“If we could get to Conejo we could get Mendoza to drive us over to Casa Grande,” hazarded Williams.
“Well, that ain’t a bad idea for you, Jack,” said Tom, patronizingly. “I reckon I’ll stretch my legs in that direction after breakfast. Suppose we go up and see what the Doc says about Jimmy?”
In the meantime, the doctor had examined his patient’s leg, quietly ignoring the flood of excited questions hurled at him by the boy.
“Him velly bad,” he declared at length. “You keep him still while I get bullet out, mebbe he get well. You talk a heap and mebbe I cut him off.”
“You cut him off and I’ll cut your liver out, Li, you sabe?” grinned Adams, gamely. “Anyhow, it’s blamed good of you to ride over here. I’ll bet you’re sore, eh?”
Mrs. Van Zandt coming up the road with the tray in her arms met the men coming up from the corral.
“I never did suppose I’d see myself carrying breakfast to a Chinese,” she said, wearily, “but you can’t tell these days what’ll come your way. I know exactly how that poor guy feels. I rode over to Casa Grande once on Cochise. He’s wide and he’s rough and anyone who wants to ride him twenty miles is welcome to him as far as I’m concerned.”
The train gang hung around to hear the verdict on Jimmy Adams. They were much relieved to hear that the operation was to be one of probing rather than of cutting. They had had some gloomy discussions on that point which had ended in consulting the mail order catalogue in order to see whether it advertised artificial limbs.
“He wants one of you to help,” said Mrs. Van, coming out of the room. “I wisht you would. I feel that nasty this morning that the sight of blood would just about finish me. Go on in, Tom.” Tom went in. Mrs. Van set the tray on the table. “Seems funny to be waiting on a cook, don’t it? But I suppose it’s different when he’s tending the sick, and I’ll say he’s clean. He washed his hands before he touched Jimmy. I watched him.”
“Well, that’s more than old Estrada over in Conejo does,” said O’Grady. “He pulled a tooth for me last winter and he come in from feedin’ his pigs to do it. Right plumb into my mouth he started to put his dirty fist. ‘No,’ says I, ‘you wash that mitt first. Afterward you can suit yourself.’”