Thus I felt that my head was not uncomfortable, after all.  I looked again, and saw that it rested on Ellen Meriwether’s knees.  She sat on the sand, gently stroking my forehead, pushing back the hair.  She had turned my head so that the wound would not be pressed.  It seemed to me that her voice sounded very far away and quiet.

“We are thinking,” said she to me.  I nodded as best I could.  “Has anything happened?” I asked.

“They have gone,” said she.  “We whipped them.”  Her hand again lightly pressed my forehead.

I heard some one else say, behind me, “But we have nothing in the world—­not even opium.”

“True,” said another voice, which I recognized as that of Orme; “but that’s his one chance.”

“What do you know about surgery?” asked the first voice, which I knew now was Belknap’s.

“More than most doctors,” was the answer, with a laugh.  Their voices grew less distinguishable, but presently I heard Orme say, “Yes, I’m game to do it, if the man says so.”  Then he came and stooped down beside me.

“Mr. Cowles,” said he, “you’re rather badly off.  That arrow head ought to come out, but the risk of going after it is very great.  I am willing to do what you say.  If you decide that you would like me to operate for it, I will do so.  It’s only right for me to tell you that it lies very close to the carotid artery, and that it will be an extraordinarily nice operation to get it out without—­well, you know—­”

I looked up into his face, that strange face which I was now beginning so well to know—­the face of my enemy.  I knew it was the face of a murderer, a man who would have no compunction at taking a human life.

My mind then was strangely clear.  I saw his glance at the girl.  I saw, as clearly as though he had told me, that this man was as deeply in love with Ellen Meriwether as I myself; that he would win her if he could; that his chance was as good as mine, even if we were both at our best.  I knew there was nothing at which he would hesitate, unless some strange freak in his nature might influence him, such freaks as come to the lightning, to the wild beast slaying, changes for no reason ever known.  Remorse, mercy, pity, I knew did not exist for him.  But with a flash it came to my mind that this was all the better, if he must now serve as my surgeon.

He looked into my eye, and I returned his gaze, scorning to ask him not to take advantage of me, now that I was fallen.  His own eye changed.  It asked of me, as though he spoke:  “Are you, then, game to the core?  Shall I admire you and give you another chance, or shall I kill you now?” I say that I saw, felt, read all this in his mind.  I looked up into his face, and said: 

“You cannot kill me.  I am not going to die.  Go on.  Soon, then.”