Seaforth wondered a little, because the snow lay a foot deep in the bush and he could have filled the kettle beside the fire, but he floundered down to the river and felt a little more prepared to face what must be done when he returned.  When he did so he found that Tom had rolled back Alton’s jean trousers to the knee, and saw a red smear that broadened across the brawny limb.  It pulsed over the swell of the corded muscles that showed through the clear, smooth skin, and then Seaforth shivered and turned his eyes away as they fell upon the welling depression with the discoloured edges.  Alton noticed the movement, and glanced at him with a twinkle in his eyes.  “It isn’t pretty, but I don’t think Tom will keep us long,” he said.

Seaforth felt the blood surge into his face, for it seemed most unfitting that the wounded man should sympathize with him, but finding nothing apposite to say he kept silent, and Okanagan shook his head at them.

“Get hold of his hands, and keep hold.  The quieter you are, Harry, the quicker I’ll be,” he said.

Alton smiled a little.  “I don’t think it’s necessary,” he said.  “Still, if it will please you, Tom.”

Seaforth clutched the fingers held out to him, and felt suddenly chilly.  He would have touched his lips with his tongue, for the blood seemed to have gone out of them, but that he felt Alton’s eyes were upon him.  Accordingly he turned his face, which he fancied was growing a trifle colourless, aside, and for a moment or two watched Okanagan, who was kneeling with one hand pressed upon the smeared whiteness of the uncovered limb.  Seaforth could hear his own heart beating and the thud of snow shaken off a swinging branch upon the tent, and see the light the whiteness outside flung in glint upon the slender knife.  He saw it move a little, and sternly repressed a shiver when the lean, hard fingers closed suddenly upon his own.  A tremor ran through them, and then the pressure increased, until Seaforth was glad that it grew painful.  He dare not glance at his comrade, he would not look at Tom, and sat very still in torment for a space, while he felt that Alton’s arms had grown rigid by the cruel grip upon his hands.

Then the tension slackened, and the injured man drew in his breath with a gasp, while Okanagan rose to one knee with great drops of sweat upon his face.

“You got it?” said Alton in a low, strained voice, and nodded when the axeman answered him.

“No,” he said, a trifle huskily.  “I’m going to try again.  Lift him over on his side, Charley.”

Seaforth trembled a little as he did it, and glanced for just a moment at his comrade’s face.  It was set and grey, but it went suddenly awry into the grotesque semblance of a smile.