"Plenty blood come, mebbyso." To make sure, however, he kneaded
the swollen flesh about the wound, thus accelerating slightly
the red drip.
Then deliberately he took another turn with the rock, sending the
buckskin thongs deeper into the flesh, and held the burning pipe
against the skin above the wound until Good Indian sickened and
turned away his head. When he looked again, Peppajee was sucking
hard at the pipe, and gazing impersonally at the place. He bent
again, and hid the glow of his pipe against his ankle. His thin
lips tightened while he held it there, but the lean, brown
fingers were firm as splinters of the rock behind him. When the
fire cooled, he fanned it to life again with his breath, and when
it winked redly at him he laid it grimly against his flesh.
So, while Good Indian stood and looked on with lips as tightly
drawn as the other's, he seared a circle around the wound--a
circle which bit deep and drew apart the gashes like lips opened
for protest.
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