"I looked into a room about as big as this we sit in. It was filled with men, most of them on the floor with their backs to the wall. There was a cot in one corner, and a pine table on which stood a cheap kerosene lamp, and one or two chairs. The only other furniture were a flour-barrel and a dry-goods box. On top of the barrel was a tin coffeepot, a china cup, and half a loaf of bread. Against the window--there was but one--was tacked a ragged calico quilt, shutting out air and light. Flat on the floor, where the light of the lamp fell on his face, lay a man dressed only in his trousers and undershirt. The shirt was clotted with blood; so were the mattress under him and the floor. "'Shot?' I asked of the man nearest me. "'Yes.' "I knelt down on the floor beside him and opened his shirt. The wound was just above the heart; the bullet had struck a rib, missed the lungs, and gone out at the back. Dangerows, but not necessarily fatal. "The man turned his head and opened his eyes. He was a stockily built fellow of thirty with a clean-shaven face. "'Is that you, "Doc"?' "'Yes, where does it hurt?' "'"Doc" Shipman--who used to be at Bellevue five or six years ago?' "'Yes--now tell me where the pain is.' "'Let me look at you. Yes--that's him. That's the "Doc," boys. Where does it hurt?--Oh, all around here--back worst'--and he passed his hand over his side. "I looked him over again, put in a few stitches, and fixed him up for the night. When I had finished he said: "'Come closer, "Doc"; am I going to die?' "'No, not this time; you'll pull through. Close shave, but you'll weather it. But you want some air. Here, you fellows'--and I motioned to two men leaning against the quilt tacked over the window--'rip that off and open that window. He's got to breathe--too many of you in here, anyway,' "One of the men moved the lidless dry-goods box against the wall, picked up the kerosene lamp and placed it inside, smothering its light; the other tore the lower end of the quilt from the sash, letting in the fresh, wet night-air. "I turned to the wounded man again. "'You say you've seen me before?' "'Yes, once. You sewed this up'--and he held up his arm showing a healed scar. 'You've forgot it, but I haven't.' "'Where?' "'Bellevue. They took me in there. You treated me white. That's why my pal hunted you up. Say, Bill'--and he called to my companion with the slouch hat--'pay the "Doc."' "Half a dozen men dove instantly into their pockets, but my companion already had his roll of bills in his hand. He bent over so that the glow of the half-smothered lamp could fall upon his hand, unrolled a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to me. "I passed it back to him. 'I don't want this. Five dollars is my fee. If you haven't anything smaller, wait till I come to-morrow, then you can give me a ten. I'm ready to go now; lead the way out.'