She laid something against Chip's closed lips.

"Swallow these," she said, and he obeyed her. "Weary--oh, you knew what
to do, I see. There, lay the coat down there for a pillow."

Relieved of her burden, she rose and went to the poor, twisted foot.

Weary and the Old Man watched her go to work systematically and disclose
the swollen, purpling ankle. Very gently she did it, and when she had
administered a merciful anaesthetic, the enthusiasm of the Old Man
demanded speech.

"Well, I'll be eternally doggoned! You're onto your job, Dell, doggoned
if yuh ain't. I won't ever josh yuh again about yer doctorin'!"

"I wish you'd been around the time I smashed MY ankle," commented Weary,
fishing for his cigarette book; he was beginning to feel the need of a
quieting smoke. "They hauled me forty miles, to Benton."

"That must have been torture!" shuddered the Little Doctor. "A
dislocated ankle is a most agonizing thing."

"Yes," assented Weary, striking a match, "it sure is, all right."