Billy Topsail, M.D.

"Thank you," said the Doctor. He turned to Mild Jim Cull. "Skipper James," said he, "have Timmie take care of the dogs. I'll cross Ships' Run and lance that finger."

Dusk fell on Amen Island. No doctor had happened across the Run. No saving help – no help of any sort, except the help of Sandy Lands and Black Walt Anderson, to hold the rebellious subject – had come.

At Candlestick Cove Doctor Luke had been delayed. The great news of his fortunate passing had spread inland overnight to the tilts of Rattle River. Before the Doctor could get under way for Amen Island, an old dame of Serpent Bend, who had come helter-skelter through the timber, whipping her team, frantic to be in time to command relief before the Doctor's departure, drove up alone, with four frowsy dogs, and desired the extraction of a tooth; but so fearful and coy was she – notwithstanding that she had suffered the tortures of the damned, as she put it, for three months, having missed the Doctor on his northern course – that the Doctor was kept waiting on her humour an hour or more before she would yield to his scoldings and blandishments.

And no sooner had the old dame of Serpent Bend been rejoiced to receive her recalcitrant tooth in a detached relationship than a lad of Trapper's Lake trudged in to expose a difficulty that turned out to be neither more nor less than a pitiable effect of the lack of nourishment; and when an arrangement had been accomplished to feed the lad well and strong again, a woman of Silver Fox was driven in – a matter that occupied Doctor Luke until the day was near spent and the crossing of Ships' Run was a hazard to be rather gravely debated.

"You'll put it off, sir?" Skipper James advised.

The Doctor surveyed the ice of Ships' Run and the sky beyond Amen Island.

"I wish I might," said he, frankly.

"I would, sir."

"I – I can't very well."

"The floe's started down the Run, sir."

"Yes-s," the Doctor admitted, uneasily; "but you see, Skipper James, I – I – "

CHAPTER XXV

In Which a Stretch of Slush is to be Crossed and Billy Topsail Takes the Law in His Own Hands

It was falling dusk and blowing up when Doctor Luke and Billy Topsail, gaffs in hand, left the heads of Candlestick Cove for the ice of Ships' Run; and a spit of frosty snow – driving in straight lines – was in the gale. Amen Island, lying nearly in the wind's eye, was hardly distinguishable, through the misty interval, from the blue-black sky beyond.

There was more wind in the northeast – more snow and a more penetrating degree of frost. It was already blowing at the pitch of half a gale: it would rise to a gale in the night, thick with snow, it might be, and blowing bitter cold – the wind jumping over the point of Amen Island on a diagonal and sweeping down the Run.

Somewhere to leeward of Candlestick Cove the jam had yielded to the rising pressure of the wind. The floe was outward bound from the Run. It was already moving in the channel, scraping the rocks of both shores – moving faster as the pans below ran off to open water and removed their restraint.

As yet the pans and hummocks were in reasonably sure contact all the way from Candlestick Cove to Come-Along Point of Amen Island; but the ice was thinning out with accelerating speed – black water disclosing itself in widening gaps – as the compression was relieved. All the while, thus, as Doctor Luke and Billy Topsail made across, the path was diminishing.

In the slant of the wind the ice in the channel of Ships' Run was blown lightly against the Candlestick coast. About the urgent business of its escape to the wide water of Great Yellow Bay the floe rubbed the Candlestick rocks in passing and crushed around the corner of Dead Man's Point.

Near Amen Island, where the wind fell with less force, there was a perilous line of separation. In the lee of the Amen hills – close inshore – the ice was not disturbed: it hugged the coast as before; but outward of this – where the wind dropped down – a lane of water was opening between the inert shore ice and the wind-blown main floe.

As yet the lane was narrow; and there were pans in it – adrift and sluggishly moving away from the Amen shore. When Doctor Luke and Billy Topsail came to this widening breach they were delayed – the course was from pan to pan in a direction determined by the exigency of the moment; and when they had drawn near the coast of Amen – having advanced in a general direction as best they could – they were halted altogether.

And they were not then under Come-Along Point, but on a gathering of heavy Arctic ice, to the north, at the limit of Ships' Run, under that exposed head of Amen, called Deep Water Head, which thrusts itself into the open sea.

"We're stopped, sir," Billy Topsail declared. "We'd best turn back, sir, while there's time."

A way of return was still open. It would be laborious – nothing worse.

"One moment – "

"No chance, sir."

"I'm an agile man, Billy. One moment. I – "

Billy Topsail turned his back to a blast of the gale and patiently awaited the issue of Doctor Luke's inspection of the path.

"A man can't cross that slush, sir," said he.

Past Deep Water Head the last of the floe was driving. There is a wide little cove there – it is called Deep Water Cove; and there is deep water – a drop of ten fathoms (they say) – under Deep Water Cliff. There was open water in both directions beyond the points of the cove. A detour was thus interrupted.

Doctor Luke and Billy Topsail confronted the only ice that was still in contact with the shore. At no time had the floe extended far beyond Deep Water Head. A high sea, rolling in from the northeast, had played under the ice; and this had gone on for three days – the seas running in and subsiding: all the while casting the ice ponderously against the rocks.

Heavy Arctic ice – fragments of many glacial bergs – had caught the lesser, more brittle drift-pans of the floe against the broken base and submerged face of Deep Water Cliff and ground them slowly to slush in the swells. There were six feet of this slush, perhaps – a depth of six feet and a width of thirty.

It was as coarse as cracked ice in a freezer. It was a quicksand. Should a man's leg go deep enough he would not be able to withdraw it; and once fairly caught – both feet gripped – he would inevitably drop through. It would be a slow and horrible descent – like sinking in a quicksand.

It was near dark. The snow – falling thicker – was fast narrowing the circle of vision.

"I might get across," said Doctor Luke.

"You'll not try, sir," Billy Topsail declared, positively. "You'll start back t' Candlestick Cove."

"I might – "

"You'll not!"

There was something in Billy Topsail's tone to make Doctor Luke lift his brows and stare.

"What's that?" said he, smiling grimly.

"I says you'll not try."

Doctor Luke laughed uneasily.

"No?"

"No, sir."

Billy Topsail was a big boy. Doctor Luke measured his length and breadth and power with new interest and recalled that he had always admired the lusty proportions of the lad. Decidedly – Billy Topsail was a big fellow! And Billy Topsail's intentions were plain.

"Now – " the Doctor began, argumentatively.

"'Tis no use, sir. I knows you."

Doctor Luke moved off a step. "But Billy, you see, my dear fellow – "

"No, sir!" Billy Topsail moved within reach.

"I'm quite sure – "

"No."