"Can you cut the leg off, wise Umisk?" he asked.
"I did it once for my own Brother, who was caught," Beaver answered, simply.
"Take off mine, then!" commanded the King, decisively; "it is the only way."
"You'll bleed to death," said Lynx, solicitously.
"Oh, that would be lovely!" sneered Jack; "for then we'd all choose Pisew as his successor--'Le Roi est mort, vive le Roi!' Excuse me, Comrades, that's an expression François uses sometimes when he drinks Fire-water; it means, a live Slink is better than a dead Hero."
When Black Fox gave the command to amputate his limb, Beaver ceased cutting the stake, scuttled over to a White Poplar, girdled the tree close to the ground, then, standing on his strong hind-legs, cut the bark again higher up. Next he peeled a strip, brought it over beside the Fox, and chiselled some of the white inner bark, chewing it to a pulp. "Hold this in your mouth, Pisew, and keep it warm," Beaver commanded, passing it to Lynx. "We shall manage to stop the blood, I think."
"You will poison our King," said Jack, "if you put that stuff on the wound after Slink has held it in his mouth."
Beaver paid no attention, but stripped three little threads from the cloth-like tree-lining, and drew the fibre through his teeth to soften it. Then he spoke to the Bird: "Come down here, Jack, and hold these threads--your beak should be as good as a needle at this job. Now for it, Your Majesty!" Umisk continued, and one might have fancied he was a celebrated surgeon rolling up his sleeves before going at a difficult amputation.
"This is horribly bitter stuff," muttered Pisew--"it tastes like the Wolf-willow berry."
"Good for the wound--will dry up the bleeding!" affirmed the little Doctor curtly.