“After supper the surgeon took a sleep, saying we would start back to town by two o’clock, so as to be there by daylight.  He gave instructions to call him in case Bill awoke, but he hoped the boy would take a good sleep.  As I had left my horse in town, I was expected to go back with him.  Shortly after midnight the fellow awoke, so we aroused the doctor, who reported him doing well.  The old Doc sat by his bed for an hour and told him all kinds of stories.  He had been a surgeon in the Confederate army, and from the drift of his talk you’d think it was impossible to kill a man without cutting off his head.

“‘Now take a young fellow like you,’ said the doctor to his patient, ’if he was all shot to pieces, just so the parts would hang together, I could fix him up and he would get well.  You have no idea, son, how much lead a young man can carry.’  We had coffee and lunch before starting, the doctor promising to send me back at once with necessary medicines.

“We had a very pleasant trip driving back to town that night.  The stories he could tell were like a song with ninety verses, no two alike.  It was hardly daybreak when we reached San Angelo, rustled out a sleepy hostler at the livery stable where the team belonged, and had the horses cared for; and as we left the stable the doctor gave me his instrument case, while he carried the amputated leg in the paper.  We both felt the need of a bracer after our night’s ride, so we looked around to see if any saloons were open.  There was only one that showed any signs of life, and we headed for that.  The doctor was in the lead as we entered, and we both knew the barkeeper well.  This barkeeper was a practical joker himself, and he and the doctor were great hunting companions.  We walked up to the bar together, when the doctor laid the package on the counter and asked:  ‘Is this good for two drinks?’ The barkeeper, with a look of expectation in his face as if the package might contain half a dozen quail or some fresh fish, broke the string and unrolled it.  Without a word he walked straight from behind the bar and out of the house.  If he had been shot himself he couldn’t have looked whiter.

“The doctor went behind the bar and said:  ’Glenn, what are you going to take?’ ‘Let her come straight, doctor,’ was my reply, and we both took the same.  We had the house all to ourselves, and after a second round of drinks took our leave.  As we left by the front door, we saw the barkeeper leaning against a hitching post half a block below.  The doctor called to him as we were leaving:  ’Billy, if the drinks ain’t on you, charge them to me.’”