“Bah!” The halfbreed gave a thrilled grin.  “Keep a lookout – I’ve got this…” He cautiously moved to unzip his satchel, and eyed the weary Fenson.  “Don’t worry, I’m not about to hurt him – especially not in front of his armed friends.” He pulled out a canvas bag stuffed with crap – antiseptic powder and some rubbing alcohol (OUCH…) a roll of bandages, and a thin syringe.  “Never liked using THIS…” He muttered, tossing it aside.  “Sorry, yo, that morphine is expired.  Oh, suck it up, I’ve had holes in me too.” He goes to work under a watchful eye.”<br/><br/>“Why aren’t you taking out the bullet?” One of the lessers snaps.<br/><br/>“Because if I do, it’s possible he could start bleeding a lot worse.” He sighs and looks back, met with skeptical eyes.  “I’m no fucking expert, but I’ve done this to myself once before.  Now…” He knots off the bandage.  “You obviously need a real doctor.  Out the back way, here, these streets look like hell.” He removes a sturdy lid from a trashcan.  “Lead the way, ‘sarge,’ I don’t wanna be out here long.” He gets the heavy man to his feet, at the moment cooperating out of enlightened self-interest more than anything else.