"Hell!" he said, "what you chinnin' me for?
Get that damned toad-sticker out of me, can't you.

It's in my side, near the back--I can't reach it." Calumet felt where the man indicated, and his hand struck the handle of a knife.

It had a large, queerly-shaped handle and a long, thin blade like a stiletto.

It had been driven into the man's left side just under the fleshy part of the shoulder, and it was plain that its point had found a vital spot--probably through the lung and near the heart, for the man was limp and helpless, his breath coughed in his throat, and it was certain that he had not many minutes to live.

Calumet carefully withdrew the weapon, and the man settled back with a sigh of relief.
"You're Marston, ain't you ?" he said, slowly and painfully, gasping with every breath.