He handed me his lancet and rolled up his sleeves. “Now then,” he said to Tiny, “let’s have a look at that leg.”

He crouched over the boy, prodding and fumbling at the puffed ankle, while Tiny sank back on his elbows to stare up sheepishly at the ring of silent spectators.

“Why,” Doc said mildly, “that ain’t nothing!” He gave Tiny’s toes a sudden downward twist, at which Tiny winced and grunted.

“There,” Doc said. “That’s practically all there is to it. Now there ain’t nothing to do but reduce the swelling.” He kneaded the ankle, twisted the foot from side to side and pulled at the heel.

Tiny relaxed and stared stolidly into the smoky dimness above him.

Around us the silence was broken by whisperings. Pahokuk crowded up to peer over Wahoway’s shoulder.

Doc gave the foot a final twist. “There,” he said, “let’s see you move that limb.” Tiny waggled his foot delightedly.

Doc scratched his head. “Gimme my lancet,” he told me. “There ain’t no particular need for it, but seeing as how these red vermins expect me to do something wonderful, it don’t seem right to disappoint ’em. Give ’em a look at the Mannekin.”

He took his Venesection Mannekin from me, opened it and gave it to Verrieul to hold. At the sight of this representation of a naked, veined figure, a frozen silence fell on all the Indians in that dim, smoky lodge.

Doc studied the Mannekin. “Mm!” he said profoundly. “I better stick it into him where they can all see it. Now here’s a nice vein.” He traced, with the tip of his lancet, a faint white line that passed down the left leg of his Mannekin. Almost absent-mindedly he pulled the trigger, and the blade licked out and in, like a serpent’s tongue. All those who watched, even Pahokuk and Wahoway, clapped their hands over their lips, as if to restrain themselves from bursting into howls of astonishment.

Five minutes later Tiny, relieved of a cupful of blood, was walking without assistance, while Doc, Verrieul and I moved triumphantly toward Sponge-belly’s house, escorted by a vociferous crowd of Indians.

During the remainder of the day we sat beneath the open shed at the front entrance, while close in front of us sat or stood or walked hundreds of Indians of all ages—children with dirty noses, stark naked: foppish young men in white buckskins, their ears slit, with handfuls of eagle feathers thrust through the slits: bleary-eyed old gentlemen whose leggins, garters, headbands and tobacco bags were a blaze of color: fat squaws who brought mats to sit upon so that they might stare at us with more concentration: giggling girls in sleeveless coats ornamented with silver discs and breastplates.