The door being open it was seen that a second form was in the coach, all in a heap in one corner.
There were red stains upon the steps, and upon the leather cushions, and everything indicated that the stage had run a death-gantlet.
But, excepting for his pale, stern face, the doctor was as serene as a May morn, though his voice showed weakness when he spoke.
"I'll ask your aid, landlord, for I am weakened from loss of blood. Bind my arm up to stop the flow and I'll see how serious the wound is."
He said no more, but was at once aided from the box and over to his cabin, Landlord Larry leaving his clerk to look after the mails and the dead passengers.
Arriving at the cabin Doctor Dick had his coat-sleeve slit open and the bandage he had tied about his arm removed.
His silk shirt-sleeve was also cut, and then the wound was revealed in the fleshy part of the arm.
Taking a probe from his case Doctor Dick, after swallowing a glass of brandy, coolly probed the wound, found the ball, and, aided by Loo Foo, the Chinee, under his direction, soon extracted the bullet.
Then the wound was skilfully dressed, the arm rested in a sling, and Doctor Dick lolling back in his easy chair asked with the greatest coolness:
"Well, Landlord Larry, how goes all at Last Chance?"