ckly. He stood up again, reached
across to a box of canned milk, and pried off the lid. "I'm liable to
need you, too," he muttered to the rows of cans, and pulled the box
close. He took Buck Olney's knife and whittled some very creditable
splints from the thin boards, and rummaged in his "warbag" under the
bunk for handkerchiefs with which to wrap the splints.

When he had done all that he could do to prepare for the long siege of
pain and helplessness ahead of him, he moved along the bunk until he
was sitting near the head of it with his broken leg extended before
him, and took a last look to make sure that everything was ready. He
felt his gun at his hip, removed belt and all, and threw it back upon
the bed. Then he turned his head and stared, frowning, at the black
butt where it protruded from the holster suggestively ready to his
hand. He reached out and took the gun, turned it over, and hesitated.
No telling what insane impulse fever might bring upon him--and
still--no telling what Buck Olney might do when he discovered that he
was not in any immediate danger of hanging.

If Buck came back to have it out with him, he would certainly need that
gun. He knew Buck, a broken leg wouldn't save him. On the other hand,
if the fever of his hurt hit him hard enough-- "Oh, fiddlesticks!" he
told himself at last. "If I get crazy enough for that, the gun won't
cut much ice one way or the other. There are other ways of bumping
off--" So he tucked the gun under the mattress at the head of his bed
where he could put his hand upon it if the need came.

Then he removed his boots by the simple method of slitting the legs
with Buck's knife, bared his broken leg in the same manner, swallowed
again from the bottle, braced himself mentally and physically, gritted
his teeth, and went doggedly to work.

A man never knows just how much he can endure or what he can do until
he is making his last stand in the fight for self-preservation. Ward
had no mind to lie there and die of blood-poisoning, for instance, and
broken bones do not set themselves. So, sweating and swearing with the
agony of it, he set his leg and bound the splints in place, and thanked
the Lord it was a straight, clean break and that the flesh was not torn.

Then he dropped back upon the bed and didn't care whether he lived or
not.

Followed days of fever, through which Ward lived crazily and lost count
of the hours as they passed. Days when he needed goo