“Look-a-here, Arlie. I'm the doctor. Where do I come in?”
“I'll kiss you, too, when you tell me he'll get well.” The half-hysterical laugh died out of her voice, and she caught him fiercely by the arm. “Doc, doc, don't let him die,” she begged.
He had known her all her life, had been by the bedside when she came into the world, and he put his arm round her shoulders and gave her a little hug as they passed into the room.
“We'll do our level best, little girl.”
She lit a lamp, and drew the window curtain, so that none could see from the outside. While the old doctor arranged his instruments and bandages on chairs, she waited on him. He noticed how white she was, for he said, not unkindly:
“I don't want two patients right now, Arlie. If you're going to keel over in a faint right in the middle of it, I'll have Dick help.”
“No, no, I won't, doc. Truly, I won't,” she promised.
“All right, little girl. We'll see how game you are. Dick, hold the light. Hold it right there. See?”
The Texan had ceased talking, and was silent, except for a low moan, repeated at regular intervals. The doctor showed Arlie how to administer the anaesthetic after he had washed the wound. While he was searching for the bullet with his probe she flinched as if he had touched a bare nerve, but she stuck to her work regardless of her feelings, until the lead was found and extracted and the wound dressed.
Afterward, Dick found her seated on a rock outside crying hysterically. He did not attempt to cope with the situation, but returned to the house and told Lee.