"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.
