It succeeded, and it gave Dyck the victory, for Mallow's sword dropped from his hand.
A fatigued smile came to Mallow's lips.

He clasped the wounded arm with his left hand as the surgeon came forward.
"Well, you got it home," he said to Dyck; "and it's deftly done." "I did my best," answered Dyck.

"Give me your hand, if you will." With a wry look Mallow, now seated on the old stump of a tree, held out his left hand.

It was covered with blood.
"I think we'll have to forego that courtesy, Calhoun," he said.

"Look at the state of my hand! It's good blood," he added grimly.