It occurred at the round-up, and I was driven some thirty miles, the leg not even splinted or put in a box, to my ranch.

I sent off a mounted man to Las Vegas, 130 miles, for a surgeon, but it was a week before he got down to me and the leg was then in a pretty bad shape.

He hinted at removing it, but finally decided to set it and put it in plaster, which he did.

He then left me.

The leg gave me little trouble, but unfortunately peritonitis set in.