"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. We were advised to start from Fort Smith, as the trail thence was through a dryer country; so on the morning of June 24, at 6.50, we left the Fort on our second Buffalo hunt.