CHAPTER XIV--FIGHTING FOR A LIFE
Aynsley lay in danger for a long time; and Clay never left the mill. Atlast, however, the boy began to recover slowly, but when he grew wellenough to notice things the scream of the saws and the throb of theengines disturbed him. The light wooden building vibrated with the roarof the machinery; and when the machinery stopped the sound of the rivergurgling about the log booms broke his sleep. He grumbled continually.
"How long does the doctor mean to keep me here?" he asked his father oneday.
"I can't say, but I understand that you can't be moved just yet," Clayanswered. "Aren't you comfortable?"
"Can you expect me to be, with the whole place jingling and shaking? IfI'm to get better it must be away from the mill."
"I'll see what the doctor thinks; but there's the difficulty that Idon't know where to take you. You wouldn't be much quieter in Seattle.It's curious, now I think of it, that I haven't had a home for a goodmany years, though I didn't seem to miss it until this thing happened."
Aynsley made a sign of languid agreement. He could not remember hismother, and his father had not kept house within his recollection. Forthe last few years he had rented luxurious rooms in a big hotel whichAynsley shared with him when not away visiting or on some sporting trip;but Aynsley now shrank from the lack of privacy and the bustle that wenton all day and most of the night. There was not a restful nook in thehuge, ornate building, which echoed with footsteps and voices, the clangof the street-cars, and the harsh grinding of electric elevators.
"I want to go somewhere where it's quiet," he said.
"Then I guess I'll have to hire a bushman's shack or take you to sea inthe yacht. It never struck me before, but quietness is mighty hard tofind in this country. We're not a tranquil people."
"I couldn't stand for a voyage," Aynsley grumbled. "She's a wet boatunder sail if there's any breeze, and I don't want to crawl aboutdodging the water. Then the fool man who designed her put the onlycomfortable rooms where the propeller shakes you to pieces when theengines are going."
On the whole, Clay felt relieved, particularly as Aynsley's hardness toplease implied that he was getting better. He had spent some time at themill and had a number of irons in the fire. It would damage his businessif they got overheated or perhaps cooled down before they could be used.
"Well," he suggested, "perhaps Osborne would take us in."
Aynsley's eyes brightened. Osborne's house was the nearest approach to ahome he had ever known. It was seldom packed with noisy guests likeother houses he visited, and one was not always expected to take part insome strenuous amusement. The place was quiet and beautiful and all itsappointments were in artistic taste. He thought of it with longing as ahaven of rest where he could gather strength from the pine-scentedbreezes and bask in Ruth's kindly sympathy.
"That would be just the thing! I feel that I could get better there.Will you write to him?"
"First mail," Clay promised with a twinkle; "but I'm not sure thatRuth's at home. Anyway, I've a number of letters to write now."
"I expect I've been pretty selfish in claiming all your time; but, ifOsborne will have me, it will give you a chance of going up to town andlooking after things."
"That's so," Clay replied. "As a matter of fact, some of them need it."
The doctor rather dubiously consented to his patient's being moved, andClay neglected no precaution that might soften the journey. As he fearedthat the jolting of the railroad cars might prove injurious, a specialroom was booked on a big Sound steamer, and it was only Aynsley'suncompromising refusal to enter it that prevented his bringing out anambulance-van to convey him to the wharf. He reached the vessel safelyin an automobile, and as she steamed up the Sound he insisted onthrowing off his wraps and trying to walk about. The attempt fatiguedhim, and he leaned on the rail at the top of a stairway from a lowerdeck when the steamer approached a pine-shrouded island.
A tide-race swirled past the point, flashing in the sunshine a luminouswhite and green, and Aynsley took his hand from the rail and stoodunsupported watching the shore glide by. As he was facing, he could notsee an ugly half-tide rock that rose out of the surging flood not farahead, and he was taken off his guard when the helm was pulled hardover. The fast vessel listed with a sudden slant as she swung across thestream, and Aynsley, losing his balance, fell down a few stairs andstruck a stanchion with his side. He clung to it, gasping and white inface, and when Clay ran down to him there was blood on his lips.
"I'm afraid the confounded thing has broken out again," he said.
They carried him into the saloon, and Clay summoned the captain, whocame docilely at his bidding. It appeared that there was no doctor amongthe passengers, and the boat was billed to call at several places beforeshe reached Seattle. None of these stops could be cut out, and thecaptain suggested that it would be better to land the injured man asintended, and send for assistance by fast automobile. Aynsley noddedfeebly when he heard this.
"Put me ashore," he murmured. "I'll be all right there."
An hour later the call of the whistle rang among the pines that rolleddown to the beach, and as the side-wheels beat more slowly a launch cameoff across the clear, green water. Aynsley, choking back a cough, feeblyraised himself.
"If Ruth's on board that boat, she mustn't be scared," he said. "I'mgoing down as if there was nothing wrong."
"You're going down in the arms of the two biggest seamen I can get,"Clay replied. "If that doesn't please you, we'll lower you in a slungchair."
Aynsley submitted when he found that he could not get up; and Ruth,sitting with her father in the stern of the launch, started as she sawhim carried down the gangway. His face was gray and haggard when theylaid him on a cushioned locker, and the girl was moved to pity. But theshock resolved some doubts that had long troubled her. She was startledand sorry for Aynsley, but that was all; she did not feel the fear andthe suspense which she thought might have been expected.
Ansley saw her grave face, and looked up with a faint smile.
"I feel horribly ashamed," he said. "If I'd known I'd make a fool ofmyself--"
"Hush!" Ruth laid her hand on him with a gentle, restraining touch asshe saw the effort it cost him to speak. "You must be quiet. We aregoing to make you better."
"Yes," he said disjointedly. "I've been longing--knew I'd get all righthere--but I didn't expect--to turn up like this--"
A choking cough kept him still, and he hurriedly wiped his lips with areddened handkerchief.
"I am afraid it may be very bad," Clay whispered to Osborne. "Some milesto the nearest 'phone call, isn't it?"
Osborne nodded affirmatively, and as they neared the beach he waved hishand to a man on the lawn.
"Car!" he shouted. "Get her out! I'll tie up the boat."
With some trouble Aynsley was carried into the house, and the doctor whoarrived some hours later looked grave when he saw him. The next morninghe brought two nurses, and for several days his patient hovered betweenlife and death. He was delirious most of the time, but there wereintervals when his fevered brain partly recovered its balance and heasked for Ruth. It was seldom that he spoke to her sensibly when shecame, but it was obvious that her presence had a soothing effect, forhis eyes followed her with dull satisfaction, and a few quiet words fromher would sometimes lull him to the sleep he needed.
Ruth felt her power, and used it for his benefit without hesitation andwithout much thought about its cause. She was filled with pity and witha curious, protective tenderness for the man, and there was satisfactionin feeling that he needed her. It was her duty and pleasure to assist asfar as possible in his recovery. Clay watched her with growingadmiration, and sometimes she became disturbed under his searchingglance. She felt that he was curious about the motive which sustainedher in her task, and this caused her some uneasiness, for she suspectedthat she might presently have to make it clear to herself and to others.But the time for this had not come. Aynsley was still in danger, and allconcerned must concen
trate their attention on the fight for his life.
Once when she left his room with an aching head and heavy eyes after along watch with the nurse, who could not control her fevered patientwithout the girl's assistance, Clay met her on the stairs, and as hegave her a swift, inquiring glance, she saw that his face was worn.
"Asleep at last," she said. "I think he'll rest for a few hours."
He looked at her with gratitude and some embarrassment, which wassomething she had never seen him show.
"And you?" he asked. "How much of this can you stand for?"
Ruth did not think the question was prompted by consideration for her.He would be merciless in his exactions, but she could forgive him thisbecause it was for his son's sake. Besides, there was subtle flattery inhis recognition of her influence.
"I dare say I can hold out as long as I am needed," she answered with asmile. "After all, the nurses and the doctor are the people on whom theworst strain falls."
"Bosh!" he exclaimed with rough impatience. "I guess you know you'remore use than all three together. Why that's so doesn't matter atpresent; there the thing is."
Ruth blushed, though she was angry with herself as she felt her facegrow hot, because she had no wish that he should startle her into anydisplay of feeling; but, to her relief, he no longer fixed his eyes onher.
"My dear," he said, "I want your promise that you'll pull him through.You can, if you are determined enough; and he's all I have. Hold himback--he's been slipping downhill the last few days--and there's nothingyou need hesitate about asking from me."
"Though it may not be much, I'll do what I can." Ruth's tone wasslightly colder. "But one does not expect--"
"Payment for a kindness?" Clay suggested. "Well, I suppose the bestthings are given for nothing and can't be bought, but that has not beenmy luck. What I couldn't take by force I've had to pay for at fullmarket price. The love of a bargain is in my blood. Pull my son through,and whatever I can do for you won't make me less your debtor."
Ruth was silent a moment. She had of late been troubled by a vagueuneasiness on her father's account, and with a sudden flash of insightshe realized that it might be well to have the man's gratitude.
"After all, I may ask you for a favor some day," she answered, smiling.
"You won't find me go back on my word," he promised.
Strolling to a seat by the waterside, he lighted a cigar and tried toanalyze his feelings, which were somewhat puzzling. Aynsley longed forthe girl, and Clay approved his choice; he had hitherto given the boyall that he desired, but there was now a difference. While he had afreebooter's conscience, and would willingly have seized by force whatwould please his son, he felt that Ruth Osborne was safe from hisgenerally unsparing grasp. It was true that Aynsley had demanded apledge of inaction, but Clay was not sure that this alone would havedeterred him. He felt that his hands were tied, and he could notunderstand the reason. However, Aynsley was young and rich and handsome;he would be a fool if he could not win the girl on his own merits. Thenthe crushing anxiety Clay had thrown off for a few minutes returned.After all, the boy might not live to prosper in his suit.
It was two or three days later when Clay met the doctor comingdownstairs late one evening, and led him into the hall.
"The boy's not coming round," he said shortly. "What do you think? Giveit to me straight; I've no use for professional talk."
"I'm frankly puzzled. He's certainly no better, though I've seen somehopeful symptoms. It's no longer what I'll call the mechanical injurythat's making the trouble; we have patched that up. His feverishrestlessness is burning up his strength; and Miss Osborne is the onlyperson who can calm him. In fact, the way he responds to her is ratherremarkable."
"Never mind that!" Clay interrupted. "It isn't what I asked."
"Well, I'm inclined to look for a crisis to-night. If he gets throughthe early morning, things may take a turn; but a good deal depends onhis sleeping, and I've given him all the sedatives I dare. Miss Osbornehas promised to keep watch with the nurse, though she looks badlytired."
Clay turned away, and the anxious hours that followed left their mark onhim. Men called him hard and callous, but he loved his son, and Aynsleywas moreover the object of all his ambitions. Social popularity andpolitical influence had no charms for Clay; commercial control andriches were his aim. He knew his ability as a gatherer, but he did notknow how to spend, and, when the boy had made good in the businessworld, he should have the best that society and culture could give. Now,however, a few hours would determine whether all Clay's hopes mustcrumble into dust. He trusted the doctor; but, having a strong man'ssuspicion of medicine, he trusted Ruth Osborne more.
As a matter of fact he was justified, for Ruth did her part that night.It was hot and still, and the door and the window of the sick room wereopened. A small, carefully shaded lamp diffused a dim light, and now andthen a passing draught stirred the curtains and brought in a faintcoolness and the scent of the pines. The tired girl found it wonderfullyrefreshing as she sat near the bed in a straight-backed chair: she darenot choose one more comfortable lest drowsiness overpower her.
Aynsley was restless, but she thought rather less so than usual, and nowand then he spoke feebly but sensibly.
"You won't go away," he begged once in a weak voice, and she smiledreassuringly as she laid a cool hand on his hot, thin arm.
For a while he lay with closed eyes, though he did not seem to sleep,and then, opening them suddenly, he looked round with eagerness as if insearch of her.
"That fellow means to get me; he won't miss next time!" he murmuredlater, and she supposed his wandering mind was occupied with memories ofthe affray at the mill. Then he added with difficulty: "You'll stand himoff, won't you? You can, if you want."
"Of course," Ruth said with compassion and half admiring sympathy, forshe was young enough to set a high value on physical courage and manlystrength, and her patient, though so pitifully helpless now, had bravelyheld his post. It was daunting to see this fine specimen of virilemanhood brought so low.
When the doctor came in some time later he looked down at Aynsley beforehe turned to Ruth.
"No sleep yet?" he asked softly.
Aynsley heard him and looked up.
"No," he murmured. "I'm very tired, but I can't rest. How can I whenthose brutes are burning the gang-saw shed?"
The doctor gave Ruth a warning glance, whispered to the nurse, and wentout, passing Clay, who had crept upstairs without his shoes and stoodlurking in the shadow on the landing.
"No change," he said, and drew the anxious man away.
It was after midnight now and getting colder. There was no sound in thehouse, and none from outside, except when now and then a faint elfinsighing came from the tops of the pines. A breeze was waking, and Ruth,oppressed by the heat and fatigue, was thankful for it. She looked ather watch, and then wrapped it in a handkerchief because its monotonousticking had grown loud in the deep silence. She knew that the dreadedtime when human strength sinks lowest was near, and she felt with acurious awe that death was hovering over her patient's bed.
"I can't see," he said very faintly, and stretching out a thin handsearched for touch of her.
She took it in a protecting grasp, and Aynsley sighed and lay quiet.After a while the doctor came in again, noiselessly, and, looking downat the motionless figure, nodded as if satisfied, while Ruth sank intothe most comfortable pose she could adopt. It was borne in upon her asshe felt his fingers burn upon her hand that she was holding Aynsley'slife; and whatever the effort cost her she must not let go. Soon shegrew cramped and longed to move, but that was impossible: Aynsley wasasleep at last, and it might be fatal to disturb him. Then, though shetried to relax her muscles, the strain of the fixed pose becameintolerable; but she called up all her resolution and bore it. Afterall, the pain was welcome, because it kept her awake, and she wasgetting very drowsy.
Clay, creeping up again, stopped outside the door. He could not see hisson, but he watched the girl wit
h a curious stirring of his heart. Thedim light fell on her face, showing the weariness and pity in it, andthe man, though neither a sentimentalist nor imaginative, was filledwith a deep respect. He could not think it was a woman's tenderness forher lover he saw. There was no hint of passion in her fixed and gentleeyes; hers was a deep and, in a sense, an impersonal pity, protectiveand altogether unselfish; and he wondered, half abashed, how she wouldhave looked had she loved his son. Then, encouraged by her attitude andthe quietness of the nurse, he softly moved away.
Day was breaking when the doctor came down into the hall, followed byRuth, and stopped when Clay beckoned him.
"My news is good," he said. "He's sound asleep, and I think the worst ispast."
He moved on, and Clay turned to Ruth, feeling strangely limp with thereaction. The girl's face was white and worn, but it was quiet, and Claynoticed with a pang the absence of exultant excitement.
"It's you I have to thank," he said hoarsely. "I want you to rememberthat my promise holds good."
"Yes," Ruth answered with a languid smile. "Still, that doesn't seem tomatter and I'm very tired."
He moved aside to let her pass, and watched her with a heartfeltgratitude as she went slowly down a corridor.