Chapter XIV. "Good Man--Good Squaw"

"That boy is worse, Mrs. Cameron, decidedly worse, and I wash my hands of all responsibility." The old army surgeon was clearly annoyed.

Mandy sat silent, weary with watching and weary with the conflict that had gone on intermittently during the past three days. The doctor was determined to have the gangrenous foot off. That was the simplest solution of the problem before him and the foot would have come off days ago if he had had his way. But the Indian boy had vehemently opposed this proposal. "One foot--me go die," was his ultimatum, and through all the fever and delirium this was his continuous refrain. In this determination his nurse supported him, for she could not bring herself to the conviction that amputation was absolutely necessary, and, besides, of all the melancholy and useless driftwood that drives hither and thither with the ebb and flow of human life, she could imagine none more melancholy and more useless than an Indian crippled of a foot. Hence she supported the boy in his ultimatum, "One foot--me go die."

"That foot ought to come off," repeated the doctor, beginning the controversy anew. "Otherwise the boy will die."

"But, doctor," said Mandy wearily, "just think how pitiable, how helpless that boy will be. Death is better. And, besides, I have not quite given up hope that--"

The doctor snorted his contempt for her opinion; and only his respect for her as Cameron's wife and for the truly extraordinary powers and gifts in her profession which she had displayed during the past three days held back the wrathful words that were at his lips. It was late in the afternoon and the doctor had given many hours to this case, riding back and forward from the fort every day, but all this he would not have grudged could he have had his way with his patient.

"Well, I have done my best," he said, "and now I must go back to my work."

"I know, doctor, I know," pleaded Mandy. "You have been most kind and I thank you from my heart." She rose and offered him her hand. "Don't think me too awfully obstinate, and please forgive me if you do."

The doctor took the outstretched hand grudgingly.

"Obstinate!" he exclaimed. "Of all the obstinate creatures--"

"Oh, I am afraid I am. But I don't want to be unreasonable. You see, the boy is so splendidly plucky and such a fine chap."

The doctor grunted.

"He is a fine chap, doctor, and I can't bear to have him crippled, and--" She paused abruptly, her lips beginning to quiver. She was near the limit of her endurance.

"You would rather have him dead, eh? All right, if that suits you better it makes no difference to me," said the doctor gruffly, picking up his bag. "Good-by."

"Doctor, you