in the operating-room," said the clerk.
"Then I'll wait." The Spider sidled across to the reception-room andsat nervously fingering the arm of his chair. Nurses passed andrepassed the doorway, going quietly through the hall. From somewherecame the faint animal-like wail of a newly born babe. The Spider hadgripped the arm of his chair. A well-gowned woman stopped at theinformation desk and left a great armful of gorgeous roses wrapped inwhite tissue paper. Presently a man--evidently a laborer--hobbled paston crutches, his foot bandaged; a huge, grotesque white foot that heheld stiffly in front of him and which he seemed to be following,rather than guiding. A nurse walked slowly beside him. The Spiderdrummed the chair-arm with nervous fingers. His little beady eyes wereconstantly in motion, glancing here and there,--at the empty chairs inthe room, at the table with its neatly piled magazines, at a largepicture of the hospital, and a great group of nurses standing on thestone steps, and then toward the doorway. Presently a nurse came inand told him that Dr. Andover would be unable to see him for some time:that the patient just operated on was doing as well as could beexpected.
"He--he's come through all right?"
"Yes. You might call up in an hour or so."
The Spider rose stiffly and put on his hat.
"Thanks," he said and hobbled out and across the lobby. A cab waswaiting for him, and the driver seemed to know his destination, for hewhipped up his horse and drove south toward the Mexican quarter,finally stopping at an inconspicuous house on a dingy side street thatled toward the river. The Spider glanced up and down the street beforehe alighted. Then he gave the driver a bill quite out of proportion tohis recent service. "You can come about the same time to-morrow," saidThe Spider, and he turned and hobbled to the house.
About noon he came out, and after walking several blocks stopped at acorner grocery and telephoned to the hospital, asking for Andover, whoinformed him that the operation had been successful, as an operation,but that the patient was in a critical condition--that it would beseveral hours before they would dare risk a definite statement as tohis chances of recovery. The surgeon told The Spider that they wereusing oxygen, which fact in itself was significant.
The Spider crossed the street to a restaurant, drank several cups ofcoffee, and on his way out bought a supply of cigars. He playedsolitaire in his room all that afternoon, smoking and muttering tohimself until the fading light caused him to glance at his watch. Heslipped into his coat and made his way uptown.
Shortly after seven he entered the hospital. Andover had left wordthat he be allowed to see Pete. And again The Spider stood besidePete's cot, gazing down upon a face startlingly white in contrast tohis dark hair and black eyebrows--a face drawn, the cheeks pinched, andthe lips bloodless. "You taking care of him?"--and The Spider turnedto Doris. She nodded, wondering if this queer, almost deformedcreature were "The Spider" that Pete had so often talked to whenhalf-conscious. Whoever he was, her quick, feminine intuition told herthat this man's stiff and awkward silence signified more than anyspoken solicitude; that behind those beady black eyes was a soul thatwas tormented with doubt and hope, a soul that had battled through darkways to this one great unselfish moment . . . How could one know thatthis man risked his life in coming there? Yet she did know it. Thevery fact that he was Pete's friend would almost substantiate that.Had not the papers said that Peter Annersley was a hired gunman of TheSpider's? And although this man had not given his name, she knew thathe was The Spider of Pete's incoherent mutterings. And The Spider,glancing about the room, gazed curiously at the metal oxygen tank andthen at the other cot.
"You staying here right along?" he queried.
"For a while until he is out of danger."
"When will that be?"
"I don't know. But I do know that he is going to live."
"Did the doc say so?"
Doris shook her head. "No, Dr. Andover thinks he has a chance, but I_know_ that he will get well."
"Does Pete know that I been here?"
"No. The doctor thought it best not to say anything about that yet."
"I reckon that's right."
"Is he your son?" asked Doris.
"No. Just a kid that used to--work for me."
And without further word, The Spider hobbled to the doorway and wasgone.
Hour after hour Doris sat by the cot watching the faintly flickeringlife that, bereft of conscious will, fought for existence with eachdeep-drawn breath. About two in the morning Pete's breathing seemed tostop. Doris felt the hesitant throb of the pulse and, rising, steppedto the hall and telephoned for the house-surgeon.
"Caught it just in time," he said to the nurse as he stepped back andwatched the patient react to the powerful heart-stimulant. Pete'sbreathing became more regular.
The surgeon had been gone for a few minutes when Pete's heavy lidsopened.
"It--was gittin'--mighty dark--down there," he whispered. And Petestared up at her, his great dark eyes slowly brightening under theartificial stimulant. Doris bent over him and smoothed his hair backfrom his forehead. "I'm the--the Ridin' Kid--from--Powder River," hewhispered hoarsely. "I kin ride 'em comin' or goin'--but I don't wearno coat next journey. My hand caught in the pocket." He glancedtoward the doorway. "But we fooled 'em. Ed got away, so I reckon I'llthrow in with you, Spider." Pete tried to lift himself up, but thenurse pressed him gently back. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on hisforehead. Doris put her hand on the back of his. At the touch hislips moved. "Boca was down there--in the dark--smilin' and tellin' meit was all right and to come ahead," he whispered. "I was tryin' toclimb out--of that there--canon . . . Andy throwed his rope . . .Caught it just in time . . . And Andy he laughs. Reckon he didn'tknow--I was--all in . . ." Pete breathed deeply, muttered, and driftedinto an easy sleep. Doris watched him for a while, fighting her owndesire to sleep. She knew that the crisis was past, and with thatknowledge came a physical let-down that left her worn and desperatelyweary: not because she had been on duty almost twenty-four hourswithout rest--she was young and could stand that--but because she hadgiven so much of herself to this case from the day Pete had beenbrought in--through the operation which was necessarily savage, and upto the moment when he had fallen asleep, after having passed so closeto the border of the dark Unknown. And now that she knew he wouldrecover, she felt strangely disinterested in her work at the hospital.But being a rather practical young person, never in the least morbid,she attributed this unusual indifference to her own condition. Shewould not allow herself to believe that the life she had seen slippingaway, and which she had drawn back from the shadows, could ever meananything to her, aside from her profession. And why should it? Thisdark-eyed boy was a stranger, an outcast, even worse, if she were tobelieve what the papers said of him. Yet he had been so patient anduncomplaining that first night when she knew that he must have beensuffering terribly. Time and again she had wiped the red spume fromhis lips, until at last he ceased to gasp and cough and lay backexhausted. And Doris could never forget how he had tried to smile ashe told her, whispering hoarsely, "that he was plumb ashamed of makin'such a doggone fuss." Then day after day his suffering had grown lessas his vitality ebbed. Following, came the operation, an almosthopeless experiment . . . and that strange creature, The Spider . . .who had paid for the operation and for this private room . . . Doristhought of the thousand dollars in bills that she had found andreturned to Andover; and while admiring his skill as a surgeon, sheexperienced a sudden dislike for him as a man. It seemed to her thathe had been actually bribed to save Pete's life, and had pocketed thebribe . . . again it was The Spider . . . What a name for a humanbeing--yet how well it fitted! The thin bow-legs, the quick, sidlingwalk, the furtive manner, the black, blinking eyes . . . Doris yawnedand shivered. Dawn was
battling its slow way into the room. A nursestepped in softly. Doris rose and made a notation on the chart, toldthe nurse that her patient had been sleeping since two o'clock, andnodding pleasantly left the room.
The new nurse sniffed audibly. Miss Gray was one of Dr. Andover'spets! She knew! She had seen them talking together, often enough.And Andover knew better than to try to flirt with her. What a fussthey were making about "Miss Gray's cowboy," as Pete had come to beknown among some of the nurses who were not "pets." Her pleasantsoliloquy was interrupted by a movement of Pete's hand. "Kin I have adrink?" he asked faintly.
"Yes, dearie," said the nurse, and smiled a large, and toothful smileas she turned and stepped out into the hall. Pete's listless, darkeyes followed her. "Fer Gawd's sake!" he muttered. His eyes closed.He wondered what had become of his honest-to-Gosh nurse, Miss Gray.
The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Page 35