time and therefore somewhat vacant, was perhaps the more open to
external impressions, as I looked upon the face of this stranger
on the stoep. Moreover, as I am proud to record, I did not judge
him altogether wrongly. He was a blackguard who, under other
influences or with a few added grains of self-restraint and of
the power of recovery, might have become a good or even a saintly
man. But by some malice of Fate or some evil inheritance from an
unknown past, those grains were lacking, and therefore he went
not up but down the hill.

"Case for you, Rodd," called out Marnham.

"Indeed," he answered, getting to his feet and speaking in a full
voice, which, like his partner's, was that of an educated
Englishman. "What's the matter. Horse accident?"

Then we were introduced, and Anscombe began to explain his
injury.

"Um!" said the doctor, studying him with dark eyes. "Kaffir
bullet through the foot some days ago. Ought to be attended to
at once. Also you look pretty done, so don't tire yourself with
the story, which I can get from Mr. Quatermain. Come and lie
down and I'll have a look at you while they are cooking
breakfast."

Then he guided us to a room of which the double French windows
opened on to the stoep, a very pretty room with two beds in it.
Making Anscombe lie down on one of these he turned up his
trouser, undid my rough bandage and examined the wound.

"Painful?" he asked.

"Very," answered Anscombe, "right up to the thigh."

After this he drew off the nether garments and made a further
examination.

"Um," he said again, "I must syringe this out. Stay still while
I get some stuff."

I followed him from the room, and when we were out of hearing on
the stoep inquired what he thought. I did not like the look of
that leg.

"It is very bad," he answered, "so bad that I am wondering if it
wouldn't be best to remove the limb below the knee and make it a
job. You can see for yourself that it is septic and the
inflammation is spreading up rapidly."

"Good Heavens!" I exclaimed, "do you fear mortification?"

He nodded. "Can't say what was on that slug or bit of old iron
and he hasn't had the best chance since. Mortification, or
tetanus, or both, are more than possible. Is he a temperate
man?"

"So far as I know," I answered, and stared at him while he
thought. Then he said with decision,

"That makes a difference. To lose a foot is a serious thing;
some might think almost as bad