"Whoa!" growled the man in the door.
The Doc obeyed. "What do you want?" he asked coolly.
"Nothin' you can lose," came the answer. "Back up a little more!"
The Doc backed, stopped when the gun pressed into his back and stood motionless while a heavy hand felt him over. It took a Colt out of his shoulder holster, and then the victim felt the gun at his back move a little. He smiled slightly, for the fact that his captor had shifted it to the left hand so he could use the right to empty the captured gun and then toss it across the room onto the bed was no due, for the reason that all of the men he knew were right-handed. The pressure changed again as the right hand went back on the offensive, and then the intruder gave him his second surprise.
"Pack yore tools—broken laig—take everythin' you need. Hurry!"
The Doc stepped forward and picked up a satchel, glancing out of the corner of his eye as he did so. Only a hand, a foot, and part of the hat and face were in sight, the rest of the visitor's body being behind the outside wall. Filling the bag with what he would require, he took a bundle of splints from a shelf, for he was a methodical person, usually had plenty of time on his hands, and believed in having things to suit him.
"It was not necessary to go to all of this trouble," he smiled, as he reached out to turn down the lamp.
"Stop! Let it burn!" warned the visitor.
"Very well, although I only intended to turn it down. As I said, it was needless for you to go to all this trouble and risk. I am in the habit of going on professional calls at any hour, in any weather, merely upon a simple request, or a statement of fact. If this is a practical joke I may or may not enjoy it—usually the victim doesn't—but I really don't mind, if you are careful with this bag and its contents. You might be the man to need it first—quién sabe?"