originally applied. For a moment
he looked at the angry wound. Then he pulled back the covering,
and turned away.

"Well, well, what is it?" croaked Dunwody hoarsely, half-rising on
his crumpled pillow. Jamieson did not reply. "I fell, out there
in the hall. Weight must have come on the bad place in the leg. I
think the bone snapped."

"I think so too! That mightn't have been so bad--but then you
stood a while on that bad leg, eh? Now look here, Dunwody; do you
know what shape you are in now?"

"No, I only know it hurts."

"If that leg were mine, do you know what I'd do with it?"

"No; but it isn't yours."

"Well, I'd have it off--as quick as it could come, that's all. If
you don't, you'll lose your life."

"You don't mean that?" whispered Dunwody tensely, after a time.
"You don't mean that, Doctor?"

"I mean every word I say. It's blood poisoning."

The only answer his patient made was to reach a slow hand under his
pillow and draw out a long-barreled revolver, which he laid upon
the bed beside him.

"I didn't think you such a coward," ruminated Jamieson, rubbing his
chin.

"If you think I'm afraid of the hurt of it, I'll let you do your
work first, and I'll do mine afterward," gasped Dunwody slowly.
"But I'm not going to live a cripple. I'll not be maimed."

They looked each other firmly in the face.

"Is it so bad as all that, Doctor?" demanded Josephine. Her answer
was a sad look from the gray old eyes. "Blood poison. Some kind
of an aggravation. It's traveling fast."

Josephine gazed down at the bulky figure lying there prone, so
lately full of rugged ferocity, now so weak and helpless. Her eye
fell on the weapon lying on the bed. She gently removed it.

"That was what he preferred to my skill," commented Jamieson.

Dunwody turned, his gaze on Josephine now. "You don't belong here,
now," said he at length. "You'd better go away."

"This is just where she _does_ belong!" contradicted Jamieson. "If
she has courage to stay here, I want her. I've got to have help.
She'll do her duty, and with one hand tied! Can't you do as much?
Haven't you any idea of duty in the world?"

"Duty!" Dunwody's lips met in a bitter smile.

"Listen here, Mr. Dunwody," began Josephine, "I've seen worse
wounds than that, seen weaker men survive worse than that. There's
a chance perhaps--why don't you take it like a man? I exact it of
you. I demand it! Your duty to me is unpaid. Come. We m