I present to you now my first ever Rawhide fanfic. I know that this fandom is very unfortunately small and ignored, but I hope that there are still people out there who love it as much as I do.

For those of you who have watched every season and episode and expect me to have this set at a specific time frame... sorry, it's not. When reading this story, please keep your mind open and willing for the best experience. Thank you!

Genres: Western, Action, Drama, Romance.

Warnings: Minor violence, and blood.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

~ NightRunner

A man never knows what might happen on a cattle drive. Dangers are always out there, the possibilities endless. Sometimes there are moments when a man wonders if he'll even make it to the end of the trail. But every now and then, something happens that starts off looking bad, then takes a turn for the better. Whatever the case, my job is to make sure that the drive, cattle and men alike, make it through.

I'm Gil Favor, trail boss.

Rowdy Yates, ramrod. He was a fine young man who was well on his way to becoming a top-notch trail boss. But Gil knew that, even so, he was still just a boy. Rowdy sat on his horse, riding alongside the cattle under the mid-day sun. Dust and sweat stuck to his clothes and features, as was always the case with drovers. Yet he remained attractive. This became even more evident when he took off his hat to wipe his forehead, revealing a crown of thick brown hair that he always kept neat. His sharp green eyes showed character and intelligence as he carefully scanned the prairies around. His friends knew that he had a hot temper, just as well as they knew he had a heart of gold. He was a loyal person to have on your side, a man who could be just as gentle as he could rough.

But one of the most interesting things about Rowdy, Gil noted, was his uncanny way of finding trouble without trying. This was one of those days when Rowdy would prove just how accurate this observation was.

A small wood sat in the middle of the little green valley they were in, looking to be only about 2 acres in size. The small creek that ran through the land went straight through this wood. Gunner Valley was the name some of the people at the last town call it.

At the edge of the wood was a cabin peeking through the trees. Pete Nolan had seen it when he was scouting. It had seemed harmless enough, so he didn't think it necessary to bother the boss with it. There were just too many shacks across the country to go telling boss every time he came across one.

There did not seem to be any sign of life in the house, but Gil had not seen any point in crowding anyone if he was wrong. Thus, he ordered his men to keep the steers as far from the cabin as possible without driving the cattle up the hills. Gil's eyes wandered the land as he rode. He had heard that there was possibility of a rogue band of Indians around these parts. Pete had brought back word a few days ago that he had seen evidence of the natives, but nothing more. Gil still intended to be careful.

"Rowdy!" he called over the lowing of the cattle to his ramrod up ahead.

The younger man looked back to see his boss waving at him, and pulled his horse around. In no time, he was was beside Gil.

"Yeah, boss?"

Gil turned and nodded to the rear of the herd. "I want you to go back and keep and eye on things, make sure nobody's trying to sneak up on us from behind,"Favor replied,"This would be a bad place for us to get cornered."

"Sure thing, Mr. Favor,"Rowdy replied. He sent his horse forward with the flick of his heels, and was soon passing by the men riding drag. He kept a short distance behind them, keeping careful watch on his surroundings.

For the next half hour, nothing of interest happened. The cattle were nearly out of the valley now, and they would be out of this vulnerable spot. His eyes landed on the cabin one last time, before he turned to catch up with his herd. That was when a shot rang through the air, stopping him in his tracks.

It had come from the direction of the wood.

A shower of shots followed the first, but he did not seem to be the target.

What in tarnation could be going on?

Just then, a boy came flying out of the back door of the cabin. He was running just as fast as he possibly could, reckless and desperate. It was a miracle in itself that his hat didn't come flying off. More shots were fired, landing the the feet of the kid. In return, the boy pulled out a revolver from his gun belt and shot right back, as best as he could without slowing down. And he was heading straight for Rowdy. He was obviously is some deep trouble, and Rowdy - being Rowdy - could not simply stand by. He dug his heels into his horse's flank and sent it galloping for the boy. As he came closer, he could see the desperation in the kid's eyes. But the look of desperation suddenly changed to shock.

The kid lurched forward, one knee failing and dropping to the ground. A red spot quickly grew at the lower right side of his shirt. The boy struggled to get back to his feet, pressing his left hand to his side. But the attempt to continue failed, and he fell back on his knees. His eyes were starting to look vacant now, either from pain or loss of blood, but they were still glued to Rowdy. He weakly raised his small hand for the drover.

With the danger so evident now, many men might have turned back. But Rowdy was more determined than ever. He stooped in his saddle and circled around the fallen boy, grabbing his hand and pulling him up into the saddle behind his as the horse turned back to make for the herd. The stranger slumped against Rowdy, weak. He pressed his right hand against his side, and with his left hand clung to the front of Rowdy's shirt. His breathing was shallow, barely even there.

"Don't worry, I got ya..." came Rowdy's soothing voice.

In response, he felt the grip on his shirt tighten.

Mr. Favor and Pete had heard the shots, and galloped to meet Rowdy as he was approaching the herd.

"What happened?" Pete asked, looking behind Rowdy to make sure he was being pursued. Seeing nothing, he turned his eyes to the injured boy.

"I don't know, but someone must have wanted him dead."

"Take him Wishbone," Gil ordered.

They followed Rowdy as he made his way to the point of the herd, where the wagon was bouncing along.

"Wishbone!" Rowdy called, slowing to match the wagon's pace,"I need your help."

"Ahw, what now..." Wishbone grumbled, but pulled the horses to a stop as soon as he was what was hanging on to Rowdy.

He hopped off the wagon. "Well, pull him down here! We cain't have him bleedin' ta death!"

Gil climbed off his horse and crossed over to Rowdy. He pulled the young boy off of Rowdy's horse, having to prying the bloody fingers from Rowdy's shirt before it could be accomplished.

"Stick around, Rowdy," Gil said as he carried the boy to the back of the wagon,"I think the kid might appreciate it."

The boy was almost completely unconscious as Gil laid him down in the wagon. His face, which showed darker features, looked soft and young, and looked to be around 12 years old. His pants had dirt and blood staining it in several places, and his shirt was just as bad. The hat he wore looked a bit too big for his head, but Gil didn't bother taking it off right this minute. There were other things that needed to be addressed right now.

"Alright, alright, gimme some room, now," Wishbone pushed through to climb into the wagon. He started gathering the things he would need.

"What happened out there, Rowdy?" Gil asked as they stepped to the side.

The young man shook his head. "I heard gunshots, and then kid came tearin' out of that cabin running for me. Whoever was in those woods shot him."

Gil rubbed his jaw, thinking hard as he stared down into the dirt.

Meanwhile, inside the wagon Wishbone had settled down beside the wounded guest, all the things he would need organized within reach. He had already cleaned his hands off with some liquor, and stared unbuttoning the boy's shirt from the bottom up. When he pulled the shirt open, however, he immediately closed it up again jerking his now wide eyes up to look ahead. Something akin to shock radiated from them.

He sat frozen for a moment, thinking on what to do. Well, he couldn't very well just let his patient bleed to death.

It was several minutes that Gil, Pete, and Rowdy waited outside, discussing the whole matter. They stopped, however, when Wishbone peeked his head out of the wagon.

"Alright, I done all I can do," he said in that nearly grumbling voice that was to fond of using.

"Will he be alright?" Mr. Favor asked, stepping closer to the cook.

"Yeah, he'll be fine,"Wishbone replied, giving them all a scowl,"If by he you mean she."

"She?" Gil repeated, as if Wishbone had just said something ludicrous. Already he was pushing the canvas of the wagon back to look in, with Pete and Rowdy right at his heels.

There was a moment of silence as they all looked at what lay in the wagon.

Wishbone had taken the hat off, allowing a long, dark-chocolate braid to fall out. He had also buttoned the shirt back up, but had kept it un-tucked so that he could get to the wound. What lay in the wagon was not an unconscious little boy, but an unconscious young woman.

Pete slowly pulled his hat off, followed soon Rowdy. All three of the men stood with a look of awe on their faces, while Wishbone simply sat there with the usual irritated expression. But Rowdy's surprise was one that included a small but growing smile in his eyes.

"She," he replied softly.