"They had got the lad into the ranch, had checked the flow of blood and
eased the pain by standing on a chair and pouring water on the wound
from a height. But Bill looked pale as a ghost from the loss of blood.
The doctor gave the leg a single look, and, turning to us, said: 'Boys,
she has to come off.'
"The doctor talked to Bill freely and frankly, telling him that it was
the only chance for his life. He readily consented to the operation, and
while the doctor was getting him under the influence of opiates we fixed
up an operating table. When all was ready, the doctor took the leg off
below the knee, cursing us generally for being so sensitive to cutting
and the sight of blood. There was quite a number of boys at the ranch,
but it affected them all alike. It was interesting to watch him cut and
tie arteries and saw the bones, and I think I stood it better than any
of them. When the operation was over, we gave the fellow the best bed
the ranch afforded and fixed him up comfortable. The doctor took the
bloody stump and wrapped it up in an old newspaper, saying he would take
it home with him.
"After supper the surgeon took a sleep, saying we would start back to
town by two o'clock, so as to be there by daylight.
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