“Awful bad, Hozie. I’m afraid he won’t live to get to town.”
“And we can’t do a thing.”
“Only wait, Hozie. Old Doc Curzon is pretty good. He’ll save Jim if it’s possible.”
It seemed hours before any one came. Len Kelsey and Jack Ralston were the first to arrive. Kelsey looked at Jim Wheeler, listened to what Hozie had to say and then walked up the road, trying to find the spot where Jim had fallen out of his saddle. Ralston squatted on his heels, smoking a cigaret, but had nothing to say.
Then came the doctor, followed by Lonnie driving a livery team hitched to a spring-wagon. Several cowboys were also among the interested spectators. The old doctor made a quick examination, after which they placed Jim Wheeler in the bottom of the spring-wagon and started back to town.
“How bad is he hurt, Doc?” asked Hozie anxiously.
“Pretty ⸺ bad!” snapped the old doctor. “Leg broke once—mebbe twice. Head battered up. Lucky to be alive. Be lucky to live. Don’t ask questions until I know something.”
“Hadn’t we better take him home?” asked Kelsey.
“Take him to my place,” said the doctor.
Joe mounted his horse and rode up beside Hozie.