What was afterwards known as the Lincoln County War was just then in its incipiency. Considerable shooting was done between the cattle and sheep men, and the death of a sheepherder--always a Mexican--or a cattleman, was of frequent occurrence. Word came to the post one evening, that a deputy sheriff had been shot while attempting to settle some difficulty between the cattle and the sheep men, and a surgeon was requested to go to Lincoln, the county seat some ten miles down the valley to see him. Major Clendenning sent for me and explained the matter, but said if he were in my place he would not go, as those Mexicans would just as leave take a shot at me as anybody else. He said, however, that if I decided to go I should have the ambulance and any help I needed. I decided no help was necessary, but took the ambulance and driver and went to Lincoln that night. Mr. Mills, the deputy sheriff who had been shot had a half-brother at the post by the name of Stanley and I had heard the story of one of their shooting experiences when little fellows. They were practising with pistols and had become so expert that one day they tried the experiment of holding something out in one hand for the other to shoot at, but as this was not exciting enough, one of them extended his arm and pointed out his index finger and said to the other: "See if you can clip the end of that." He clipped a little too much for I had seen Stanley's hand and the finger was off at the first joint from the end. "You fool, you, you took too much. Now give me a chance." The other being willing to play fair, extended his finger the same way and lost the same amount of finger. This was the story, and I was curious to see Mr. Mills' hand which I took good care to observe while dressing his wound and found it almost exactly like Stanley's. Mr. Mills' wound was by a shot that entered near the heart, struck a rib and did not enter the plural cavity, but followed the rib around and came out on the back and was not a very serious wound.