And I say again, if you'll put me up to a three-pound grayling I'll cut off your leg for nothing any time you want it done!" "Well, now," said Sim Gage, his forehead puckering up, "I don't want to put you under no obligations, Doc." "He won't, neither, Doc," interrupted Wid Gardner, while the surgical dressing was going forward.

"There's holes in there twenty feet deep, and I've see two or three hundred grayling in there dang near as long as your arm." "Ouch, Doc!" remarked Sim Gage, "that yellow stuff smarts." "It's got to, my man.

A couple of days more and you might really have lost that leg, sure enough.

I've seen plenty of legs lost, my man.

I don't think it'll go much further up--I hope not.