"You are cold. Cover our brother with the skin again," said the chief. "Now, let us remove the shirt, and see what harm has come to him."
Very gently they cut the leather shirt away and removed his clothing till the wound was uncovered. By then the water in the jar placed over the fire was comfortably hot, and with some of this and a portion of the fleecy material the chief bathed the place till the nature of the injury could be seen.
"Ah! The bullet struck beneath the arm, Hawk, and ran round the ribs. It is here. I feel it beneath my fingers."
The chief ran the tips of his fine fingers over the ribs, and traced the direction of the bullet from the entrance wound to the spot where the hard mass could be felt to move under the skin.
"Some water, brother," he demanded. "Nay, hotter than that. Heat it till it bubbles."
He sat patiently beside Steve while the jar was placed on the fire again. And presently, when the water was boiling, he strode over to it, and plunged the blade of his keen hunting knife deep into the contents.
"The Hawk has felt pain before," he said. "He will not flinch. The bullet shall be within my hand in less time than it takes to count the fingers. Lie so. Now, Hawk."
Steve shut his teeth again, and never so much as winced as the keen blade, wielded by a dexterous hand, cut down on the bullet. It was extracted in a few seconds, and when Steve opened his eyes, there it was in the chief's hand.
"Good," grunted the brave. "The worst is done. We will dress the wound now."