PROFILE: Dr. Alexander B. Campbell

Dr. Campbell was a versatile man, with credentials as a Dentist as 
well as a Physician, from the Eclectic Medical Institute of Cincinnati
[Source:  Google Books]

Alexander B. Campbell, Surgeon was a local physician living in St. Vincent from approximately 1880 onward.  

Scientific Find in Kittson County (1892)

Found via Google Books,
aka "the researcher's friend"

The following excerpt highlights a pharmacological discovery by university scientists of an important plant (Northern Senega) in locations in northwest Minnesota, including Kittson County. 

The plant (general species, Senega - sometimes spelled Seneca) was originally identified into modern medicine, in the 18th century by a Scottish physican, whose attention was brought to it by the Seneca tribe in Pennsylvania. The plant had (and continues to have) important properties used in medical products to this day. It is also important in alternative medicine, as demonstrated at this Manitoba website showcasing local herbal remedies - all available to me in my backyard.

Trivia:  Metis (introduced to it by the Ojibwa) have long used Senega/Senega, aka Snakeroot, for it's medicinal properties.

I found it fascinating to run across this medical journal report of the find from 1892 (especially since the natives in our area are mentioned as using it mainly for subsistence purposes, not medicinal as tribes in other areas of the country had...)

THE AMERICAN

JOURNAL OF PHARMACY.

MARCH, 1892.

NORTHERN SENEGA.

By L. E. Sayre, University of Kansas.

The geographical distribution of senega has been a subject of a good deal of interest to the members of the pharmaceutical profession and the drug trade for a number of years. Chief among the contributors to our present knowledge of the drug in this particular have been Prof. J. M. Maisch and Prof. J. U. Lloyd, as will be seen by glancing over the back numbers of the American Journal of Pharmacy, the Proceedings of the American Pharmaceutical Association, and other pharmaceutical publications.

Reference has been made to senega growing in Wisconsin and Minnesota, but there has not been very definite information given, I believe, as to its collection or the exact district of country from which it is collected in these States. "Northern Senega" has been a current term meaning a variety of senega having certain physical characteristics very unlike the original Polygala Senega. Prof. Lloyd (Proc. Amer. Pharm. Asso., 1881), describing this variety¹ — which he says is derived from the Northwest from the States of Wisconsin and Minnesota—says it is very large and fleshy, sometimes white, again rather dark brown, the knotty crown measuring often from two to three inches in diameter, even of the dried plant. The root just below the knotty head is (when dry) from the size of the little finger to that of the thumb of a man ; six to ten inches in length and generally destitute of keel; not so contorted and branched as the " Southern " senega.

Northern Seneca Root
harvested in Manitoba

L. L. Dyche, Professor of Zoology and Taxidermy, of the University of Kansas, some months ago made an extensive hunting tour in the Northwest, the main point of his operations being in that country lying near the Lake of the Woods. During this hunting expedition he had an excellent opportunity of studying the country, its products and its people. On his return he handed me a root which he thought might be of some interest to me. He said it was collected in very large quantities and seemed to be one of the staples of that country. The natives depending upon its collection as one of the means of subsistence, have made this quite an industry among them. There the squaws and the children dig the root while the " Braves " hunt the valuable fur-producing animals. Prof. Dyche says that he saw at the different trading posts in Marshall and Kittson Counties, in the storehouses, as much as a thousand pounds stacked up in one heap. At a little town, Rocksted, near Thief River Falls, the Indians come in from long tramps of forty miles or more and bring in the fur, skins and this snakeroot. Here they had an immense stock on hand. Since his return, Prof. Dyche has received a letter from a trader at Jadis², Kittson County, stating that he has on hand a thousand pounds bagged up, waiting for a fair market price.

The root referred to is undoubtedly a good sample of senega. In length it varies from 4 to 8 inches; in diameter from 1/16 to 1/2 inch. Surrounding the root is a dark scar-covered head. This head in the case of younger roots is covered with immature pinkish leaf-covered stems. The characteristic keel of Southern senega is rarely present and the contour of the root is much less contorted. The color ranges from the light yellow of young roots to the dark brown of the older ones.

Near the head, prominent annulations are present. These continue with enlarging intervals of space for some distance down the root. Lengthwise the whole root is deeply wrinkled, while frequent warty enlargements occur. The branches are not numerous. In considerable quantities, the odor of gaultheria is quite prominent, as it is also in a cold aqueous infusion. The taste is very acrid.

Under the microscope the wood is found to be cylindrical, and the ingrowth of the inner bark on one side which produces the keel of the Southern variety is not apparent in a majority of cases. The wood is whitish, ligneous and occupies about y of the diameter of the root.

A sample of the drug was handed to Mr. McClung, one of the senior students, for the estimation of the polygalic acid. He used Quevenne's process, and obtained of the pure acid 35 per cent. Methyl salicylate was abundant, as shown by the ferric chloride test.

It would seem from the above that this specimen handed to me by Prof. Dyche represented a good sample of senega; its quality, equal to the average root of the market.

I have planted some of the roots, which seem to be full of vigor, and hope to be able at some future time to classify the plant.

¹ — Northern senega, collected in the northwest United States, is considerably larger than the usual variety (western senega), and darker in colour; it is less contorted and shows the keel less distinctly, but it has a very acrid taste, and is undoubtedly a good senega. It is said to be derived from Poly gala Senega, var. latifolia.

² - Jadis (named for Mr. Jadis, Kittson County Auditor) eventually was renamed Roseau - Kittson county included the western portion of what is now Roseau County until 1894 - From Kittson County History.

BORDERTOWNS: Chapter 20

It was dark when Knute's mind began to function. A sickening, sweet, cloying odor seemed to be invading his senses. It seemed he was having a bad dream from which he could not awaken. His throat felt dry and raspy. He wanted water, yet his throat refused to function and he could utter no sound. Fantasies of his childhood and memories of his Stepmother came. He remembered having been told of his mother's murder at Lake Shetek by the Indians and of his being found as a baby, hidden in reeds along the lake. His mother, prior to her murder had evidently concealed him. He had no personal memories until reaching nearly four years of age, having been passed from one family to another, always grudgingly accepted. Then his father remarried. His new mother was the widow of a man killed by Indians during the attack upon New Ulm. She had three sons, all older than him. They spoke no Norwegian, for his stepmother was of German extraction. Arguments became frequent between his father and stepmother. To make matters worse, he was teased and bullied by the older boys, forced to do most of the demeaning work. Last spring he had left home with an itinerant peddler and worked his way to St. Vincent.

Aware of a light somewhere in the room, he willed his eyes to move. Someone was seated at the foot of the bed, and he realized it was Jerold. Attempting to gain attention, he was finally able to force a guttural sound from his throat. Jerold was instantly alert, rising and moving to bend over him. Further attempts to tell Jerold his need for water were futile, but his pathetic facial expressions told of his suffering. Jerold sensed his plight, and, dipping a washcloth in the pitcher by the washbasin, applied it to Knute's lips. Knute immediately sipped desperately at the wet cloth.

"I'll raise your head and give you a small sip. The doctor warned me not to give you too much water -- said you'll get sick. I'll get a glass and be right back." Moments later he returned and raised Knute's head, enabling him to get a bit. Lowering Knute's head, he said, "You can have more water after you are fully awake. Try to relax and sleep. I'll be here with you all night and Susan will come over in the morning."

When Susan arrived at the hotel the following morning, it was already past 9 o'clock. Even before she knocked on the door of the doctor's room, she noted the strong smell of chemicals. One glance inside told her that Knute was fully awake; his head turned to her as she entered. She smiled brightly. "Awake and bushy-tailed this morning?"

The look on his face expressed his feelings. He croaked, "I feel sore all over, but mostly sore about losing my foot. Cripes! My toes are itching and they're not even there!"

Susan was grateful for his levity. She had worried during the night about his reaction and frame of mind. "Has the doctor been in to see you this morning?"

"Here and gone," Jerold answered as he groggily eased himself from a chair. "He said we can take Knute home tomorrow. Said there was no sign of infection. He actually seemed proud of his work -- said he would drive to St. Vincent this afternoon to see Mary." He snorted, "I think he's more interested in getting his room back. I'm going to the cafe and grab some breakfast." He looked down at Knute. "What do you want me to bring back?"

Moving to the side of the bed Susan sat carefully on the edge. Reaching over, she smoothed the hair from Knute's forehead. The surface skin felt warn and she detected a fever.

When Knute failed to answer, she coaxed, "How about it? You must still have an appetite."

"Coffee would be fine. Can you prop me up so I won't spill? Say, how is Mary?"

"She's sore, stiff, and angry, but otherwise fine. It'll be a few days before she's up and about; she has some cracked ribs. Now, lets get you raised up," She noted that his bandaged leg was propped up on a pillow. Carefully sliding the folded blanket at the foot of the bed from under the pillow, she raised his shoulders, using the tightly folded blanket for support. "I brought you a book to read, Gulliver's Travels, by Swift. Have you read it?

"No, but I'm not much in the mood to read just now."

"Then I'll read to you. You rest easy until Jerold returns with the coffee."

Jerold had just ordered breakfast when the Emerson constable entered the cafe. Jerold noted the grim, tired look on Bell's face as he approached the table and eased himself into a chair.

"You're not going to believe this, son. I had to turn those two scoundrels loose a few minutes ago. Somehow, their friends got a lawyer and they're out. They both deny any involvement in the incident, and I couldn't find the youngster Ian saw across from the saloon, the one who saw them throw the explosive." He looked frustrated. "The boy must have come into town with some of the railroaders or with a visiting family. I checked from door to door but no one seems to know the lad."

"You mean you turned them both loose?" Jerold was flabbergasted.

"I had no choice. Their lawyer pointed that out. There's no firm evidence against them and no witnesses, even though I’m sure they're guilty."

Although angry and frustrated, Jerold considered the ramifications. Suddenly he blurted, "They better make themselves scarce. We'll get to them somehow."

Bell looked glum. "If you do, find them in St. Vincent or Pembina. I'm stuck to uphold the law here. Charley Brown will probably be a little more forgiving." He lifted his ponderous weight from the chair. "Tell Ian I'm sorry about the outcome. Personally, if it were my choice, I'd use a horsewhip on them. Incidentally, I told both of them to get out of Emerson and not come back -- told them I'd hound the hell out of them if they did." He offered objectively, "They'll probably cross the line to the States or move to Winnipeg. It's good riddance, but watch out for them. They're real trouble!"

His breakfast over, Jerold headed back to the room with coffee and toast for Knute and Susan. Entering, he found Susan reading to her patient. She took the tray from Jerold and, leveling it on her lap, and then poured coffee for Knute.

Jerold studied them for moments, then said, "I'll ride Ian's horse home and leave the buggy. I'll be back tonight after chores."

Susan looked up; "Ian and I did your chores this morning. I actually milked six of the fourteen cows." She flexed her fingers. "My fingers are stiff. Gosh, I haven't milked a cow since Ian and I got married."

"Pretty good for a greenhorn," Knute muttered.

"Sure is! Thanks!" Jerold was smiling. He turned to Knute. "When I come back tonight, is there anything you need?"

"Not if you take me home tomorrow. I'll feel better there, but I'll need crutches to get about, also a pair of trousers.”

"No problem. We'll face things as they come."

Susan glanced over the edge of the book she was reading and realized Knute had fallen asleep. She had expected it, knowing of his fever. The few associations she had had with Knute had been fleeting, but she realized the McLaren family had practically adopted him, and with good reason. He was a handsome boy, about sixteen years of age, she guessed. He was not overly talkative, but through Ian and Jerold she had gathered bits of his childhood.

She knew much about the Minnesota River and the Indian uprising of l862, for her mother had lived at the Yellow Medicine Agency when the trouble began. In fact, she, herself, had been born at the agency the previous summer.

Gazing at the bandaged leg gave her a sudden idea. Could Mike Ryan, the boot maker, make a boot to replace Knute's missing foot? Knute still had most of his calf left below the knee. The more she thought of it the more likely it seemed. Slipping quietly out the door, she walked the block to Ryan's Bootery. She knew Mike well because he often fished in the Red River just below their house in St. Vincent. Only last year he had caught a huge sturgeon at the mouth of the Pembina River, and often on Sundays he stopped by on his way to the river. He was still eager to catch another of the huge, shovel-nosed fish.

The odor of freshly tanned hides and the earthy smell of oils permeated the small shop as she entered. The short, hunch-backed cobbler was busy trimming a new sole he had just attached to a boot. His eyes lit up in anticipation as he turned. A sly grin came to his face and he bowed repeatedly, "The newest and latest Mrs. McLaren, I do believe!"

"Yes, Mike, it's me." Susan could hardly contain her excitement. "You've heard that Knute had his foot amputated yesterday, haven't you?"

"Yup, by gor, a terrible thing!" The shoemaker was sincere. "Tar and featherins' too good for those two. They're no good, nothing but trouble."

"Can you come over to the hotel to see Knute? He's asleep, but I think you can make a boot to fit his missing limb. It's mainly the foot that's gone."

Mike gazed out the front window in thought, then said, "It can be done; they do it in the cities." He hesitated momentarily, and then he said, "No! No sense seeing him now. Let the leg heal first. It shouldn't be difficult to make a pair of matching high lace boots. I can stiffen the one and even hinge the ankle for movement. Let me think on it. I'll make an excuse to visit Patrick and Maggy in a couple of weeks. Then I can talk with the boy."

Upon Knute's return back from Emerson, Patrick hurriedly made a pair of crutches, for after his second day at home, Knute flatly refused to stay in bed. The fourth morning he was in the barn helping with the milking. As promised, Mike Ryan visited with the family and suggested that Knute allow him to measure his leg for a boot. The boy was skeptical, but Maggy was determined. "You're shaking the house to pieces with all that hopping about. Let Mike help you."

"Laddie, I can make a boot that you can lace to the calf of your leg. It will take some weeks for your stub to toughen for everyday walking, but it can be padded with sheep's wool. It might take some adjusting, because the muscles in the calf may shrink a bit. Still, I think you'll be back on both feet before you expect."

"Anything is better than this," Knute said hopefully, "If you can make a boot that will allow me to climb into the loft to throw down hay, or even carry a feed bucket, I'll be ever grateful."

Two weeks later Mike reappeared with the newly made boots. From appearances, they were identical; except that the right boot was of stiffer leather and had a cup-like interior to support Knute's stub leg. At first the boy was ecstatic, for although he was a bit nervous and wobbly, he could walk quite well. Frustration came within minutes when the stump quickly became tender from the chafing and pressure. It was another two weeks before his stump toughened enough to allow him an hour or two on his feet.

By mid-December Mary had nearly recovered, but she felt occasional twinges when she stretched or reached out. Kirby had been an attentive suitor, obviously worried about her condition. He appeared whenever he could get off duty, usually soon after the sound of the fort evening retreat cannon.

When Mary finally could be propped up in bed they played whist together, usually against Knute and Jerold.

Two weekends in late December were special. Kirby arrived with horse and sleigh to take her on long rides.

Once they went to Pembina, and the following Sunday to Emerson. Each time he solicitously assisted her into the sleigh, carefully tucking the buffalo robes around her. Patrick and Maggy were amused as they watched from a window. "Pat, you were never that gallant to me."

Patrick grinned, "You never gave me a chance. You were too aggressive. You never waited to be helped. You just jumped into the rig . . . even wanted to drive the horse."

At first Mary was flattered with all the attention Kirby showered upon her. Then it became too much. She scolded, "For heaven's sake, Kirby, ease up! I'm not made of glass. I won't break!"

"That's why I'm tucking you in. You've already been broken enough." He was smiling.

Their relationship grew intense as his remaining days at the fort dwindled. They began making plans for their wedding.

"Why don't we get married at Fort Leavenworth at Easter time? You'll be of age by then, and I'm sure of two or three days off. Hopefully I can arrange to have Father and Mother meet us there for the wedding." He smiled as he raised her chin and added, "Unless you'll change your mind and marry me now."

"Easter time will be soon enough, and it will be a wonderful time for our wedding." Her voice was firm, but loving.

"I'm scheduled to leave on Wednesday, the first day of January. School starts the following Monday. I'll arrive at the fort on Saturday, but it'll probably take me a couple of days to settle down in quarters."

"I'll ask Mom if she and Dad will take me there on the train cars. If they can't get away, I'll just have to manage by myself."

When Christmas arrived, Mary and Kirby decided against attending the fort ball, deciding instead, to attend the Presbyterian Church's special Christmas Eve Service. The entire family participated. The next day Patrick and Maggy hosted a lavish dinner for the family, with gifts and favors for all. During the morning everyone exchanged presents; that evening Jerold accompanied the singing of carols with his violin.

At bedtime Maggy expressed her thoughts to Patrick, "Remember the hard times back in Orillia? We've much to be thankful for. Knute has almost forgotten his accident and he hasn't had an epileptic attack for months. It's marvelous how he has recovered in such a short time. Ian and Susan are well matched and happy. Perhaps we'll be grandparents before we know it. Soon Mary and Kirby will be wedded. We'll have to make plans to accompany her to Kansas in late March.

"Yes, we've a lot to be thankful for. Thank the Lord we searched for, and found this wonderful country that has allowed us a future. We owe a lot for our prosperity and freedom."

Maggy looked at her husband quizzically as he bent slowly to remove his shoes. "Pat, are we growing old?"

He leaned down to plant a kiss. "Yup! And wiser!"

Two days before Kirby's train was scheduled to leave for Minneapolis, Mary approached her father and mother in the kitchen. She had spent a sleepless night, beset by worries and recriminations. A sense of loneliness came that was too compelling to be denied. "Dad, will you go to the depot and get me a railroad ticket to Fort Leavenworth? A ticket the same as Kirby's?"

Maggy's face lit up. "You mean you've decided to go with Kirby." Then a look of chagrin came. "Why didn't you two get married at Christmas time?"

"I can't explain, Mother, but I've decided to go with him. We can get married in Minneapolis, or after we arrive in Leavenworth, Kansas. I just can't bear to wait another four months. Something could happen to spoil our happiness."

"I'll get you the ticket, but does Kirby know of your decision?" Patrick was apprehensive.

"No, and I don't want him to know. I'm going to surprise him. When he boards the train on Wednesday, I'll go into the car to say goodbye. Then I'll sit down and hand him my ticket."

"What about your baggage? How will you get it aboard?" Maggy apparently approved the prank.

"I'll have Ian or Jerold slip it into the baggage car," Mary answered. "Most of the heavy trunks go there anyway."

Patrick began to grin. "It'll sure knock him for a loop. Suppose he blows up?"

Mary smiled, "He won't. He's been after me every evening to marry him."

"It will start your life with a bang, but I don't know." Maggy was suddenly skeptical.

When the secret was passed to the boys, they endorsed the idea wholeheartedly. Ian and Susan were to see that her packed trunk and carpetbag would be placed with the baggage on the Wednesday train.

Kirby arrived for breakfast with the McLaren family early on the morning of his departure. His gelding was left in Mary's charge and for her use. At 8:45 A.M. the entire family walked the few blocks to the depot to see him off. When Kirby boarded the train, Mary accompanied him into the car for a supposed last kiss and talk. As Kirby remained standing by a seat, Mary pushed by and sat down next to the window. "Let's sit down and talk. It's much easier than standing."

Kirby seemed confused. "Mary, you'll have to get off soon. The conductor is standing in the vestibule scowling at us."

"Well, then, show him this." Smiling, she stood up and removed her coat. Tossing it over the back of the seat, she took an envelope from her pocket and handed it to Kirby.

Puzzled, he quickly opened the envelope to find Mary's ticket through to Leavenworth, Kansas. Glancing at the destination a second time, he suddenly realized her mischievous prank. "You minx! Do you really mean it? You're coming with me?" Elated, he grasped her shoulders.

She beamed and nodded. "I wanted it to be a surprise. I changed my mind two days ago."

"It is a surprise, and what a surprise! My darling, we can stop over a day in Minneapolis and get married."

The conductor approached. "The young lady must leave now. We have a schedule to keep."

Kirby displayed Mary's ticket. "This young lady will accompany me. We're getting married as soon as we arrive in Minneapolis."

A broad smile appeared on the conductor's face. "Congratulations to you both. Now we can finally pull out." He stepped out to the vestibule to signal the engineer.

While the train backed out of the station toward the Y, Mary and Kirby waved to her family. The smiles on their faces told Kirby that they were all involved in the mischief. Mary saw her mother holding a handkerchief to her face; her father had his arm around her waist. He was smiling.

Slowly clearing the switch at the Y, the train headed south and soon reached the track speed limit.

"We won't be in the Twin Cities until around 9 o'clock tomorrow morning." Kirby murmured. "This won't be any comfort trip. It's too bad that Jim Hill hasn't put on any of the new sleeping cars built by George Pullman."

Mary reached for her coat to cover them; the stove in the end of the car was providing minimal heat. "Then we'll make the best of it. Your shoulder seems a good pillow." She burrowed closely to his chest, smiling with contentment.

Kirby moved his legs diagonally across the facing seat and shifted his body to snug her to him. "I'm perfectly satisfied with things as they are." He ran one hand alongside her neck, running his fingers through her heavy fall of hair.

Mary sighed, "I am, too." Under her coat, which covered them both, she unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and inserted her hand.

Kirby glanced around at the other passengers guiltily. All were dozing, watching the snowy countryside pass by, or they were reading. He pressed the seeking hand tightly to his chest. Nuzzling his face into her hair, he whispered, "It'll be a long time until tomorrow night."

She smiled as she turned to bury her face into his neck. "Only a few hours."

It was nearly noon on Friday morning, January 10, when Mike entered the back door excitedly waving a letter. "It's from Mary, Ma. She's written us a letter!"

Thrilled, Maggy sat at the kitchen table and read the message aloud to Mike.

Monday, January 6

Leavenworth, Kansas.

Dear Father, Mother and Boys,

Kirby and I were married last Thursday afternoon in Minneapolis. We hurriedly shopped for a wedding ring and found only one problem. May the Lord forgive me; I had to fib and say I was eighteen years of age.

We arrived here late Saturday evening and are staying at this plush hotel. Kirby reported to the fort on Sunday and had no problems. He is at school now and this afternoon I will house-hunt for us. Not having furniture, we hope to find something already furnished. Kirby was informed at the fort that there should be no problem finding at least furnished rooms, with kitchen privileges.

It's actually like spring here, with only occasional patches of snow on the ground. In fact the sun is out and I'm anxious to get outdoors. I'll get a newspaper and scan the ads. Kirby is to check the vacancy listings at the fort.

This hotel is quite new and has modern plumbing with a bathroom adjoining each room. Kirby says there is no hurry to leave here, but I'd feel better in our own place.

The boys are to use his horse for riding. Perhaps Mike can use it while herding the cows this summer.

I really have no other news at present, but after all, we've only been here two days. We are newlyweds, and Kirby is my love! I'm very happy!

Love, Your Mary.

BORDERTOWNS: Chapter 19

From Dominion City: Fact, Fiction & Hyperbole
The entire countryside was anxious to be at the Emerson depot to greet the first train arriving from St. Paul on the morning of November 11. Shortly after daylight on the auspicious day, Susan left home and after walking down the alley, rapped lightly on the McLaren back door. When she entered the kitchen a brief spate of cold air followed. She felt the sudden warmth of the room and the mouth-watering smell of frying bacon. Dancing flickers of light leaked from the damper on the left side of the cast iron range.

Mary glanced up from where she was turning the bacon. "You're just in time for breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and toast." She reached to the cupboard and handed a cup to Susan, then began turning the bread toasting on the hot top of the stove.

Maggy was sitting quietly at the table, nursing Kate at her breast. Reaching for the coffee pot, Susan said, "I've had breakfast. I came over to see what time we're leaving for Emerson." Seating herself opposite Maggy, she asked, "Will Patrick be able to get off work to come along with us?"

Baby Kate stopped nursing and turned upon hearing Susan's voice. Susan smiled at her. "Gosh, every time I see her she's grown." She marveled, "She'll be walking soon, I bet."

Maggy looked down at Kate fondly. "She's on solid foods, too, but she's still a glutton for breast milk. She says "Mama" and "Dada," and I do believe she'll start walking in another month or two. That is, if someone holds her hand. She can already pull herself up and stand." She looked to Mary. "You were walking by yourself when you reached your first birthday."

Mary smiled and reached behind her head to pat her back in jest. "Yes, and you've told me a hundred times how I got into everything." She looked toward Susan. "Pa can't get off work, but Jerold and Knute will take us over in the buggies. There's not much snow, and with the five of us and Mike, we'll need your buggy too."

"Ian got off work at six this morning. I fed him breakfast and he's fast asleep by now. He'll join us in Emerson around noontime. It's a pity we all can't go to Roseau Crossing¹ to see the spike-driving ceremony, but Ian says it's too far and too cold a ride."

Knute entered the kitchen and wiggled a silent hello to Susan with his fingers as he sat down at the table. He had evidently overheard Susan's remark, and he added, "Nearly a three-hour ride each way and a chilly one too."

Mary scooped the fried bacon and potatoes onto a platter and placed it on the table. Grasping the covered dish of scrambled eggs from the warming side of the stove, she removed the cover and inserted a serving spoon. Placing the bowl in the center of the table, she remarked, "The toast will be ready in a jiffy."

"It sure will," Knute was smiling. "It's already burning!"

"Oh, my gosh!" Mary hastily stabbed into the offending slice of bread with a fork, and then examined it closely. "It's all right, just burned a little on the edges."

Baby Kate pulled away from Maggy and endeavored to stand in her lap. When Susan held out her arms coaxingly, the baby smiled and attempted to crawl across the table to her. Sliding back her chair, Susan stood and lifted the child from Maggy's lap, saying, "I want two just like her, and two like Ian."

"And are you trying?" Maggy teased.

"You bet!" Susan broke into a merry laugh.

While the women smiled, Knute sat back silently; he was obviously embarrassed.

"We should leave by 10 o'clock." Maggy said. "I want to look around the stores this afternoon, for I've heard they have good print on sale for 12 cents a yard. Kate needs new dresses; she's nearly outgrown everything. We can eat dinner at one of the hotels. We're not packing any lunches today; it'll be my treat."

Sounds from the back porch indicated Jerold was back from the barn. They could hear the thumping of the milk pails on the porch floor. Moments later he entered the kitchen. "Smells like heaven in here. Anything left for me?"

"Not if you'd stayed out there much longer," Mary teased.

"Well, it was my turn to milk this morning." He grinned. "Knute's turn to milk tonight, then I'll be the one to have it easy." He sat at the table and began helping himself.

Susan stood and lowered Kate into her high chair. "I'll be back with the buggy at ten."

"No, you won't!" Jerold was smiling. "I will be the one. If you'll wait a moment until I finish eating, I'll walk back with you and be your chore boy while my big brother is busy sawing logs."

Susan looked up at the ceiling musingly. "Let's see. I need kindling split for the stove, the ashes must be cleaned from both the kitchen and parlor stoves, the barn needs cleaning, and, oh yes..."

"Whoa there! Have pity! Leave something for Ian to do."

"If you want it so." Susan looked at her brother-in-law fondly. She knew she had joined a wonderful, loving family.

It was nearly noon before the two buggies crossed the international boundary and proceeded north along Emerson's Main Street. It seemed a few tents were pitched helter-skelter here and there. Before they turned east on Church Street, they noticed each hitch rail in sight was occupied by riding horses or teams. The saloons were evidently doing a booming business, due to the crowd. It seemed every man who had ever worked on the railroad was in town for the celebration. Turning east toward the Depot, they were finally forced to stop; they were still two blocks short of their destination. Further travel was impossible for sleighs and buggies blocked the entire street.

Jerold turned to his mother. "What time is the train supposed to arrive?"

"Pat said sometime shortly after the noon hour. We might as well step down and visit a bit. I hope we don't have to stand in the cold too long." She handed Kate to Mike while she stepped from the buggy, and then reached to take the baby back. Walking to Knute and the girls, whose buggy had stopped behind theirs, she said, "Let's mingle a bit with the crowd until train time. No doubt some of our old neighbors will be about."

They had barely approached the crowd at the tracks when the shrill whistle of the northbound train was heard. Within a minute the highly decorated 4-4-0 engine slowed for the depot. Crowds momentarily panicked to clear the track and the train stopped, steam jetting out from the cylinders. From where the McLaren family stood, they could not hear the welcoming speech, but they could see the arms of the speaker gesturing vigorously. Flags decorated the engine and bunting hung from the cars. To Maggy, it seemed there were few passengers. She later found there were only 24, mostly executives of the St.P.&P.

The stop in Emerson was brief; with a sudden surge of power, the high driving wheels of the engine slipped momentarily, then slowed to seize the rails. People were waving from the car windows as the train finally moved north to the ceremony planned at Roseau. Mary turned to her mother. "Let's meet at the Gillis' restaurant. It'll fill quickly, so we'll hurry. We'll save seats for you."

Knute smiled, confident they would get to the café in plenty of time since they were on the outer fringe of the crowd. He remarked, "We'll beat everyone downtown. There aren't any rigs parked behind us."

They were two blocks from Main Street when Knute noticed a small group of men standing at the next corner. He became apprehensive when he saw they were watching the approaching buggy with obvious interest. The men were smiling and exchanging smirks, as if in anticipation. Just as their buggy passed by, one of the heavily bearded men threw something just ahead of the horse.

Susan clutched Knute's arm tightly. "Watch out! He threw a firecracker."

The explosion that followed was no firecracker. It was tremendous. For a second the girls and Knute were in shock. Then the horse began bucking. Twisting wildly, it forced the buggy nearly over on its right side. Mary was toppled out onto the ground. Kicking and rearing, the horse broke into a wild gallop, the right rear wheel of the buggy passing over Mary's chest. Out of control, the horse then left the road, bolting between two buildings. The two right wheels were torn from the axles as they scraped through to the alley. When the horse turned suddenly at the alley, Susan lost her balance. She was thrown clear of the buggy and landed heavily on the slushy ground.

All of the force Knute could exert on the reins by bracing his feet on the dash of the buggy failed to stop the horse. When a large water trough blocked the way, the animal attempted to jump it and failed. As the buggy struck the trough, it was totally demolished; Knute was thrown forward, his body striking heavily against a board fence.

Jerold, Maggy and Mike, who had been following a half-block behind Knute, witnessed the explosion and runaway. They noted that the men responsible for throwing the explosive charge cast furtive glances among themselves, and then hastily left en masse, in the direction of the Russell House. Not one man went to the aid of Mary, who was lying as if dead on the snow-laden street.

Maggy hastily pushed Kate into Mike's lap, crying, "Hold her!" Even before Jerold could bring the buggy to a complete stop, she leaped from the side and ran to Mary. Pushing back Mary's long hair, she saw the scraped, bloody face. Her daughter was moaning with pain, attempting to straighten from a fetal position.

"Hold still, darling. Everything will be all right."

Mary's eyes began to flicker as she became conscious. Her face was colorless. It was obvious she was in shock.

Maggy drew in a deep breath as she placed her fur muff under her daughter's head. From business establishments along the street, faces appeared, alarmed by the loud blast. Several men, seeing Maggy crouched down alongside Mary, approached at a run.

Jerold shouted to Maggy, "I'll follow Knute's buggy. He and Susan are in trouble." Driving hurriedly around the end of the block, he entered the alley in time to see Susan rising groggily from the ground. She looked dazed and was futilely attempting to wipe mud from the front of her coat.

Further along the alley was the smashed buggy. The horse was straddled across the water trough, flailing wildly with its front legs and emitting pitiful screams of agony. Drawing the buggy to a quick halt, Jerold thrust the reins into Mike's hand, commanding, "Hold the animal! Stay in the buggy with the baby!"

Knute was crumpled against the board fence motionless, yet apparently conscious. His eyes were open, but his extended right leg was strangely bent below his right knee. Moving cautiously to avoid the threshing legs of the horse, Jerold endeavored to pull Knute from the danger. A sick feeling came over him as he drew Knute's body back and saw what looked like a jagged stick protruding from the torn trouser leg. Although dazed, Knute recognized Jerold. He burst out, "I hurt like hell! My leg is on fire."

Susan, although badly shaken, joined Jerold in tugging Knute clear of the threshing hooves.

"Lay still, Knute," she ordered, while cradling his head in her hands. Motioning to Jerold with a jerk of her head, she said, "Give me your coat!" Jerold quickly complied and she gently tucked it under Knute's head.

Jerold cast a glance down the alley to the west. "Stay with him, Susan. I'll get help and find someone to dispose of the horse -- it's done for."

Before he could rise to his feet, they heard excited voices. The first two men to appear were clerks from Ashdown's store, located just on the corner. Realizing the situation of the maimed and crippled horse, one of the men cried, "I'll get a gun." Turning, he ran back to the store. The other clerk knelt by Susan and Jerold anxiously as Susan carefully wiped Knute's face with her scarf.

The man volunteered, "I'll get help to carry him into the store. We've got to get him off this cold ground." He headed toward the store.

Jerold urged, "Susan, why don't you see to Mike and little Kate? Take them into the store where it's warm. I'll stay with Knute until they return with more men."

Returning to the carriage, Susan reached to take Kate from Mike's arms. Mike jumped from the buggy and looked at up at her apprehensively. "Knute's going to be all right, isn't he?"

Susan looked as him reassuringly and put her arm around his shoulder. "He'll be fine, Mike. We'll have him home in no time."

Within a few moments one of the clerks returned with three men. As they carried Knute into the mercantile store, they heard the sharp crack of a pistol.

The shock from the impact with the ground was leaving Mary and she groaned, "It hurts to breath, Ma."

The merchant who was kneeling by her side looked up at Maggy. "She probably has some cracked ribs. It happened to me years ago; that's how I felt."

Maggy was somewhat relieved when she wiped the blood from Mary's face to find it oozing from a cut lip. She looked up at the men gathered around her. "Can you help me get her into a warm building?"

One of the men took charge. While he and two others carefully lifted Mary, another man assisted Maggy to her feet. "We'll take her into Ashdown's and call the doctor."

Luckily, the doctor was found at his hotel by one of the Ashdown clerks. After examining Mary briefly, he said, "She possibly has some cracked ribs in addition to her bruises; also, she has bitten her lip -- that's not serious. However, I can't tell if she has internal injuries, I'll have to look closer. He turned to the nearby watchers and said pointedly, "I need privacy to conduct a more detailed examination."

As the men turned away, another group of men entered through the rear door of the store. They were carrying Knute. The doctor looked startled and Maggy heard him mutter, "It never rains, but it pours!" Opening Mary's blouse, he slid the straps of her chemise down over her arms. Dark blue and red discolorations were on each side of her chest. One well-marked hemorrhaging streak had evidently been made by one of the buggy wheels.

"Like I thought, she has damaged ribs. I'll have to bind her chest. It will hurt to breath for a few days, but they'll mend and the pain will go away." He turned to Maggy, "Find a glass of water and I'll give her some laudanum before I wrap her chest. That will kill nearly all of the pain. Buy a pillow case from the store and I'll bind her chest with that. Oh, yes, get some large pins also. She'll need to be moved gently if you intend to take her home. I'll give you additional medication for her before you leave." After watching Maggy coax Mary into drinking the sedative, he said, "Now I'd better look at that other chap."

The men carrying Knute had laid him on a section of the store counter. Someone had placed a rolled blanket under his head. Susan, holding Kate in her arms, moved hastily over to join Maggy and Mary.

The doctor noted Knute's pasty, grim countenance. "What hurts the most, son?"

"My leg! My damn leg!"

The doctor briefly ran his hand down Knute's blood-soaked pantleg, then looked to Jerold. "Borrow some scissors from the store and slit the leg of that trouser carefully."

After the fabric had been cut open, Jerold noted the sudden grim look on the doctor's face. Moving away from the counter, the doctor beckoned to Jerold. "You'll have to get him over to my hotel room. Thank goodness, he's lost little blood. I hate to say it, but the lower part of the leg will have to be amputated. Both the tibia and fibula are broken and it's a compound fracture. Morever, just above the ankle, the two bones are mangled beyond repair. There's no way I can splint them. If it's not done immediately, there's almost a 100% chance of infection and then he will have little chance. He appears to be a strong, healthy boy. He should pull through satisfactorily."

The doctor turned to Enoch Winkler, the proprietor of the store. "Have you a mattress available for use to convey the boy to my hotel? His leg will need support while he is being moved."

Without answering, Winkler nodded and turned to the rear stockroom.

With Maggy's and Susan's help, the doctor deftly wrapped Mary to prevent the shifting of her ribs. By this time the laudanum had taken effect and she appeared to be sleepy and in little pain.

The doctor turned to Maggy. "Do you live in town, madam?"

"No, I'm Maggy McLaren, from St. Vincent. This girl is my daughter.

"I'd suggest a hotel room for her, but I'm afraid with the huge crowd in town, you'll look in vain."

Maggy reached out to smooth back the hair of her nearly sleeping daughter. "We'll see she gets home safely. Can you call over at our house in St. Vincent tomorrow, Doctor?"

"Yes, perhaps in the early afternoon. I must see to the lad now. He will need my room for a few days. I'll make the necessary arrangements."

When Knute was finally secure in the doctor's room at International Hotel, he appealed to Jerold. "My leg is shot, isn't it?"

Jerold tried to keep lightness in his voice. "It's just bad above the ankle."

"He's going to take it off, isn't he?"

"It won't make any difference, Knute."

Knute exploded, "What the hell will I do with one leg? Can't farm, can't do anything. Where are those sons-of-bitches who threw that bomb in front of the horse? They're responsible!"

"We'll find out who they are and get them!"

"You damn right! I'll spend the rest of my life getting even with them."

Ian arrived in Emerson too late to see the train pass through. A townsman recognized him and apprised him of the accident and of the location of his family. He immediately went to the Ashdown store to find his mother already making arrangements to have Mary returned to their home in St. Vincent. Mike was sitting quietly on a window seat by the door holding Kate on his lap. Concerned about his wife, he asked anxiously, "Just what happened? Where is Susan? Has she been hurt? Where are Jerold and Knute?"

Maggy hastily explained, "Susan is fine. She and Jerold took Knute to the International Hotel. He's in the doctor's room. His leg is badly broken and I don't know what the doctor plans." She looked at the sleeping Mary. "Mr. Winkler is out locating a spring wagon to carry Mary home. Mike, Kate and I will return with her; you see to Susan and Jerold. They're with Knute and know more what's going on than I." She added, "They've got our buggy; yours is shot. Also they've had to destroy your horse."

Ian hurried to the hotel and found Susan by the desk. Grasping her arms gently as she arose from a chair, he asked, "Have you been hurt, darling?" He noted her ashen look.

"No, just a bit shook up. But the doctor said Knute's right lower leg will have to be amputated."

"Oh, God! Poor kid! He'll need a lot of cheering up.”

Susan noted the grim look on his face and hugged him close. "We'll all see to that!"

"Can I see him?"

Susan shook her head. "The doctor is operating on him now. Jerold and another man are helping."

"Then I guess there's not much I can do except see Jack Bell and find the scum who did this. Sure you're not hurt?"

"I'm fine. Just find those men. They've got a lot to answer for."

Ian found Bell at the corner of Main and Church. The constable had already been informed of the accident and turned as Ian called to him. He smiled grimly and held out his open hand as Ian approached. Ian immediately identified the two objects Bell held in his hand as partial sticks of dynamite. "What are you doing with those, Jack?"

"I found them at the scene of the explosion." He fingered the greasy, oily paper.

"The bastards who caused the runaway stole this from the railroad, then cut it into three pieces. When they saw the damage they caused, they dropped the remaining portions on the ground to get rid of them. I checked your horse, too. No wonder he went wild. The explosion blew a chunk of hide from one of his front legs. I've been told those same men were seen walking toward the Russell House. I'm just heading for a look-see. Want to come along?"

"You bet!" Ian was grim. "They're going to pay the piper! I'm told Knute will lose a leg. What a hell of a thing to happen at a celebration!"

Bell whistled softly as he exhaled. "That should get them a few years in jail when we find them."

At the door of the saloon they hesitated momentarily to make plans. "We'll stick together and see who we can recognize," Bell advised. "Sometimes you can spot the guilty by their evasive actions and the looks on their faces."

The large barroom of the Russell House was packed with railroaders and civilians. Ian estimated the room held at least sixty men. All appeared boisterous, apparently oblivious to the heavy, blue haze of tobacco smoke that filled the room. Four harassed bartenders moved hurriedly behind the long mahogany bar. The chairs at every table were fully occupied and men stood two-deep along the bar.

"It's not going to be easy," Bell murmured.

Stepping ahead of Ian, he beckoned to the nearest bartender, who finally noticed him and turned. "I'm looking for four or five men who came in here recently, maybe a half hour ago, maybe a bit longer."

"Hell, Jack! I haven't had a chance to even look at the door. Look at this mob!" He waved his arm around. "Help yourself!"

Ian overheard the words and touched Bell's arm. "I'm going to look around."

While Bell remained in position to size up men he knew, men who would possibly have information, Ian went back outside. He realized that there were no saloons within a block and hoped the men they sought were inside. Then he saw a boy of about ten years of age playing just across the road. He had a hoop and stick and was chasing the hoop up and down the wood sidewalk. Crossing the street, Ian blocked the boy's path. The youngster stopped, looking puzzled.

"Son, did you see a group of men come over from Church Street some time ago? Maybe they entered that side door to the saloon across the street."

"You mean the ones that lit that big firecracker?" The small freckled face lit up.

"They're the ones," Ian said expectantly.

"Yup! They went into that side door. There were five of them and two were big buggers. They all had beards and one of them grabbed my hoop and threw it into Tennant's back yard."

"Were they drunk?"

"They were all laughing." He pointed at the hotel. "They haven't come out of there either."

Ian picked up the hoop and handed it to the boy. "Thanks! You've helped a lot."

Re-crossing the street, Ian realized he was in luck. He joined Bell and related his conversation with the boy, saying, “They’re still in here, according to the lad. I'm going back along the bar and see who's here."

Men blocking his way made movement difficult; they were intent in their conversations and reticent to move aside. He forced himself to be patient while worming between them, not wanting to irritate anyone. He knew that in a bar, with many drinking, anything deemed an insult could result in a massive brawl. At the far end of the crowded room, he suddenly stopped in surprise. Standing by the wall, nearly hidden from sight, were Brogan and Murphy with three other men. Wending his way back to Bell, he briefly related his past troubles with them and told of his suspicions.

"I know both of them. Come on!" Bell led the way forcefully, pushing through men, raising bitter looks as he shoved through the crowd. When he and Ian reached the end of the bar, sudden, apprehensive looks appeared on the faces of the five men as they were spotted. Their quick exchange of glances was obvious. Brogan and Murphy pretended a nonchalant conversation as their companions began to drift away.

Bell reached out and grasped Brogan's shoulder. "You and Murphy come outside with me. I want to talk to you." Murphy casually turned his back. "Yes, you too, Murphy."

"What the hell you want, Bell? We're drinking and minding our own business." A troubled look came to Murphy's face.

Bell thundered, "Either you two come with me or I'll drag you out!"
At first Ian though Murphy intended to start a fight, but then perhaps he thought better of it. Obviously reluctant, he followed Brogan and Bell to the door. Outside the bar, Bell turned on them. "How long have you two been in the saloon?"

Brogan exchanged glances with Murphy. "Hell, since early this morning."

"Turn out your pockets. I want to see what's in them." Bell demanded.

"What's this all about?" demanded Murphy.

"Never mind, just do it!" Bell ordered.

Slowly they emptied their pockets, displaying loose change, tobacco, jackknives, matches and sundry items, even a few buttons.

"What, no dynamite caps?" Bell looked at the two shrewdly.

Even Ian detected the startled looks on the men's faces. Murphy snorted. "What the hell are you trying to pin on us?"

"Pin what on you?" Bell had a nasty smile on his face.

Ian lost his temper. "You bastards set off that dynamite. Knute is going to lose a leg over your meanness, and both my wife and sister have been hurt. In addition a good horse is dead and my buggy destroyed." He surged in anger toward Murphy.

"Hold, Ian, hold!" Bell moved his huge bulk between them. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a revolver. Pointing it at the suspects, he exclaimed, "You are both going to jail. Now march, and you know where. Down to McRae's blacksmith shop. You'll stay locked up until we sort this out." He looked at them grimly, "In my book you're a pair of skunks!"

He called to Ian as he started the prisoners toward the jail. "Find Kenny McRae and tell him I need him at his shop. I'll arrange a hearing for tomorrow; then I can transfer them to Winnipeg."

Ian lost half an hour hunting up McRae, then he hurried to the hotel to check on Knute. He found Jerold and Susan conversing in the lobby.

"How's Knute?"

Both arose to greet him. "The doctor removed his foot just above the ankle," Jerold said. "I helped a bit to hold him while the ether was applied, but I never want to go through that again. I'm not cut out for doctoring."

Susan sounded hopeful. "The doctor said that he'll be able to walk again. He said they make what is called prosthesis, a kind of artificial foot that can be attached to Knute's leg. He's asleep now, but we want to stay until he wakes up. He'll need a lot of looking after and bolstering up."

"He'll get it too!" Ian reached to put his arm around her shoulders. "It was railroaders who threw the explosive. Bell has Brogan and Murphy in custody. We think they were the ringleaders. That wasn't a firecracker they threw under the horse; it was part of a stick of dynamite."

A puzzled look appeared on Jerold's face. "Did they single out Knute and the girls, or were they just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"I guess we'll never know the answer to that unless they confess," Ian retorted.

"There have been too many coincidences lately: the attempted burning of my crop, the harming of Charley's horse, and the burning of Mason's livery. Now this! What's next?"

"Surely they'll get jail sentences over this. That should end any more trouble." Susan looked hopeful. "It could have been by chance they picked us. We might have returned downtown on another street."

Jerold glanced at his watch. "It's almost suppertime. When Knute wakes up, someone should be with him." He turned to Susan. "Why don't you go home with Ian? I'll stay with Knute tonight."

Casting a wry look down at her long skirt, Susan shrugged, and then turned to Ian.

"It's impossible to ride double in this dress. Why don't you leave your horse for Jerold and we can take your Father's buggy home?

"Jerold, if it's agreeable with you, I'll come over in the morning and spend the day with Knute. Perhaps I can divert his mind a bit by reading to him. He likes that."

Bell was tired and disgusted when he went home after locking up the prisoners. He and McRae had difficulty putting leg irons on the two men, because of their vociferous objections. It had taken a firm threat of shooting them both before the suspects backed down. Locked in the small building and limited in movement, Brogan and Murphy were forced to feed the small jail stove during the night to keep warm. It was only after Bell and McRae left that they began to discuss their plight.

Murphy sneered, "That damn fool Bell never found the other two capped dynamite fuses. I'll scrape out some chinking between the logs and hide them."

"Where'ja have them hid?"

"Got a secret pocket in the inside of my vest. If he had searched me good, our goose would have been cooked. Why, that dumb blacksmith never even found my knife. He put the irons on tight around my ankles but he never lifted either of my pant legs. Don't guess they have anything to hold us on -- they've got no proof."

"You suppose he'll corner Arnie and the boys and maybe work on them?"

"No chance. They won't spill any beans. They're just as guilty as we are."

Murphy began shaking his head. His headache was coming back and the voice was saying: You damn fool! Damn fool! Get that McLaren bunch, especially the girl!

He had tried and got one of them, but the wrong one. He judged himself lucky that they had come along Church Street when they had. The others had wanted to throw the explosive under the first buggy or sleigh that came along, but he had waited.

"What you got against the McLaren family, Eck? Do you know them from somewhere?"

"None of your damn business!" Murphy rolled into one of the dusty buffalo robes on the wall bunk, pulling it tightly to him. He cursed aloud, for McRae had tightened the ankle irons before riveting them shut. They were pinching and uncomfortable.

Brogan studied Murphy's form in the dim light. Why in hell did I ever get mixed up with him? He's peculiar at best and dangerous too. He talks to himself -- even shouts out in his sleep. Moody as hell -- guess he's a crazy. I should have known better. If I get out of this we're splitting company for sure, else he'll get me in serious trouble someday. His mouth was becoming dry and the effects of the day’s drinking were wearing thin. Geez! Wish I had a bottle now. It's going to be a long night and that dinky stove throws little heat!

Shortly after Maggy, Mike and the baby arrived home with Mary, Kirby rode into the yard. Hurriedly tossing the reins to the ground, he burst into the back door of the house. Mike was alone in the kitchen, making a sandwich.

"Where's Mary? I just got word at the fort that she's been in an accident."

Mike glanced up briefly. "Mother is upstairs with her. We just got back from Emerson. The doctor says she has broken ribs. I think she's asleep now, but you can go up and see."

Kirby took the steps two at a time, meeting Maggy just as she stepped from Mary's bedroom. She held a finger up to her lips and said softly, "She's asleep now. I've just tucked her in. You can go in and sit with her if you like, but don't wake her."

"How was she hurt?" Kirby's query came as a hoarse whisper.

"A buggy accident. It's a long story. When you come downstairs, I'll explain. Pat should be home from work soon; it's nearly suppertime."

Patrick, Ian and Susan arrived nearly simultaneously at the house. When Susan stepped from the buggy, Patrick said amiably, "You must have had a full day, just getting home now. Where is the rest of our family?" A puzzled look came to his face.

"How come you're driving my rig?"

"We've had trouble, Pa." Ian jumped down and turned to Susan. "Why don't you go into the house, I'll put up the horse." Then he saw Kirby's shivering animal. "Looks like Kirby is here; I'll put up his horse too." He looked puzzled, "It's not like Kirby to neglect his animal."

When all had gathered in the kitchen, Kirby heard the voices and came downstairs. As Maggy and Susan related the happenings in Emerson, Patrick became livid with rage.

"Those no-good rotters! So Bell has them in custody, eh? What's he going to do with them?"

Ian attempted to calm his father. "He said he'll try to schedule a hearing for tomorrow, then he’ll take them to Winnipeg for trial. He has them locked in the shed adjoining McRae's blacksmith shop."

"Perhaps I should go to Emerson to stay the night with Knute." Patrick looked questioningly at Maggy.

Ian interrupted, "No, Pa. It wouldn't do any good. He was still under the effect of the anesthesia when Susan and I left. Jerold is staying the night with him and Susan will take his place in the morning. Meanwhile, I'll do the chores tonight and again in the morning after I get off work."

Susan placed her hand on Patrick's arm in a further effort to placate him. "Knute will have to stay in Emerson for at least two or three days. The doctor seemed concerned about the possibility of an infection."

Glancing at Kirby, Ian could see the cold, calculating look on his face. Instinctively, he knew that it was just as well that Brogan and Murphy were locked up in Emerson. When word of what they had done became widespread, their lives would be in danger.

Maggy arose from the table and turned to Susan. "Help me get supper on the table for the men. You and Ian eat with us tonight. It'll save you cooking at home." She turned to the men. "Now that we know that everything is under control, and there's nothing further we can do tonight, let's relax."

¹ - In this same book is a very cool story about how the last spike, although driven by several VIP's (all men) and even some women from the crowd, was driven home by Mary Sullivan, the section crew boss' daughter. The passage, written by the daughter whose parents were witnesses to the event, says:

Standing among the group of ladies who had been too shy and modest to come forward and take a tap at the spike was a stalwart looking young girl, Mary Sullivan. She was the daughter of the section boss Sullivan, the referee. She was eighteen years old and had been closely watching and enjoying the last spike driving. Like some of the other ladies, however, including my mother, she had been too shy to come forward before the huge gathering and take a whack at the spike. SHe loved section work and used to help her dad pump the hand car, drive spikes, tamp ties, and do any track work she could.

The spike had still over an inch more to go and the ladies were about ready to give up and let the men finish the job when Charlie Lynne, who had worked on the section and knowing Mary quite well, also knew of her ability at railway work, notced her among the ladies and shouted out, "Hey Mary, come on over and show them how to drive a spike."

Mary, blushing from head to toe, quickly ran over. Her dad very proudly handed her the spike hammer and the crowd roared approvingly. She stepped back the proper distance, spit on her hands (like her dad always did) and with a mighty over hand swing drover the spike home and right down to the rail. At her mighty feat, the crowd set up a tremendous roar! The trains blew their whistles making a din that was heard for miles around. Mary, of course, had stolen the show!

The drinks were passed around again, but this time the toast was to Mary Sullivan, "The Hero of the Day." The crowd ignored the bigshots and everyone huddled around to congratulate Mary and shake her hand.

Sheriff Charley Brown: Chapter 33

Dear Readers, we are almost to the end of the true tale of Sheriff Charley Brown.

As we head into the homestretch, there is sad news for Charley. Margerite comes home for a visit, which in turn makes Charley realize his missed chance at happiness, and forces a difficult but necessary decision on Margerite to tell Charley the truth...
_________________

April, l884

During the next two years Charley gradually resumed a casual relationship with his mother, primarily due to family pressure. In late February he found himself experiencing gradually increasing stomach cramps. He consulted his cousin for an answer.

After a serious study Charles told him, "Charley, I can feel a firm lump inside your abdomen, it shouldn't be there. You say your stomach is mighty sore. It's got to be some sort of foreign growth. I suggest you go east to Philadelphia as soon as possible for treatment. I've heard they specialize in internal growths such as this. I believe it would be prudent you take this trip. There isn't a thing I can do except open you up, and that would be stupid under the circumstances."

"Is it cancer?" Charley had a gaunt, questioning look.

Knowing well how worry could bring a person to an emotional collapse, Charles attempted to ease his mind. "It might be just a benign growth, let's hope so. Still, I'd rather you take the trip now, don't wait."

On Sunday, April 8, Charley and his mother boarded the cars at St. Vincent for their return to Philadelphia. Charley left Deputy Sheriff Frazer in charge. The Pioneer Express newspaper read: "It is learned that the trip of Sheriff Brown will benefit his health which is in a somewhat critical state. The sheriff's many friends will hope that he may return ere long, fully restored."

Dr. Charles Harris found himself busy with many trips to Walhalla since a new epidemic of smallpox had begun in the fall of '83 and continued. He did his best, but still lost eight patients before the year was out. It seemed the Métis and Indians had little natural resistance to the disease. They also ignored all quarantine rules.

During early June Paul and Marguerite decided their small house was too confining. They searched on weekends, examining many new homes under construction; they wanted to live near the lakeshore. They finally settled on a two-story, brick home, located on a large corner lot. Marguerite was thrilled with the floor plan.

"Paul, this back room on the north side has large windows. The light is just right for my painting. Do you mind?"

Lowering Paula to the floor, he began to laugh, "Heavens, with this huge house we'll have to find some way to fill it up. Do you have any plans in mind?"

Marguerite turned, smiling roguishly, "Paula is two years old. Don't you think you'd better get busy!"

She had never found time to return back home to the Territory, but now a sudden fretfulness came. She became anxious to see her family and show off her daughter. She discussed it with Paul. At the time his factory was expanding and he was swamped with work. He said, "I can't find the time this summer, but why don't you and Paula go? You have been spending so much time on your work that a trip home would be a vacation. I can arrange the tickets. Do you want to go?"

They finally decided she and Paula would leave in late September. She wrote her mother of their plans.

August 3, l884

Dear Mother and all,

Paula and I will be visiting you for a week in late September if our plans work out. I am so looking forward to going home. It will be so wonderful to see you all again. It has been much too long! I know I promised to visit years ago. Golly, it has been over three years since I left for Chicago. So much has happened that it will take me hours to explain the events.

Paul is unable to come because of his work with the company. However, he has arranged for our tickets for mid-September.

I haven’t told Paul my little secret yet. I think I am pregnant again; I hope it will be a boy this time.

Susan and Ian's daughter, Betsy, will be nearly the same age as Paula. I know they will hit it off well. Oh, there is so much I've missed being away all these years, but it just wasn't possible to get away before now.

The men must be at harvest, but I will see them in the evenings. At least from our correspondence I am fairly well acquainted with events there.

Paula is precocious, much like Susan when she was a little girl. She loves animals, especially dogs, cats and horses. She is a chatterbox and inquisitive. She will love St. Vincent and the children. I'll have to watch her carefully because of animals and the river.

Gee, when Susan and I were young how we used to play along the river with crayfish and watch the men fish from shore. It seems so long ago -- there is nothing like that here. I never thought I'd live, or even like living in a city, but that's all changed. Now my life is centered on Paul, Paula and my painting.

We are leaving Chicago on the evening of September 10 we should be in St. Vincent on Friday morning, shortly after 7:00 a.m. I am so excited -- I'm afraid the week will be much too short.


Love, Marguerite.

Word of Margurite's arrival had been passed to many of her friends in St. Vincent. Several were on hand to greet her return. Long moments after the train pulled to a stop, everyone waited expectantly until the brakeman finally opened a car door, then descended the steps to drop the metal step-stool on the platform.

Marguerite was the first to appear; she was carrying two bulging carpetbags. Seconds later she was followed by a smiling porter who helped Paula descend the high steps. Annette rushed forward to take her daughter in her arms, while Susan, smiling, bent over to pick up Paula. After all the well wishes were exchanged, Ian drove the family to Annette's house. After dropping them from the buggy, he said to Marguerite, "I'll go back to the depot and get your luggage."

Marguerite laughed, "I have none, my two carpetbags will suffice -- I'm only staying a week."

Susan protested, "Not if we can help it, a week isn't enough. You've three and a half years of your life to account for. We want to hear every bit of it."

While Susan went into the kitchen to prepare coffee, all eyes turned to Paula and Betsy, Susan's daughter. They were playing with Betsy's dolls. The two girls looked like twins, both were the same size and coloring. The only difference discernible was their hair. Paula's was a light brown while Betsy's was shiny ebony.

A few minutes later, when Annette held Paula on her lap, Marguerite noticed the intense expression on her mother's face. It wasn't until the next morning when they were eating breakfast together that her mother finally asked, "When was Paula born?"

Marguerite found herself upset at the question, and hesitated momentarily before answering. "In April of '82, why do you ask? Inwardly, she knew the answer, for her mother's intuition had always been uncanny.

Her mother replied softly, "I think you know." She slipped Paula from her lap to the floor. "Paula, why don't you run upstairs and find the kitty." As the child climbed the stairs, she asked quietly, "Does Paul know?"

Marguerite felt a heavy, crushing weight descending upon her. There was no use trying to evade the truth. "No Mother, and he'll never find out from me. It happened about two weeks before I left for Chicago. Now I am pregnant again, and with Paul's child. It will be born near the end of March, this coming year.”

"Did you know that Charlie is dying?"

Marguerite drew in a deep breath, and then stiffened, shock set in. For moments she was speechless, unable to catch her breath. Slowly recovering, she asked, "How do you know?"

"He's been sick for months. His condition has been in the local papers. He also went back East for treatment. I met his cousin, Doctor Harris, some time ago. He said Charley was very ill. I did go over to visit Charley two weeks ago. He is very thin and has a yellow cast. He insists in staying in his rooms over the saloon. Of course he asked about you. I told him you had a daughter, and seemed happy. He seemed content to hear that."

The guilt and remorse Marguerite had built up the past years since she left St. Vincent finally reached the breaking point. Her hands flew to her face and she broke into sobs. Tears flowed between her fingers as she cried, "My God! And I left him alone!"

Annette anxiously watched this sudden collapse of her daughter. Finally Marguerite seemed to pull herself together. Wiping the tears away with a finger, she asked, "Do you think I should see him?"

Long moments passed as her mother looked at her reflectively, "Do you really want to? Do you still love him?"

"Mother, I loved him very much at one time, but it didn't work out. He wasn't the marrying kind. I love Paul now, and always will. He is so kind and thoughtful; we have a wonderful relationship together. I'm not going to upset that!"

Annette said, "Ian has been over to see Charley several times. Of course they have been good friends these past years. I really believe you should see Charley. I think he has regrets he would like to share with you. It would be a kindness, and possibly cheer him up."

Marguerite considered the idea. "I wonder what would be the best time. I certainly don't want to run into his mother."

On the second afternoon she and Susan took a buggy to Pembina; Susan was to shop while Marguerite visited with Charley. To be on the safe side she stopped at the saloon to speak with John. He was excited to see her when she appeared at the door.

"My gosh! Marguerite! You're more beautiful than ever! I heard you were home for a few days. Are you going upstairs to see Charley?"

She smiled, "That was my plan, but I thought I'd see you first and clear the way."

John caught the implication and laughed, "His mother never comes to see him during the day, only in the evenings. I make sure he gets his meals, however much he can eat. Frankly, all he seems to want now is milk. It doesn't look good. Just go upstairs, the door is open."

Marguerite found the staircase hot and stuffy, but the upstairs rooms were bearable. Expecting to hear Charley's voice as she entered, she was disappointed. Looking into the kitchen she saw a heap of dirty dishes. She thought of his mother, "Why doesn't she clean up the sink and table!"

Entering Charley's bedroom she found him asleep. He appeared wan and thin, needing a shave. She was disappointed at his appearance; he had always been so clean-shaven and fastidious in his habits. Why didn’t someone come in to attend him?

She drew up a chair beside his bed. He was in a deep sleep, taking slow, raspy breaths. His hand hung near the edge of the cot and she grasped it gently, finding it almost cold. After moments spent studying his face, she said, "Charley, wake up! You have a visitor!"

Slowly he rolled his head, his eyes gradually opening. He stared for long seconds, then said weakly, "I must be still dreaming. I see my dream in front of me."

Marguerite smiled, "It's no dream Charley. It's really me. I'm just back for a visit to St. Vincent and heard you were ill. I thought you might like to visit.”

As he struggled to sit up, she aided him, putting her arm around his thin shoulders to raise him. Then she placed the pillows behind his back for support.

"There! That better?"

"Better yet if you hand me that glass of water." With both hands he sipped at the glass, studying her intently. "You are more beautiful than ever! It's hell to just lie here in bed and not be able to take you in my arms!"

Marguerite smiled, "Charley, those days are gone forever. I'm married now with a child. Yes, and another on the way too."

Charley snorted, "I was the fool who let you get away. If you had only told me how my Mother treated you, it would have been different."

"You couldn't make up your mind, why not admit it?"

He groaned, "Yes, I was the coward -- so damned proud. If you only knew how many times I've regretted it!"

"It's all water under the bridge. While I'm here, let me get your bed straightened out, then I'll clean up your kitchen."

"Oh my God! Talk with me! To hell with my kitchen and the bed."

"Fine! What will we talk about? It seems we said it all long ago."

He reached out to take her hand. "Tell me about your life in Chicago and about your child. Oh my God! I wish it was my child!"

Marguerite blanched at his outburst, but quickly pulled herself together. She described her daughter and her life in Chicago, leaving out any reference to Paul. She told him mainly of her success at portrait work and her new home.

"And are you happy in the big city?"

She admitted, "It took some getting used to, but I've adjusted to the hustle and bustle. We're getting electric streetcars now, so the horse drawn cars will soon disappear. You must admit there are many advantages to city life."

Releasing her hand she arose from the chair, "I'm going to do some straightening and picking up."

Tucking in his bed she folded the newspapers strewn about on the floor. Going to the kitchen she began heating water for the dishes. Minutes later, she returned to his bedroom. "Do you have enough reading material?"

"John brings up the paper each day and visits for awhile; also my cousin, Charles, occasionally brings me a book."

"I've never met your cousin, isn't he a doctor?"

"Yes, a good one too."

Marguerite glanced at Charley's alarm clock. "It's time to leave. Susan will be waiting in the buggy. She came over with me to do some shopping."

"Will you come again? It's been wonderful seeing you. Now I can chastise myself some more; what a fool I've been!" Reflecting, he added, "Perhaps it's just as well the way it turned out. You have a good man and I'll be meeting my maker. It's funny how things pan out."

"I'll try to get back, but I've a lot of obligations. Somehow I'll make it."

Descending the stairs from Charley's flat she was determined to see the barber and make sure that Charley was shaved and cleaned up.

Sheriff Charley Brown: Chapter 31

February 25, 1882

It was still dark when Charley reached over to kill the shrill ring of his alarm clock. He had been forced to arise earlier than usual this morning because his cousin, Doctor Charles Harris, was due to arrive on the morning train from St. Paul. A glance at the bedroom windows assured him that it was still mighty cold outside; both panes were opaque, heavily covered with frost in spite of the storm sashes he had installed in the fall.

Hastily dressing, he touched a match to a burner on his oil stove to make coffee and toast. He noted his wall clock indicated 5:30 a.m., proving his cheap alarm had lost nearly a quarter hour in past days. After the pot began to boil he added a dash of cold water to settle the grounds.

A half-hour later he was at Mason's livery harnessing his bay. Backing the animal to a sleigh at the rear of the building he fastened the tugs, then returned inside to gather up a horse blanket and two buffalo robes.

Charles, now a full-fledged doctor, had been only seven years of age when Charley had last seen him. An inquisitive youth, he had pestered Charley constantly about his war experiences. Charles' Father, Jeremy Harris, had taken his young son to Harpers Ferry shortly after Union troops had overrun the town, exposing the youngster to scores of bodies piled like cord wood across bolstered wagons, casualties abandoned in the heat of battle. Charley guessed that sight had possibly given the boy the inclination to study medicine.

Gathering a robe snugly around his shoulders, he guided the horse east to the Red River ice, then up the Minnesota side to the St. Vincent depot. Securing his horse on the lee side of the building he carefully fastened the blanket over the animal. Stomping snow from his boots he entered the waiting room noting that Carl Gooding, the depot agent was already seated behind the grill. He was the only other occupant in the huge room, and was busy at the telegraph key.

"Come to meet the train? It's nearly an hour late - won't be in until around eight. They've had trouble down the line I expect. This blamed cold causes the outside steam lines to freeze up. Gosh, it's at least 35 below outside." Opening his half-door he moved to the potbelly stove in the center of the room. Lifting the lid he tossed in a half scuttle of coal from a badly battered bucket. "Not many passengers this winter. Trade has been slowing down since those boom years of '80 and '81."

Charley moved a chair nearer the stove to take advantage of its warmth. "Yup, they were good years for Jim Hill. He carried thousands of pilgrims and goods to Canada -- five trains a day, each way. At least he still gets all the farm grain to ship, naming his own price."

Gooding nodded. "Since I work for him I have to keep my mouth shut, but the carload rates are mighty high. It's the old saw, the rich get richer and the poor, poorer." He brightened, "I'm supposed to be getting a big shipment of frozen fish today, barrels and barrels of both Walleye and Northern Pike. Red Lake must be loaded with them."

"Next month they'll start spearing at the mouth of the Pembina River," said Charley, "The fish should begin running in mid-March."

Carl was curious, "What are you doing over here?"

"My cousin Charles Harris wired me that he would be arriving this morning. He's a doctor, coming to stay permanently."

"That's good news! Doctor Appel at the fort has been run ragged. I understand he's only contracted to take care of the soldiers at the fort. Lucky he treats anyone, 'course he charges the civilians. Too bad that other doctor and his son died of diphtheria. Where is your cousin going to stay?"

"Probably with me, temporarily. I don't know of his plans, but I'll take him out to the fort to meet Doc. Appel. I've already told Appel that Charles would arrive soon; he seemed tickled to welcome new talent."

Suddenly the outside door opened and a blast of cold air rolled across the floor. It was Leifer, the drayman¹. He ignored both men, moving to the stove while removing his heavy mittens. After long moments spent warming his hands he turned and began a brisk conversation with Gooding. An Icelander, he spoke broken English. Yet he spoke volubly, expecting Gooding to fully understand each word.

Unexpectedly, the telegraph key began to chatter, and as Gooding turned back into his office, he called over his shoulder, "The train should be here in five minutes. It left Hallock twenty-five minutes ago."

A faint rumble seemed to roll through the building as the train finally approached the station. Glancing out the window as the engine glided by the depot, Charley saw that behind the baggage car there were only two passenger cars. Steam leaked from coupled hoses between each car as the train squealed and thumped to a halt. A door on the first passenger car opened and the conductor swung down to the platform, dropping a metal stool beneath the steps. A jauntily dressed man appeared in the doorway carrying two bulging carpetbags; he was wearing a small dark derby hat, hardly appropriate for the frigid weather.

Charley laughed aloud as he walked outside, recognizing his cousin instantly; why he was the spitting image of his father! Approaching his cousin, with his hand outstretched, he smiled, "Judas, Charles, we'll have to get you some warm clothes. You'll freeze to death in that get-up."

His cousin grinned as he grasped his hand. "They don't make artic clothes back in Virginia. Thought I'd refit myself when I got here." He looked around at the deep snow and shivered dramatically, "Lead me to somewhere where it's warm."

"Got a trunk or other stuff?"

"It's checked in the baggage car, together with all my medical equipment and supplies."

"I'll get Leifer to take them to my place." He stopped momentarily to speak with the drayman who was rolling barrels from the baggage car onto his wagon, then turned to Charles. "Lets get over to Pembina. It'll only take a few minutes."

Crossing over the frozen Red River, Charles remarked, "I've never seen this much snow, not even in Baltimore."

"We'll lose it in April. Kind of expect high water this spring, there's just too much snow. Even the trains have had a hard time with track blockages. 'Sides that, we've had 40-45 degree below temperatures on several days so far."

"You wrote that there's an Army fort near town. Do they have a doctor?"

"They do. He's a good man, spreads himself pretty thin though. He takes care of all he can."

"I'd like to meet him."

"You will, I'll see to that. You'll need introductions to all the important people around. I'll tend to that too. You might as well stay with me until you get settled, I've lots of room."

Charles smiled, then said teasingly, "I heard Josey Watson made a trip out here with matrimony in mind. Did you evade that trap?"

"Charley grinned wryly, "I'm still single!"

Finally entering Pembina his cousin remarked, "I hate to impose on you, but I'll appreciate every bit of your help. Do they have an apothecary here, with plenty of medications?"

"Yes. Wilkins is the pharmacist, almost a doctor. He does the best he can, but he's of limited experience. Charley swung the sleigh around in front of his store. "We don't open for business until 10 o'clock, but we'll go inside. Anything is those bags you have that will freeze?"

"No, just clothing."

"Then leave them in the sleigh until we go upstairs. I'll leave the blanket on the horse; it'll be all right for a few minutes. We'll throw some coal on the stove while we're inside, also make coffee. Or would you rather have a stiff drink?"

Charles smiled, "Both sound great! I'm mighty chilled.” Tossing his hat on the bar as they entered the building, he walked over to the stove, saying, "I won't need that derby until spring."

****************

It was turning daylight when Charley heard loud thumping noises coming from his kitchen. Sleepily, he pulled on his trousers to find his cousin Charles prowling the kitchen. He was placing plates, cups and silverware on the table. He already had the coffee pot on the kerosene stove with the burner lit. Water dripping from the lip of the kitchen pump, indicating it was the culprit causing the noise.

Charley grumbled, "Gosh, Charles, I thought after all that coffee and those drinks we had last night you would want to sleep in."

"That's what woke me up. I had to take a leak! 'Sides that, you need to trim the wicks on your stove, it smokes."

"I know, but it suits me. What do you want to do today? I'd suggest we get you outfitted for the weather first thing, else you'll freeze in those city clothes.”

"Best I do that, then I'd like to see Eugene. After that I'll stop to say hello to your Mother." He hesitated, "Do you suppose we'd have time to see that doctor at the fort this afternoon?"

"Sure! It sounds like the wind is down. If it gets up with all this loose snow, nothing will move." He sat down heavily at the table, and then leaned the chair back to a comfortable angle. "I might as well tell you now - my Mother and I aren't getting along. She's as bull-headed as ever."

While Charley related his recent problems with his mother, Charles listened intently, and then said, "I'll not let Eliza involve me." He laughed, "I'll stay neutral. Say! Where do you keep your eggs, bacon, potatoes and bread? I'm darned hungry!"

After getting Charles outfitted with winter apparel at Yerxa's store, Charley directed him to Eugene's house. Walking in the sled tracks in the center of the street was no problem, but when Charles cut from the road he found the snow knee-deep. Entering the screened porch he stamped his feet noisily to shake the snow from his boots. The door opened partially and Eugene peered out. "Charles! Is that you? Where in heck did you come from?"

"Got in on the train this morning. Charley picked me up. Is your Mother here with the girls?"

"They won't be here until sometime in April. Got a letter a few days ago. They had trouble getting the money from the sale of the house. It's best they come later anyway. It'll be warmer then. Come on in before the house cools off. I'll refill the coffee pot; I already drank up the first batch.”

As Eugene puttered in the kitchen, he asked, "Want to stay with me for awhile -- I've lots of room."

“I haven't made plans yet. Charley offered me quarters too. He's taking me out to meet the doctor at the fort this afternoon. I want to get acquainted with him, don't want any hard feelings about crowding him. Charley says he's a good man."

"Yup! He’s hard pressed too! He has enough problems with the soldiers during the winter. They've got about 140 men out there." He removed the center two rings of the stove lid, placing the coffee pot directly over the open flame.

Reaching into a cabinet he took down a cup.

"I failed to bring heavy clothing with me. I never anticipated it would be this cold, but Charley got me outfitted this morning. I'm having a few medicines shipped in, although Charley says you've got a drug store here. Maybe I wasted some money."

"Wilkens runs the drug store, he even tries to help when someone is sick. He's not got much on hand though. Money is short, but he might buy your supplies."

"It was mighty short back home too, and too many doctors in Charleston. The schools are turning them out fast. How is Eliza getting along?"

Eugene chuckled, "Ask Charley, he'll sure tell you!"

"I've already heard his version. He mentioned she talked Josey into coming out, hoping to marry him."

"That she did, but it didn't work out. He already had a good-looking girl friend. She dumped him, but it was his own fault."

"Where does Eliza live?"

"Just two blocks north, then left, second house on the south side, it's a white, two-story with outside stairs to the upper floor. You can't miss it."

It was nearing eleven when Eugene and Charles concluded their conversation. Charles then decided he would make his meeting with Eliza as brief as possible. At Eliza's, he was treated to a diatribe of how she had foiled Charley's involvement with the breed girl.

Charles listened dutifully, and then made his excuses to leave. Joining Charley at the saloon, they walked across the street to have lunch at Lucien Geroux's hotel.

Lucien greeted Charles with enthusiasm. "We've finally got a doctor! Oh, Appel is good, but he just can't handle all the pox and other diseases. He quarantines the fort if anyone in the two towns gets a transmittable disease, but he can't force the civilians to quarantine their own homes. We need that!"

Charles agreed. He turned to Charley, "Doesn't the town council enforce the quarantine on smallpox, chicken pox, measles and mumps?"

"It's been a voluntarily thing, done by most, but some don't give a damn. You'll get cooperation from now on though. I'll see the county commissioners appoint you as health officer."

As they entered Fort Pembina that afternoon Charles was impressed with the neatness and layout of the buildings. Charley took him directly to the hospital and introduced him to Dr. Appel.

"Doc, this is my cousin Charles Harris. He graduated from the School of Physicians and Surgeons in Baltimore a few years ago. He has been practicing in Charleston the past few years. I talked him into coming out here, told him it was the land of the future."

Appel smiled as he offered his hand. "Charley told me you were coming soon. You'll be mighty welcome! I just can't handle all the sickness and trouble alone. I informed Captain Collins that you were coming and he suggested you stay at the fort temporarily. I understand housing is mighty short in both towns, except at the hotels, and they are expensive. Unfortunately the Captain is in Grand Forks today. Would you like to see our clinic and wardrooms? At the moment we have a few frozen fingers and toes, also two cases of pneumonia.”

After a brief tour of the hospital, and after being introduced to Corporal Ira Hocking, Dr. Appel's assistant, the doctor suggested, "You'll find the training beneficial if you decide to stay, since we have a plethora of diseases, sometimes even frozen limbs. Also we have full use of the fort teamsters for transportation as needed. I can fix you up with a private room too."

Charles looked to Charley, then back to Appel. "Thank you! I'll accept your kindness and assist you all I can, but I intend to put my ad in the local paper if you don't mind. I think I'll like this Dakota Territory, it's big, and not crowded. Charley tells me there is no malaria! What do you think Charley?"

"I suggest you stay in town with me tonight, I'll help move you out tomorrow."

Doctor Charles Harris was cordially welcomed to the fort the next evening at the officer’s mess. Surgeon Appel introduced him to Captain Collins and the other officers at supper.

Frequently Charles was called on cases in town and to farms. Thankfully the fort teamsters were available. He made a habit of stopping and buying a drink for his driver when his task was completed. He seldom lacked for a volunteer. His cousin Charley took him in hand to introduce him to the most influential people in both St. Vincent and Pembina. Soon he found himself almost swamped with work, as was Doctor Appel. A new officer came to the fort to replace another transferred to the officer school in Leavenworth, Kansas. Charles found an instant rapport with this studious man, Lieutenant Andrew Rowan.² Rowan, at 22 years of age was only two years younger than Charles. They smoked numerous pipes of tobacco after the evening meal, while discussing ancient history. At times other officers joined the discussions, especially Captain Collins. His special interest was of Indian artifacts.
______________

¹ - My grandfather, Sheldon Albert Fitzpatrick, would eventually become the drayman for the town several years later...

² - Andrew S. Rowan: Famous for carrying the message to Garcia, in Cuba, during the insurrection (Spanish-American War) in l898. "Message to Garcia" fame, by Elbert Hubbard.