ly Duncan's arm!" The deputy-sheriff kept saying it over
and over to himself as he hurried to the hospital. He was shocked; he
was filled with a regret that was personal in its poignancy. He knew
exactly what such a loss meant to Billy Duncan, who earned his living
with his hands and gloried in his strength--independent young Billy
Duncan an object of pity in his mutilated manhood! Dan Treu could not
entirely realize it yet.

Lamb met him at the hospital door as though he had awaited his coming.

"Blood-poisonin' set in," he began with a haste which seemed due to
excitement. "Developed sudden. Had to amputate to save his life. He was
willin' enough; he knew it was for the best, his only chance in fact."

Dan Treu was seized with a sudden aversion for Lamb's shifty,
dark-circled eyes, his unconvincing nasal voice.

"Blood-poisonin' set in, you say?" He eyed Lamb steadily.

"His habits, you know, battin' around and all that. Bad blood."

"Bad blood--hell!" said Dan Treu sharply. "His blood was as good as
yours or mine, and his habits too."

He made to step inside, but Lamb stopped him.

"He hasn't come out of the ether yet--I'll let you know when you can see
him."

There was nothing more to say, so Dan Treu turned on his heel and walked
away, angry, sceptical--without exactly knowing why.

The aversion which Lamb had inspired was still strong within him when he
stopped on a street corner to ruminate and incidentally roll a
cigarette.

"When he gets close I feel like I do when a wet dog comes out of the
crick and is goin' to shake." The deputy felt uncommonly pleased with
the simile which so well described his feelings.

Dan Treu did not receive the promised notification that Billy Duncan was
in a condition to be seen, which was not strange, since Billy Duncan was
dying--dying because a man and woman whose diplomas licensed them to
juggle with human life and limb were unable in their ignorance and
inexperience to stop the flow of blood. Vital, life-loving,
happy-go-lucky Billy Duncan lay limp on his narrow bed in the bare,
white room, filled with a great heart-sickness at the uselessness of it,
the helpless ignominy of dying like a stuck pig! With a last effort he
turned his head upon his pillow and through the window by his bedside
watched the colors of the distant foothills change from gold to
purple--purple like the shadows of the Big Dark for which he was bound.
And when at last the night shut out the wor