A sort of sigh broke from his lips, as though he felt content.  I do not think it was because he found his foe a worthy one.  I do not think he considered me either as his foe or his friend or his patient.  He was simply about to do something which would test his own nerve, his own resources, something which, if successful, would allow him to approve his own belief in himself.  I say that this was merely sport for him.  I knew he would not turn his hand to save my life; but also I knew that he would not cost it if that could be avoided, for that would mean disappointment to himself.  What he did he did well.  I said then to myself that I would pay him if he brought me through—­pay him in some way.

Presently I heard them on the sand again, and I saw him come again and bend over me.  All the instruments they could find had been a razor and a keen penknife; and all they could secure to staunch the blood was some water, nearly boiling.  For forceps Orme had a pair of bullet molds, and these he cleansed as best he could by dipping them into the hot water.

“Cowles,” he said, in a matter-of-fact voice, “I’m going after it.  But now I tell you one thing frankly, it’s life or death, and if you move your head it may mean death at once.  That iron’s lying against the big carotid artery.  If it hasn’t broken the artery wall, there’s a ghost of a chance we can get it out safely, in which case you would probably pull through.  I’ve got to open the neck and reach in.  I’ll do it as fast as I can.  Now, I’m not going to think of you, and, gad!—­if you can help it—­please don’t think of me.”

Ellen Meriwether had not spoken.  She still held my head in her lap.

“Are you game—­can you do this, Miss Meriwether?” I heard Orme ask.  She made no answer that I could hear, but must have nodded.  I felt her hands press my head more tightly.  I turned my face down and kissed her hand.  “I will not move,” I said.

I saw Orme’s slender, naked wrist pass to my face and gently turn me into the position desired, with my face down and a little at one side, resting in her lap above her knees.  Her skirt was already wet with the blood of the wound, and where my head lay it was damp with blood.  Belknap took my hands and pulled them above my head, squatting beyond me.  Between Orme’s legs as he stooped I could see the dead body of a mule, I remember, and back of that the blue sky I and the sand dunes.  Unknown to her, I kissed the hem of her garment; and then I said a short appeal to the Mystery.

I felt the entrance of the knife or razor blade, felt keenly the pain when the edge lifted and stretched the skin tight before the tough hide of my neck parted smoothly in a long line.  Then I felt something warm settle under my cheek as I lay, and I felt a low shiver, whether of my body or that of the girl who held me I could not tell; but her hands were steady.  I felt about me an infinite kindness and carefulness and pitying—­oh, then I learned that life, after all, is not wholly war—­that there is such a thing as fellow-suffering and loving kindness and a wish to aid others to survive in this hard fight of living; I knew that very well.  But I did not gain it from the touch of my surgeon’s hands.