The Far Country (22 page)

The utility went sliding off with Joe in it again; a mile down the road it turned into the camp and ran between the rows of hutments under the gum trees, and stopped outside the fourth on the right. Joe got out and called to a man at the door. “Hey!” he said, “Seen Splinter anywhere about?”

The man said, “He’s inside.”

Joe vanished into the hut and Jack Dorman got out of the utility with Jennifer; together they unfastened the black twill cover of the truck-like body. Joe came out carrying in his arms a very large first-aid box. “Put it in the back,” said Dorman.

A tall, dark man came to the door of the hut and glanced at the utility and then at Dorman; recognition came to him. “So,” he said, “we have already met, upon the Howqua. It is your car, this?”

“That’s right.”

Carl Zlinter paused in thought. “I have much to take,” he said. “It will be all right to drive this car into the woods, up to the accident?”

“I should think so. The ground’s pretty hard.”

“I will take everything, then, in the car.”

He went back into the hut, and reappeared with Joe, carrying five cartons roughly packed with packages of cotton-wool, dressings, splints, bandages, bottles of antiseptic; these with a worn leather case completed his equipment. It only took three or four minutes. “Now we are ready to go,” he said.

Joe got up into the back with the stores, and Zlinter got into the front of the utility with Jennifer and Dorman. “It is better to bring everything,” he said. “Much will be not needed, but for the one thing left behind—it is better to take everything.”

Dorman said, “Go back first to the office?”

“I think so. Perhaps the ambulance and doctor are already on the way. In any case, we must pass by that place.”

They slid off up the road again to the weatherboard office. The manager came out to meet them. “Can’t get through yet,” he said. “You go on up, and I’ll be along soon as the call comes through.”

Jack Dorman said, “The doctor’s day in Woods Point, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tuesday. I’ve an idea it is.”

Jim Forrest made a grimace. “It would be. Will you take Zlinter up there, Jack? I’ll be up there myself soon as this call comes through.” He turned to the Czech. “Do what you can, Carl, till the doctor gets here.”

“Okay, Mr. Forrest,” said Carl Zlinter. “I will do the best that I can.”

The utility moved off and up the hill. Carl Zlinter sat in silence, mentally conning over the stores that he had brought with him, the information of the accident that he had got from Joe. A man called Bertie Hanson with a crushed leg trapped beneath the upturned bulldozer; a man called Harry Peters, the bulldozer driver, unconscious with a head injury. He was not troubled by the injuries; his long experience in the medical service of the German Army had accustomed him to front-line casualties in Russia and in Normandy. It was the lack of stores that worried him most; there was no blood plasma and no equipment for transfusion, and no dressing station. Still, he had worked and saved men’s lives with less than he had now. What a clumsy fool that bulldozer driver must have been!

Jennifer sat silent between the men as the utility sped up the hill. She was somewhat at a loss; only half understanding what was going on. The tall, dark foreigner beside her had medical experience
though he was not a doctor; apparently he was a lumberman, for he was dressed like one, yet in this emergency Joe, and even the manager, seemed to defer to him. She did not clearly understand what it was that had happened in the forest and nobody had enlightened her; indeed, perhaps Joe was the only one who really understood the accident, and he was inarticulate, unable to communicate exactly what he knew.

They passed the road gang and reached the track that led down off the road; Jack Dorman headed the Ford down this timber lane in low gear, and they went lurching and swaying down the hill between the trees. Directed by Joe they turned presently and traversed the hillside to the right and came out into a sloping open space, where all the timber had been felled. Down at the bottom of this sloping space, upon the edge of the unfelled forest, there was a bulldozer lying on its side and forepart, lying across a log about two feet in diameter. Two more tree-trunks lay above the bulldozer, one caught upon the spade, the other poised in the air above it, perilously, apparently about to fall. There were men with ropes working carefully around this game of spillikins, attempting to guy back the log poised in mid-air.

“My word,” Jack Dorman breathed. “You wouldn’t think a bulldozer could get like that….” The girl from London sat silent. These things which had happened in the forest were outside all her experience.

Dorman drove the Ford slowly forward till its way was barred by scrub and timber; then he stopped it, and the dark foreigner with them got out and made his way quickly to the accident. He was wearing soiled khaki drill trousers and a grey cotton shirt open at the neck; his arms were bare to the elbow and very tanned, yet he had unmistakably the air of a doctor. Dorman followed after him with Joe, and the girl came along behind them, uncertain what she was going to see.

She saw a man pinned beneath the bulldozer by one leg bent below the knee in an unnatural attitude; he lay upon the ground beneath the log that rested one end on the bulldozer spade, most insecurely. His face was badly lacerated on one side, and there was blood congealed upon the coat that had been thrust as a pillow beneath his head. He was conscious, and the eyes looked up with recognition at Carl Zlinter.

The lips moved. “Good old Splinter,” he muttered. “Better than any mucking doctor in the mucking State. Get me out of this.”

The dark man dropped down on his knees beside him. “Lie very quiet now,” he said. “I am giving an injection which will make you sleep. Lie very quiet now, and sleep.” He opened his case, fitted up the hypodermic with quick, accurate movements, sterilised it with alcohol, broke the neck of a capsule and filled it, and sterilised the forearm of the man upon the ground, all in about thirty seconds. He drove the needle in and pressed the plunger down. “Lie very
quiet now, and go to sleep,” he said softly. “Everything now will be all right. When you wake up you will be in hospital, in bed.”

The man’s lips moved. “Mucking German bastard,” he said faintly. “Good old Splinter. Good old … mucking German bastard …”

Carl Zlinter got up from beside the man and crossed to the other casualty. Men parted as he came, and Jennifer saw lying on the ground the second man. He lay upon his face, or nearly so, apparently unconscious. He had been bleeding from the ears and the nose and the mouth; he lay still, breathing with a snoring sound, irregularly. Great gaping wounds were on his scalp, the fair hair matted with blood, with white bone splinters showing here and there. Jennifer bit her lip; she must not show fear or horror before these men.

“We didn’t like to move him till you came, Splinter,” said somebody. “The poor mugger’s got his skull all cracked. We reckoned it was best to leave him as he was.”

The dark man did not answer, but dropped down on his knees beside the casualty and began preparing his injection. Gently he bared an arm and sterilised it, and thrust the needle in it. He withdrew it and sat back on his heels, his fingers on the pulse, studying the patient. He did not touch the head at all.

Presently he got to his feet. “We will need stretchers,” he said. “Two bed-frames, each with a mattress. I will not wait for the ambulance. Mr. Dorman, please. Will you fetch bed-frames and mattresses for us, in the utility?”

“Sure. One of you chaps come along with me ’n show me where to go.”

The utility went off up the cleared glade, and Jennifer was left with the lumbermen and the casualties. The dark foreigner went back to the first man with the trapped foot and dropped on one knee beside him; gently he lifted one eyelid, and felt the wrist. He bent to an examination of the leg beneath the bulldozer.

“Is it possible to lift this thing?” he asked.

“Aw, look,” said one, “it’s a crook job. We got to take the top stick out backwards first, ’n when we get the weight from off the butt of this one it’ll roll off on the top of him. We got to shore up this one first, ’n then take the top one off backwards, ’n rig a sheer-legs ’n a tackle, ’n try and get this one off backwards too. After that we might roll the dozer over, or jack it up maybe. But it’s a long job, Splinter, ’n the stick’ll roll off on him if we don’t watch out.”

“How long will it take?”

The man said, “It’ll be dark by eight. If we can get the stuff up here, ’n lamps and that, we might get the dozer shifted about midnight.”

“Can you safely move these sticks, working in the dark, so that there can be no further accident for him?”

The man said uneasily, “We got to get the poor mugger out of
it, Splinter. But it’s a crook job, working in the dark. I’d a sight rather do it in the day.”

The dark man stood in silence for a minute. The men stood round him waiting for a lead, and Jennifer could sense the trust they had in him. “I do not think that we can save the foot, in any case,” he said. “It is practically severed now. If we should lift the dozer by midnight and get him out of it, the leg must then come off in hospital. I think the risk now is too great to move these sticks, for nothing to be gained, but to risk injuring him more. I think it will be better if I take the leg off now and get him to the hospital. We will wait for a message first, to find out if the doctor comes.”

Somebody said softly, “Poor old sod.” Another spat, and said, “I wouldn’t guarantee to shift them mucking sticks without one slipping.” There was a long silence after that.

Presently Carl Zlinter crossed to the other man and knelt down by him again, and very gently began to run his fingers over the skull, exploring the unnatural depressions of the scars. He lifted his head after a time, and said, “Is there water, water in a clean billy? There is an enamel bowl in one of the cartons—use that. And a clean piece of cloth, of lint from the blue square package in the big carton. Somebody with very clean hands open it, and give me a piece of the lint.”

Water was brought in a billy and a man found the package of lint. He glanced at his hands, and then at Jennifer. “You do it,” he said. “You got cleaner hands than any of us here.”

She tore open the wrappings and bared the lint. She said to the dark man, “Do you want disinfectant in the water?”

“Please. The big blue bottle, just a little. About one tablespoonful.” He glanced at her. “Not that—the other bottle. That is good. Now give it to me here, and a small piece of the lint.”

She took the bowl and the lint to him; he dipped his hands in the solution and wiped them with the lint, and threw the lot away. She got him more lint and disinfectant while the men stood round them in a circle watching, and he began very carefully to wipe the dirt from the wounds on the man’s head.

“Scissors,” he said. “In the leather case, the middle one of the three pairs, And the forceps, also. Put them in the water, in the bowl.”

She brought them to him, and stood with the men watching as he worked. The glade was very still; the sun was sinking towards the mountain and it was not now so hot as it had been. The air was fragrant with the odour of the gum trees, and from far away a faint whiff of the forest fire scented the air. In the distance a white cockatoo was screeching in some tree.

The dark foreigner worked on upon his knees, oblivious of the audience. Jennifer stood with the lumbermen looking down upon him as he worked. It was impossible for her not to share their confidence; with every movement the man showed that he knew
exactly what he was doing, what the result of every tiny movement of his hand upon the scalp would be. She could feel the confidence that the men standing with her had in Splinter, and watching him at work she shared their trust. This man was good.

Presently there was a faint noise on the road above them. A man by Jennifer raised his head. “Truck coming down,” he said. “That’ll be Mr. Forrest, come to say about the ambulance.”

They listened to the approaching truck till it emerged into the glade and stopped near the wrecked bulldozer. The manager got out and came to them, and Zlinter got to his feet and went to meet him. The men crowded round, Jennifer with them.

“There’s no ambulance, Zlinter,” he said. “It’s gone to Woods Point with the doctor for an appendicitis case. They don’t know if it’s coming back tonight or not.”

One of the men said disgustedly, “No mucking doctor, either?” One of his mates nudged him, indicating Jennifer.

“No doctor,” said Jim Forrest. “I’m sorry, cobber, but that’s the way it is.”

“Aw look,” said one, “we’ve
got
a doctor. Old Splinter, he’s a doctor, isn’t he?”

“What about it, Zlinter?” asked the manager. “What’s the damage?”

“It is not good,” the dark man said. “This man, I think we should take off the foot and take him into hospital, not to leave him here for hours while we lift the dozer.” The manager pulled him to one side. “It is all right, he cannot hear. He is now well doped. We cannot save the foot in any case, and we must try now to control the shock, or he will die. If he is left here for many hours, I think he will die.”

“Take the foot off now, and get him out of it?”

“That is the right thing to do. He must be in a warm bed, soon, with many blankets and hot bottles; he is already very cold. I think that he is very bad, that one. I do not think that he has been a healthy man; perhaps he drinks too much.”

“What about the other one?”

They crossed to the man with the fractured skull. “This one,” the dark man said, “he seems more badly, but I do not think so. His skull is broken in three places, but he is a healthy man and there is yet no damage that is not repairable. I have seen men as bad as this recover, and be very good—quite well men. With him, it will be necessary to move him very carefully to where he can be operated on, to lift the pressure of the bones upon the brain. If we can so arrange that he is dealt with quickly, then I think he will have a good chance to recover and be well.”

Jim Forrest bit his lip. “Have you done operations of that sort, Zlinter?”