Grumblingly Dr. Allen Barnes passed on up the road to the wagon where two passengers awaited his coming.
"Are you the man that wants me?" he asked, looking up at Sim Gage.
"Why, yep," said Sim Gage, his face puckered up into his usual frown of perplexity. "I reckon so, Doc. I got my leg hurt."
"Well, come on over to the hospital."
"Hospital? I can't go to no hospital. I can't afford it, Doc."
"Well, I can't cut your leg off right out here in the street, can I, man? I'm offering you the hospital free—the Company takes care of those things. Not that I've got any business taking care of you, but I will."
"Why, this ain't nothing," said Sim Gage, pointing a finger towards his swollen knee, "just a leetle kick of a bronc, that's all. I got to be getting right back, Doc—I ain't got much time."
"It don't take much time to cut off a leg," said Dr. Barnes. "Do it in three minutes." His face, professionally grim, showed no token of a smile.
"Well, I left my folks all alone up there," began Sim.
"You did, eh? Well, they'll be there when you get back, won't they?"