peacefully.
Feeling considerable pain, Augustus looked down and saw that his left leg was gone. The stump had been bandaged, but the bandage was leaking. Blood seeped through it, though it was a thick bandage.
'If you're the sawbones, wake up and stop this drip,' Augustus said. He felt irritable and sad, and wished the whiskey bottle were in reach.
The little fat man jerked as if poked with a fork, and opened his eyes. His cheeks were red-streaked-from excessive drinking, Augustus supposed. He put both hands on his head as if surprised that it was still there.
'And pass the whiskey, if you can spare any,' Augustus added. 'I hope you ain't thrown my leg away.'
The doctor jerked again, as if every statement pricked him.
'You've got a mighty healthy voice for a sick man,' the doctor said. 'In this room, such a voice is a tight fit.'
'Well, it's the only voice I got,' Augustus said.
The doctor put his hands to his temple again. 'It strikes my temples like a ten-pound hammer,' he said. 'Though I'm sorry to complain. The truth is I don't feel well myself.'
'You probably drink too much,' Augustus said. 'If you'll hand me the bottle I'll reduce your temptations.'
The doctor did, but not before taking a swig. Augustus took several while the doctor shuffled around and stood looking out the window. Across the street the piano was still playing.
'That girl plays beautifully,' the doctor said. 'They say she studied music in Philadelphia when she was younger.'
'How old is she now?' Augustus asked. 'Maybe I'll send her a bouquet.'
The doctor smiled. 'It's plain you're a man of spirit,' he said. 'That's good. I'm afraid you've a few fractuosities yet to endure.'
'A few what?' Augustus asked. 'You better introduce yourself before you start talking Latin.'
'Dr. Mobley,' the man said. 'Joseph C. Mobley, to be precise. The C stands for Cincinnatus.'
'More Latin, I guess,' Augustus said. 'Explain that first bunch of Latin you talked.'
'I mean we've got to take off that other leg,' Dr. Mobley said. 'I should have done it while you were out, but frankly, getting the left leg off exhausted me.'
'It's a good thing,' Augustus said. 'If you'd hacked off my right leg, you'd be the one who was out. I need that right leg.'
His gun belt was hanging over a chair nearby, and he reached out and took his pistol from the holster.
The doctor looked around, reaching out his hand for the whiskey bottle. Augustus gave it to him and he took a long drink and handed it back.
'I understand your attachment to your own appendages,' he said, opening the bandage. He winced when he looked at the wound, but kept working. 'I don't want to cut your other leg off bad enough to get shot in the process. However, you'll die if you don't reconsider. That's a plain fact.'
'Go buy me some more whiskey,' Augustus said. 'There's money in my pants. Is that girl playing the piano a whore?'
'Yes, her name is Dora,' the doctor said. 'Consumptive, I'm afraid. She'll never see Philadelphia again.' He began to wrap the leg in a clean bandage.
Augustus suddenly grew faint. 'Give her twenty dollars out of my pants and tell her to keep playing,' he said. 'And shove this bed a little closer to the window-it's stuffy in here.'
The doctor managed to shove the bed over near the window, but the effort tired him so that he sat back down in the chair where he had been dozing.
Augustus recovered a little. He watched the doctor a moment. 'Physician, heal thyself, ain't that what they say?' he remarked.
Dr. Mobley chuckled unhappily. 'That's what they say,' he said. He breathed heavily for a time, and then stood up.
'I'll go get the whiskey,' he said. 'While I'm about it, I'd advise you to take a sober look at your prospects. If you persist in your attachment to your right leg it'll be the last opportunity you have to take a sober look at anything.'
'Don't forget to tip that girl,' Augustus said. 'Hurry back with my whiskey and bring a glass.'
Dr. Mobley turned at the door. 'We should operate today,' he said. 'Within the hour, in fact, although we could wait long enough for you to get thoroughly drunk, if that would help. There's men enough around here to hold you down, and I think I could have that leg off in fifteen minutes.'
'You ain't getting that leg,' Augustus said. 'I might could get by without the one, but I can't without both.'
'I assure you the alternative is gloomy,' Dr. Mobley said. 'Why close your own case? You've a taste for music and you seem to have funds. Why not spend the next few years listening to whores play the piano?'
'You said the girl was dying,' Augustus said. 'Just go get the whiskey.'
Dr. Mobley returned a little later with two bottles of whiskey and a glass. A young giant of a man, so tall he had to stoop to get in the room, followed him.
'This is Jim,' Dr. Mobley said nervously. 'He's offered to sit with you while I go make my rounds.'
Augustus cocked his pistol and leveled it at the young man. 'Get out, Jim,' he said. 'I don't need company.'
Jim left immediately-so immediately that he forgot to stoop and bumped his head on the door frame. Dr. Mobley looked even more nervous. He moved the bureau a little nearer the bed and sat both bottles within Augustus's reach.
'That was rude,' he said.
'Listen,' Augustus said. 'You can't have this leg, and if you're thinking of overpowering me you have to calculate on losing about half the town. I can shoot straight when I'm drunk, too.'
'I only want to save your life,' Dr. Mobley said, taking a drink from the first bottle before pouring Augustus a glassful.
'It's my worry, mainly,' Augustus said. 'You stated your case, but the jury went against you. Jury of one. Did you pay the whore?'
'I did,' Dr. Mobley said. 'Since you refuse company, you'll have to drink alone. I have to go deliver a child into this unhappy world.'
'It's a fine world, though rich in hardships at times,' Augustus said.
'You won't need to worry about hardships much longer if you insist on keeping that leg,' Dr. Mobley said somewhat pettishly.
'I guess you don't care much for stubborn customers, do you?'
'No, they irk me,' Dr. Mobley said. 'You might have lived, but now you'll die. Your reasoning escapes me.'
'Well, I'll pay your bill right now,' Augustus said. 'My reasoning ain't your concern.'
'Are you a man of property?' the doctor asked.
'I've funds in a bank in San Antonio,' Augustus said. 'Also I own half a cattle herd. It ought to be north of the Yellowstone by now.'
'I brought pen and ink,' the doctor said. 'If I were you I'd make your will while you're still sober.'
Augustus drank all afternoon and did not use the pen or ink. Once, when the music stopped, he looked out the window and saw a skinny pockmarked girl in a black dress standing in the street looking up at him curiously. He waved but could not be sure she saw him. He took another twenty-dollar gold piece from his pants pocket and sailed it out the window toward her. It landed in the street, to the puzzlement of the girl. She walked over and picked up the gold piece, lookingup.
'It's yours, for the music,' Augustus said loudly. The pockmarked girl smiled, picked up the money and went back into the saloon. In a minute, Augustus heard the piano again.
A little later his fever rose. He felt hungry, though, and banged on the floor with his pistol until a timid-looking little bartender with a walrus mustache as good as Dish Boggett's opened the door.
'Is beefsteak to be had in this town?' Augustus asked.
'No, but I can get you venison,' the bartender said. He was as good as his word. Augustus ate and then vomited in a brass spittoon. His leg was as black as the one that had been lost. He went back to the whiskey and from time to time recovered the misty feeling that he had always been so fond of-the feeling that reminded him of Tennessee mornings. He wished for a woman's company and thought of having someone ask the pockmarked girl if she would come and sit a while. But there was no one to ask, and in time he lost the impulse.
