"Phew," said the Major, "that's the worst felon I ever saw."
Like a gleam from heaven came the word felon. That's what it was,
a felon or whitlow, and again I breathed freely. Turning to the
patient with my most cock-sure professional air, I said:
"Now see, Y., you needn't worry; you've hurt your finger in
rowing, and the injury was deep and has set up a felon. It is not
yet headed up enough; as soon as it is I'll lance it, unless it
bursts of itself (and inwardly I prayed it might burst). Can you
get any linseed meal or bran?"
"Afraid not."
"Well, then, get some clean rags and keep the place covered with
them dipped in water as hot as you can stand it, and we'll head
it up in twenty-four hours; then in three days I'll have you in
good shape to travel." The last sentence, delivered with the calm
certainty of a man who knows all about it and never made a mistake,
did so much good to the patient that I caught a reflex of it myself.
He gave me his good hand and said with emotion: "You don't know
how much good you have done me. I don't mind being killed, but I
don't want to go through life a cripple."
"You say you haven't slept?" I asked.
"Not for three nights; I've suffered too much."
"Then take these pills. Go to bed at ten o'clock and take a pill;
if this does not put you to sleep, take another at 10.30. If you are
still awake at 11, take the third; then you will certainly sleep."
He went off almost cheerfully.
Next morning he was back, looking brighter. "Well," I said, "you
slept last night, all right."
"No," he replied, "I didn't; there's opium in those pills, isn't
there?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. Here they are. I made up my mind I'd see this out
in my sober senses, without any drugs."
"Good for you," I exclaimed in admiration. "They talk about Indian
fortitude. If I had given one of those Indians some sleeping pills,
he'd have taken them all and asked for more. But you are the real
American stuff, the pluck that can't be licked, and I'll soon have
you sound as a dollar."
Then he showed his immense bladder-like hand. "I'll have to make
some preparation, and will operate in your shanty at 1 o'clock,"
I said, thinking how very professional it sounded.
The preparation consisted of whetting my penknife and, much more
important, screwing up my nerves. And now I remembered my friend's
brandy, put the flask in my pocket, and went to the execution.
He was ready. "Here," I said; "take a good pull at this brandy."
"I will not," was the reply. "I'm man enough to go through on my
mettle."
"'Oh! confound your mettle," I thought, for I wanted an excuse to
take some myself, but could not for shame under the circumstances.
"Are you ready?"
He laid his pudding-y hand on the table.
"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
Though so trifling, the success of our first Buffalo hunt gave us
quite a social lift. The chiefs were equally surprised with the
whites, and when we prepared for a second expedition, Kiya sent
word that though he could not act as guide, I should ride his own
trained hunter, a horse that could run a trail like a hound, and
was without guile.
I am, always suspicious of a horse (or man) without guile.
I wondered what was the particular weakness of this exceptionally
trained, noble, and guileless creature. I have only one prejudice
in horseflesh - I do not like a white one. So, of course, when
the hunter arrived he was, white as marble, from mane to tail and
hoofs; his very eyes were of a cheap china colour, suggestive of
cataractine blindness. The only relief was a morbid tinge of faded
shrimp pink in his nostrils and ears. But he proved better than he
looked. He certainly did run tracks by nose like a hound, provided I
let him choose the track. He was a lively walker and easy trotter,
and would stay where the bridle was dropped, So I came to the
conclusion that Kiya was not playing a joke on me, but really had
lent me his best hunter, whose sepulchral whiteness I could see would
be of great advantage in snow time when chiefly one is supposed to
hunt.
Not only Kiya, but Pierre Squirrel, the head chief, seemed to harbour
a more kindly spirit. He now suddenly acquired a smattering of
English and a fair knowledge of French. He even agreed to lead us
through his own hunting grounds to the big Buffalo range, stipulating
that we be back by July 1, as that was Treaty Day, when all the
tribe assembled to receive their treaty money, and his presence as
head chief was absolutely necessary.
