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Out of the hotel poured the men, and ran in the direction of hay-beard. We, on our part, merely watched from the platform. Hay-beard rose, aided slightly by the man who had tried to catch the horse from the verandah, stood staring and feeling his side, felt his arm, and came over to the depôt, the cluster of men to rear, with evidently the owner of the horse and buck-board strutting beside him with determined jowl.

"Is the Doc here? They tell me the Doc is here. Is he gone?" asked hay-beard.

"Yap! Gone!" snapped Scotty.

"I've broke my arm, by——!" said hay-beard.

Scotty stepped down.

"Let me feel;" and he felt the arm. "Maybe it's only twisted. Yap! Broken!"

"When's the next train?"

"You know the trains."

"I mean a freight train. Any freight before the passenger?"

"Nope! Not another;" and Scotty moved off.

"Oh well, I'll set in the shade here and wait for the train;" and hay-beard, with his arm hanging loose, moved off to the end of the station buildings.

"Couldn't you wire for the Doc again?" I asked.