We had brought blankets along, but it was early and no one thought of sleeping for an hour yet.  Mr. Nathan was quite a sportsman, and after he and Uncle Lance had discussed the safest method of hunting javalina, it again devolved on the boys to entertain the party with stories.

“I was working on a ranch once,” said Glenn Gallup, “out on the Concho River.  It was a stag outfit, there being few women then out Concho way.  One day two of the boys were riding in home when an accident occurred.  They had been shooting more or less during the morning, and one of them, named Bill Cook, had carelessly left the hammer of his six-shooter on a cartridge.  As Bill jumped his horse over a dry arroyo, his pistol was thrown from its holster, and, falling on the hard ground, was discharged.  The bullet struck him in the ankle, ranged upward, shattering the large bone in his leg into fragments, and finally lodged in the saddle.

“They were about five miles from camp when the accident happened.  After they realized how bad he was hurt, Bill remounted his horse and rode nearly a mile; but the wound bled so then that the fellow with him insisted on his getting off and lying on the ground while he went into the ranch for a wagon.  Well, it’s to be supposed that he lost no time riding in, and I was sent to San Angelo for a doctor.  It was just noon when I got off.  I had to ride thirty miles.  Talk about your good horses—­I had one that day.  I took a free gait from the start, but the last ten miles was the fastest, for I covered the entire distance in less than three hours.  There was a doctor in the town who’d been on the frontier all of his life, and was used to such calls.  Well, before dark that evening we drove into the ranch.

“They had got the lad into the ranch, had checked the flow of blood and eased the pain by standing on a chair and pouring water on the wound from a height.  But Bill looked pale as a ghost from the loss of blood.  The doctor gave the leg a single look, and, turning to us, said:  ’Boys, she has to come off.’

“The doctor talked to Bill freely and frankly, telling him that it was the only chance for his life.  He readily consented to the operation, and while the doctor was getting him under the influence of opiates we fixed up an operating table.  When all was ready, the doctor took the leg off below the knee, cursing us generally for being so sensitive to cutting and the sight of blood.  There was quite a number of boys at the ranch, but it affected them all alike.  It was interesting to watch him cut and tie arteries and saw the bones, and I think I stood it better than any of them.  When the operation was over, we gave the fellow the best bed the ranch afforded and fixed him up comfortable.  The doctor took the bloody stump and wrapped it up in an old newspaper, saying he would take it home with him.