A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 



frightened, made several plunges, striking Johnnie 

 in the head with his hoof. The boy's imprisoned 

 foot came clear, and in a few minutes Johnnie came 

 to, and seemed quite himself ; but I sent him to camp 

 near by with one of the men, who soon sent back 

 word that Johnnie was acting queer. I sent a man 

 "riding for the doctor." That means riding. All 

 work was called off. We gave first aid, but it was 

 evident that a blood clot had formed. We put in a 

 long-distance call for the Pitch Fork Ranch, 80 miles 

 away; it sent a rider to the boy's father and mother 

 20 miles away. It was then 3 o'clock in the after- 

 noon ; relay teams were arranged along the line. 



I knew the frontier dread of the knife. The doc- 

 tor told us that there was just one chance : trepanning 

 the skull. I called a council of the boys, and said, 

 "Now if he were mine I would take the chance; but 

 I know how men on the frontier have seen their 

 comrades lie for days and weeks unconscious, and 

 get well, their rugged constitutions finally absorbing 

 blood clots, and they have seen death follow heroic 

 surgery. Dick (his father) should call us from As- 

 permont (40 miles away) by 2 o'clock in the morn- 

 ing. Shall we wait?" There was no answer; then 

 I polled them one by one. "Wait" was the unani- 

 mous verdict. 



At 2 130 a. m. Dick called. I told him just what 

 I had told them. Poor Dick! The agony in that 

 calm, restrained voice — "Wait till mama and me 



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