A BAD CASE 73 



Then he showed his immense bladder-Uke 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 



