"Charge it up to expenses," he said; "that's just one of the incidental expenses of running a saloon."
Decker slouched away behind the counter, grumbling to himself.
By this time, applications of cold water had brought Wood to his senses, but he was more or less dazed and confused. Jack Mason went over and spoke to him.
"Claib, you've got some broken bones now, and you'll have to lie quiet for a while. There isn't any doctor in town, but I reckon Ross and me can fix you up so you'll be all right, if there's a place for you to stay. Have you got any money?"
"Yes; I've got money enough. But what's the matter with you? Didn't you just start a quarrel with me? And now I've got knocked out. Do you want to mend me up again?"
"That's what," said Mason; "mend you up; and then if I ever have trouble with you again, I won't stop at breaking your arm and collar-bone. I'll break your neck and make it a sure thing that you won't trouble this country any more; but don't let's talk about it now."
Three or four of the men carried Wood to the bedroom on the top floor of the hotel, and Mason and Ross, with the help of the station-agent, managed to set his arm in very good shape, to put the shoulder in place and to bind the arm so that they would presumably do well. Then Jack Mason had a long talk with Ross and the proprietor and made arrangements for them to look after Wood until the railroad company's surgeon could be got hold of.
During the afternoon, Claib had a good deal of fever, and at times was delirious. Ross sat up with him during part of the night and was relieved by Mason, and in the morning the patient was much better and quite rational.
About the middle of the morning Mason came into the room, where Claib was alone.
"Well, Claib," he said, "I see you're better and I reckon now that you'll get along all right. It won't take long for your bones to knit. I'm going off now, but I thought I'd come in and have a little talk with you before I left. You're a pretty mean man, and you're pretty quick with your gun, and a pretty good cowboy. After you shot Rufe in Rawlins I always made up my mind that I'd have a talk with you if we ever met up together, and now I've had it. You're mean, and I expect that when you get well maybe you'll try to get me; but if I were you I wouldn't do it. You're quick, but it isn't any ways likely that you're the quickest man in the world, or even in Wyoming, or even in Medicine Bow. You tried to draw yesterday, but you weren't quick enough. You may lay for me and get me in that way sometime, but if we ever meet and you try any of your tricks with me, I'm more likely to get you than you are to get me; and I believe it would be a good idea for you to remember that. I don't want to kill you, but if I have to I will.