Page:Weird Tales Volume 27 Issue 01 (1936-01).djvu/110

108 missing portion had been replaced with an old-fashioned, hand-carved wooden peg. It struck the deck with a dull thump whenever he moved about.

Doctor Dumont's feeling of relief impelled him to be sociable. He drew out his emergency flask.

"Prescription liquor—twelve years old," he said. "Have a drink with me."

He was wholly unprepared for the change which came suddenly over the engineer. The fellow's eyes opened wide, his nostrils dilated, and his lips drew back from yellow teeth in a grimace of frightful rage. He took two steps forward and raised a ham-like fist. Doctor Dumont backed prudently through the door without stopping to argue; he had seen madness often enough to recognize the gleam from those wild eyes.

At that moment came a fortunate diversion. The bell overhead clattered loudly, and the engineer sullenly allowed his arm to fall, then went back to his levers. Doctor Dumont replaced his flask and hastened around to the opposite side of the deck. The crossing was at an end.

lane bordered with tall weeds diverged from the levee, and the doctor made his way along it at a brisk walk. A hundred yards farther along, he found himself at the highway. Roaring up the pavement came a westbound bus; frantically the doctor flagged it down. Only when he was safely aboard did he realize that he had not paid his ferry-fee: in his haste he must somehow have missed the ticket office. He made a mental note to drop by sometime and pay the delinquent fare; notwithstanding the mad engineer, that had been one trip which was certainly worth the money.

He caught the train at Westwego with only seconds to spare. An hour later he was descending from it at the little town where he had practised for so many years, and where his patient awaited him. He hoped fervently that he would be in time.

Etienne met him at the station with a little automobile; it seemed to the doctor that the wheezy motor quivered with impatience.

"How's Marcel?" he demanded as he climbed in.

"Wo'se," said Etienne. "I promise le bon Saint can'le long's my a'm if he's get bette'—but he's wo'se." He fed more gasoline to the now roaring motor.

The little car shot forward along the dark road and began a nerve-torturing race. It turned unbanked curves on slithering tires and missed trees, fence-posts and culverts by indies. At last Etienne threw his weight on the brakes and racked it to a stop.

Both men were out of the car before it had ceased to vibrate, and Etienne led the way into the house. They found Marcel Favret unconscious, and die old Cajun went down on his knees beside the bed as the doctor fumbled with the latch of his medicine case.

"I'm just in time," the doctor muttered, fitting needle to syringe with practised speed. "Thirty minutes more—perhaps even fifteen—and Marcel would have been done for. That ferry-boat came like a dispensation."

It was a long, tense fight, and although Doctor Dumont prided himself on his freedom from superstition he more than once seemed to feel the air about him stirred by unseen wings as he labored and watched over his patient. There was an acrid taste in his mouth, and it was as if restraining hands tugged at his every muscle. Never had his enemy appeared so loth to relinquish a victim.

But skill and devotion triumphed at last, and the presence of Death was no