"You better have your Indian friend hold that hand."

"I'll never budge," he replied, with set teeth, and motioned the
Indian away. And I knew he would not flinch. He will never know
(till he reads this, perhaps) what an effort it cost me. I knew only
I must cut deep enough to reach the pus, not so deep as to touch
the artery, and not across the tendons, and must do it firmly, at
one clean stroke. I did.

It was a horrid success. He never quivered, but said: "Is that all?
That's a pin-prick to what I've been through every minute for the
last week."

I felt faint, went out behind the cabin, and--shall I confess
it?--took a long swig of brandy. But I was as good as my promise:
in three days he was well enough to travel, and soon as strong as
ever.

I wonder if real doctors ever conceal, under an air of professional
calm, just such doubts and fears as worried me.




CHAPTER XI

THE SECOND BUFFALO HUNT