can give it another
round."

He began to pick up rapidly, and there in that narrow cabin I sat within
a few feet of him, and beheld him grow strong again. I suppose my face
must have showed my bitter hate, for often I saw him watching me through
half-closed eyes, as if he realised my feelings. Then a sneering smile
would curve his lips, a smile of satanic mockery. Again and again I
thought of Berna. Fear and loathing convulsed me, and at times a great
rage burned in me so that I was like to kill him.

"Seems to me everything's healing up but that hand," said the
Halfbreed. "I guess it's too far gone. Gangrene's setting in. Say,
Locasto, looks like you'll have to lose it."

Locasto had been favouring me with a particularly sardonic look, but at
these words the sneer was wiped out, and horror crowded into his eyes.

"Lose my hand--don't tell me that! Kill me at once! I don't want to be
maimed. Lose my hand! Oh, that's terrible! terrible!"

He gazed at the discoloured flesh. Already the stench of him was making
us sick, but this hand with its putrid tissues was disgusting to a
degree.

"Yes," said the Halfbreed, "there's the line of the gangrene, and it's
spreading. Soon mortification will extend all up your arm, then you'll
die of blood poison. Locasto, better let me take off that hand. I've
done jobs like that before. I'm a handy man, I am. Come, let me take it
off."

"Heavens! you're a cold-blooded butcher. You're going to kill me,
between you all. You're in a plot leagued against me, and that
long-faced fool over there's at the bottom of it. Damn you, then, go on
and do what you want."

"You're not very grateful," said the Halfbreed. "All right, lie there
and rot."

At his words Locasto changed his tune. He became alarmed to the point of
terror. He knew the hand was doomed. He lay staring at it, staring,
staring. Then he sighed, and thrust its loathsomeness into our faces.

"Come on," he growled. "Do something for me, you devils, or I'll do it
myself."

* * * * *

The hour of the operation was at hand. The Halfbreed got his jack-knife
ready. He had filed the edge till it was like a rough saw. He cut the
skin of the wrist just above the gangrene line, and raised it up an inch
or so. It was here Locasto showed wonderful nerve. He took a large bite
of tobacco and chewed steadily, while his keen black eyes watched every
move of the knife.

"Hurry up and get the cursed thing