Kitabı oku: «Betty Gordon in the Land of Oil: or, The Farm That Was Worth a Fortune», sayfa 6
CHAPTER XIV
TWO INVALIDS
Betty, for a single wild instant, had an impulse to slam the door shut and gallop off the place on Clover. She was all alone, and miles from help of any sort, no matter what happened. Then, as another groan sounded, she bravely made up her mind to investigate. Some one was evidently sick and in pain; that explained the state of affairs at the barns. Could she, Betty Gordon, run away and leave a sick person without attempting to find out what was needed?
It must be confessed that it took a great deal of courage to pull open the grained oak door that led from the kitchen and behind which the groans were sounding with monotonous regularity, but the girl set her teeth, and opened it softly. In the semi-darkness she was able to make out the dim outlines of a bed set between the two windows and a swirl of bedclothes, some of which were dragging on the floor.
“I’m just Betty,” she quavered uncertainly, for though the groans had stopped no one spoke. “I heard you groaning. Are you sick, and is there anything I can do for you?”
“Sick,” murmured a woman’s voice. “So sick!”
At the sound of utter weariness and pain, Betty’s fear left her and all the tenderness and passionate desire for service that had made her such a wonderful little “hand” with ill and fretful babies in her old home at Pineville came to take its place.
“I’ll have to put the shades up,” she explained, stepping lightly to the windows and pulling up the green shades. “Then I can see to make you more comfortable.”
She spoke clearly and yet not loudly, knowing that a sick person hates whispering.
The afternoon sunlight streamed into the room, revealing a clean though most sparsely furnished bedroom. A rag rug on the floor, two chairs, a washstand and mirror and the bed were the only articles of furniture.
Betty, after one swift glance, turned toward the occupant of the bed. She saw a woman apparently about sixty years old, with mild blue eyes, now glazed by fever, and tangled gray hair. As Betty watched her a terrible fit of coughing shook her.
“You must have a doctor!” said Betty decidedly, wondering what there was about the woman that seemed familiar. “How long have you been like this? Have you been alone? How hard it must have been for you!”
She put out her hand to smooth the bedclothes, and the sick woman grasped it, her own hot with fever, till Betty almost cried out.
“The stock!” she gasped. “I took ’em water till I couldn’t get out of bed. How long ago was that? They will die tied up!”
“I fed and watered them,” Betty soothed her. “They’re all right. Don’t worry another minute. I’ll make you tidy and get you something to eat and then I’m going for a doctor.”
What was there about the woman – Betty stared at her, frowning in an effort to recollect where she had seen her before. If Bob were only here to help her – Bob! Why, the sick woman before her was the living image of Bob Henderson!
“The Saunders place!” Betty clapped her hand to her mouth, anxious not to excite her patient. “Why, of course, this is the farm. And she must be one of Bob’s aunts!”
As if in answer to her question, the sick woman half rose in bed.
“Charity!” she stammered, her hands pressed to her aching head. “Charity! She was sick first.”
She pointed to an adjoining room and Betty crossed the floor feeling that she was walking in a dream and likely to wake up any minute.
The communicating room was shrouded in darkness like the other, and when Betty had raised the shades she found it furnished as another bedroom. Evidently the old sisters had chosen to live entirely on the first floor of the house.
The woman in the square iron bed looked startlingly like Bob, too, but, unlike her sister, her eyes were dark. She lay quietly, her cheeks scarlet and her hands nervously picking at the counterpane. When she saw Betty she struggled to a sitting posture and tried to talk. It was pitiable to watch her efforts for her voice was quite gone. Only when Betty put her ear close down to the trembling lips could she hear the words.
“Hope!” murmured the sick woman hoarsely. “Hope – have you seen her?”
“Yes, she asked for you, too.” Betty tried to nod brightly. “I’m going to do a few things here first and get you both something to eat, and then I’m going for a doctor.”
Miss Charity sank back, evidently satisfied, and Betty hurried out to the kitchen. The wood box was well-filled and she had little difficulty in starting a fire in the stove. Like the rest of the farm homes, the only available water supply seemed to be the pump in the yard, and Betty pumped vigorously, letting a stream run out before she filled the teakettle. She thought it likely that no water had been pumped for several days.
There was plenty of food in the house, though not a great variety, and mostly canned goods at that. Betty, who by this time was really faint with hunger, made a hasty lunch from crackers and some cheese before she carried a basin of warm water in to the two patients and sponged their faces and hands. She wanted to put clean sheets on the beds, but wisely decided that was too much of an undertaking for an inexperienced nurse and contented herself with straightening the bedclothes and putting on a clean counterpane from the scanty little pile of linen in a bottom drawer of the washstand in Miss Hope’s room. She was slightly delirious for brief intervals, but was able to tell Betty where many things were. Neither of the sisters seemed at all surprised to see the girl, and, if they were able to reason at all, probably thought she was a neighbor’s daughter.
When Betty had the two rooms arranged a bit more tidily, and she was anxious to leave them looking presentable for she planned to send the doctor on ahead while she found Bob and brought him out with her, she brushed and braided her patients’ hair smoothly, and then fed them a very little warm milk. Neither seemed at all hungry, and Betty was thankful, for she did not know what food they should have, and she longed for a physician to take the responsibility. She had given each a drink of cool water before she did anything else, knowing that they must be terribly thirsty.
She stood in the doorway where she could be seen from both beds when she had done everything she could, and the two sisters, if not better, were much more comfortable than she had found them.
“Now,” she said, “I’m going to get a doctor. No, I won’t leave you all alone – not for long,” she added hastily, for Miss Charity was gazing at her imploringly and Miss Hope’s eyes were full of tears. “I’ll come back and stay all night and as long as you need me. But I must get some things and I must tell the Watterbys where I am. I’ll hurry as fast as I can.”
She ran out and saddled Clover, for she had been turned out to grass to enjoy a good rest, and, having got the proper direction from Miss Hope, urged her up the road at a smart canter. She knew where the Flame City doctor lived; that is, the country doctor who had practised long before the town was the oil center it was now. There were good medical men at the oil fields, but Betty knew that they were liable to be in any section and difficult to find. She trusted that Doctor Morrison would be at home.
He lived about two miles out of the town and a mile from the Watterby farm, and, as good luck would have it, he had come in from a hard case at dinner time, taken a nap, and was comfortably reading a magazine on his side porch when Betty wheeled into the yard. She knew him, having met him one day at the oil wells, and when she explained the need for him, he said that he would snatch a bit of supper and go immediately in his car.
“I know these two Saunders sisters,” he said briefly. “They’ve lived alone for years, and now they’re getting queer. It’s a mercy they ever got through last winter without a case of pneumonia. Both of ’em down, you say? And impossible to get a nurse or a housekeeper for love or money.”
“Oh, I’m going back,” explained Betty quickly. “They need some one to wait on them. Uncle Dick will let me, I know, and I really know quite a lot about taking care of sick people, Doctor Morrison.”
“But you can’t stay there alone,” objected the doctor. “Why, child, I wouldn’t think of it. Some one will come along and carry you off.”
“Bob will come and stay, too,” declared Betty confidently. “There are horses and cows to take care of, you know. I found them nearly dead of thirst, and all tied in their stalls.”
The doctor interrupted impatiently.
“Nice country we live in!” he muttered bitterly. “Every last man so bent on making money in oil he’d let his neighbor die under his very eyes. Here are two old women sick, and no one to lift a hand for ’em. I suppose they haven’t been able to get a hired man to tend to the stock since the oil boom struck Flame City. Well, child, I don’t see that I have much choice in the matter. I know as well as you do, that they must have some one to help out for a few days. That Henderson lad looks capable, and you’ll be safe, as far as that goes, with him in the house. But you musn’t try to do too much, and, above all, no lifting. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
The doctor offered to take Betty back with him in the car but she was anxious that he should not be delayed and asked him to go as soon as he could. She herself would ride on to the Watterby farm, see if Bob was there, get her supper, and pack a few necessary things in a small bag. Then she and Bob would ride back to the Saunders’ place. Clover was fresh enough now, after her respite, far fresher than Betty, who was more tired than she had ever been in her life, though nothing would have dragged that confession from her. Of course her uncle must be notified, if he were not at the farm. Betty knew that a message left with the Watterbys would reach him. He had been off for four days, and was expected home very soon.
Betty did not hurry Clover, for she wanted to save her for that evening’s trip, and it was well on toward six o’clock before she came in sight of the farm. A black dot resolved itself into Bob and he came running to meet her.
“I was beginning to worry about you,” he called. “I waited up at the fields till afternoon, because Thorne was sure you would come back there. When I got here and found you hadn’t come in, I was half afraid the horse had thrown you. You look done up, Betty; are you hurt?”
“I’m all right,” said Betty carelessly, dismounting. “Have you heard from Uncle Dick?”
Bob did not answer, and she turned in surprise to look at him. His face was rather white under the tan, and his hands, fumbling with the reins, were trembling.
CHAPTER XV
UNEXPECTED NEWS
“Bob!” Betty’s over-tired nerves seemed to jangle like tangled wires. “Bob, is anything the matter?”
“Well, of course, nothing is really the matter,” replied Bob, his assumed calmness belied by his excited face. “Nothing that need worry you, Betty. But – there’s another oil fire!”
“Another well on fire?” repeated Betty. “Oh, Bob, is it anywhere near Uncle Dick?”
“You come in and sit down. Ki will look after Clover,” said Bob authoritatively. “Supper is almost ready, and I’ll tell you all I know. Mrs. Watterby has gone to bed with a sick headache, but Grandma is taking her place.”
“Is it a very bad fire?” urged Betty. “Where is it? When did it start? Have you seen it?”
“I guess it is pretty bad,” said Bob soberly. “It’s the north section, Betty. Just what Thorne has been afraid of.”
“The north section!” Betty looked startled. “But, Bob, we were there this morning. Everything was all right.”
“Well, when I came back with the record book Thorne sent me with and found you and Clover had dashed off, everything was all right, too. I hung round for an hour or so, hoping you’d ride back, and then MacDuffy asked me to take a message to Thorne. They were having dinner at the mess house, and Uncle Dick came in before we had finished. He was feeling great over some leases they’d signed that morning, and he thought he’d get home to-night. He didn’t seem to worry about you – said he knew Clover was a sensible and well-broken horse and that he guessed you’d come out none the worse for wear. Somebody called Thorne outside just as the Chink brought in the pie, and he was back in a few minutes, looking as if the bottom had dropped out of the world.
“‘Two wells afire in the north section, Mr. Gordon,’ he said, and at that every man shot from the table out into the air. We could just see the two thin spirals of smoke – that section must be four miles from the bunk house.
“Everybody ran for their horses, and Uncle Dick for his car. He cranked it and then saw me getting in with him.
“‘You go back and stay with Betty,’ he cried to me. ‘Stay with her every minute till I come back. If I’m gone three hours or three days or three years, don’t leave her. And keep her away from the oil fields. We’ll be overrun as soon as news of this gets out, and the kind of crowd that will be here is no place for a girl. Promise me, Bob.’
“So of course I promised,” concluded the lad earnestly. “He got into the car, and maybe he didn’t make that tin trap speed. All I saw was a cloud of dust. This afternoon all of Flame City has gone past here on foot, in cars, and on horseback. They say more wells have caught.”
“Do you think Uncle Dick is in danger?” faltered Betty. “Aren’t the fire fighters surrounded sometimes and suffocated with smoke?”
“What have you been reading?” demanded Bob with a stoutness he was far from feeling. “Uncle Dick knows too much to be caught like that. No, he may not get home for a couple of days more, but there is no need for you to lie awake and worry. Take my advice and go to bed the minute you’ve had supper; you look tired to death, Betty.”
“Oh, Bob!” For the moment Betty had actually forgotten her great news, but now it came rushing back to her. “Oh, Bob, I’ve something wonderful to tell you!”
“Won’t listen till you’ve had your supper,” said Bob firmly, marching her out to the dining-room table, as Grandma Watterby rang the bell. “You eat first, then you can talk.”
Betty could hardly touch her food for excitement, but she did not want the Prices to hear what she had to tell Bob, so she made a pretense of eating. The Watterby household was eager to hear what had happened to her on her unplanned-for ride, and she told them that Clover had taken her some miles before she could be halted. She did not go into details.
“Now, Bob!” She fairly dragged him from the supper table, ignoring his suggestion that they help Grandma Watterby wash the dishes. “I can’t wait another minute, not even to help Grandma. I have something to tell you, and you simply must listen. I’ve found your aunts!”
Bob stared at her stupidly.
“I found the three hills!” Betty hurried on excitedly. “Clover carried me ever so far, and I saw the three hills in the distance. I had to ride miles before I reached them, but it isn’t more than seven or eight by the road. And, Bob, both your aunts are very sick, and they have no one to take care of them or get them anything to eat. There aren’t any neighbors around here, you know; all the women are too old or too busy like Mrs. Watterby, and the men are crazy about oil. You and I have to go there to-night.”
“Betty, are you sure you are not crazy?” demanded Bob uneasily. “How do you know they are my aunts? How can we go there and stay? They must need a doctor.”
Betty was impatient of explanations, but she saw that Bob was genuinely bewildered, so she hastily sketched the proceedings of the afternoon for him.
“And Doctor Morrison must be there now,” she wound up triumphantly. “They look so much like you, Bob. He’ll see it, too.”
“I never saw any one like you, Betty!” Bob gazed at her in undisguised admiration. “No wonder you look tired. Why, I should think you’d be ready to drop. Hadn’t you better go to bed and get a good night’s sleep and let me go out to the farm? You can come to-morrow morning.”
“I’m rested now,” insisted Betty. “That hot supper made me feel all right again. Doctor Morrison will probably have some directions for me, and I promised the old ladies I’d be back and you promised Uncle Dick not to leave me. Let’s go and tell Grandma and leave word with her for Uncle Dick. Then you saddle up, and I’ll get my bag.”
Bob forbore to argue further, more because he thought that it was best to get Betty away from the Watterby place on the main road to Flame City than because he approved of her taking another long ride after an exhausting day. The most disquieting rumors had come down from the fields that afternoon, and Bob knew that every kind of story, authentic and unfounded, would be promptly retailed over the Watterby gate. If Mr. Gordon’s life were in danger, and Bob feared it was, it would be agony for Betty to be unable to go to him and be forced to listen to hectic accounts of the fire.
“Well, well,” said Grandma Watterby, when Betty told her that she had found the Saunders place. “So you rode to the three hills, did you? Ain’t they pretty? Many and many’s the time I’ve seen ’em. And Bob’s aunties – Hope and Charity – they living there?”
Betty explained briefly that they were ill and that she and Bob were going to look after things.
“We may be gone two or three days or a week,” she said. “You tell Uncle Dick where we are if he comes, won’t you? Doctor Morrison will bring messages if you ask him. He’s going to see them, too.”
Grandma Watterby hurried to the pantry and came back with a glass jar in her hands.
“This is some o’ my home-made beef extract,” she told them. “You take it with you, Betty. There ain’t nothing better for building up a sick person. Dear, dear, to think of you finding Hope and Charity Saunders. Do they know ’bout Bob?”
Betty said no, and the horses being brought round by Ki, who had insisted on saddling them, she and Bob rode off. It was faintly dusk, and a new moon hung low in the sky.
“Isn’t it lovely?” sighed Betty. “In spite of sickness and danger and selfish people, I love this country on an evening like this. What do you think we ought to do about telling your aunts, Bob? I knew Grandma would ask that question.”
“Why, if they’re sick, I think it would be utterly foolish to mention a nephew to ’em,” said Bob cheerfully. “They probably are blissfully unaware that I’m alive, and trying to explain to them would likely bring on an attack of brain fever. I’m just a neighbor dropped in to help while they’re laid up.”
Betty could not bring herself to speak of the evident poverty of the lonely Saunders home. She had built so many bright castles for Bob, and the dilapidated house and buildings she had left that afternoon quite failed to fit into any of the pictures. However, she remembered happily, there was always the prospect of oil.
“It can’t be out of the fields,” she argued to herself. “Just suppose oil should be discovered in that section! Bob might easily be a millionaire!”
Bob was silent, too, but his thoughts were not on a problematical fortune. He was wondering, with a quickened beating of his heart, how his mother’s sisters would look and whether he should be able to see in them anything of the girlish face in the long-treasured little picture that was one of the few valuables in the black tin box.
“There’s a team ahead,” said Betty suddenly.
Her quick ears had caught the sound of wheels, and though it was almost dark now, no lantern was lit on the rattling buggy to which they presently caught up. The rig made such a noise, added to the breathing of the bony horse that was suffering from a bad case of that malady popularly known among farmers as “the heaves,” that the occupants were forced to raise their voices to make themselves heard. The top was up and it was impossible to see who was inside.
“I tell you, let me handle it, and I’ll make you thousands,” some one was saying as they passed the buggy single file. “I can manage women and their money, and I don’t believe the idea of oil has as much as entered their heads.”
“Always oil,” thought Bob, hurrying his horse to catch up with Betty. “In Oklahoma the stuff that dreams are made of comes up through an iron derrick, that’s sure.”
At the Saunders place, bathed in faint moonlight, they found Doctor Morrison’s car, and a light in the window told that he was waiting for them.
“Didn’t know whether you would make it to-night or not,” was his greeting, as they went around to the kitchen door and he opened it to show the room brightly lighted by two lamps. “Both patients are asleep. Miss Charity has laryngitis and Miss Hope a very heavy cold. But I think the worst is over.”
He stopped, and shot a keen glance at Bob.
“Funny,” he said abruptly. “For the moment I would have said you looked enough like Miss Hope to have been her younger brother.”
Bob merely smiled at the doctor’s remark, for he did not want the relationship to be guessed before his aunts had recognized him.
