"Turn 'em!" shouted Favor over the wind and the beat of hundreds of hooves.
Yates hauled on the reins of his horse, steering him into the flood of cattle before them.
Suddenly, a crack of thunder sounded. His horse reared up and Yates was thrown from the saddle.
Dazed, he staggered to his feet.
A second later, a steer slammed into him. He felt sharp horn pierce him and realized distantly that he was screaming.
He was dragged a short way before the cow tossed its head, throwing Yates to the mud.
Favor was shouting something unintelligible.
Another wave of the beasts washed over him and he disappeared beneath sharp hooves.
Above the thunder of the stampede, Favor could hear high shrieking.
Then the cries cut off sharply.
The trail boss dragged on the reins and turned his own horse into the stampede. The herd parted around him, and he saw a broken, bloodied wreck lying on the ground a few feet away.
"Rowdy!"
The stream of cattle thinned to a trickle, and finally vanished over a nearby ridge.
Favor dismounted and ran to Yates.
The man was panting, eyes half-closed, as rain-diluted scarlet ran down from the cuts in his forehead and cheek, and from his swelling broken nose. Other than that,the kid didn't look too bad—
Favor drew in a sharp breath.
Blood gushed from between shaking fingers through a ragged hole in Yates' ribs.
Favor threw himself down next to his ramrod, untied his neck kerchief quick as he could and, pulling Yates' hands away from the wound, pressed it to the injury.
Yates hissed through clenched teeth.
Favor continued pressing the cloth over the wound, determined to stem the flow of life from the other.
The ramrod pushed weakly at Favor's hand for a moment, then his hand dropped. Eyelids fluttering down, he began to relax.
"No, no… come on, now. You stay with me, boy!"
Favor looked around, desperate.
"Scarlet! Pete! Anybody… Get Wishbone!"
No answer.
The rain pattered softly down onto the hoof-marked plain.
A soft voice slurred, "Mr. Favor?"
The trail boss bent down.
"I'm here, Rowdy."
The ramrod peered up at Favor, panting and blinking the rain away.
"I think I'm dyin', boss… I'm scared."
"Ain't nobody dying on my watch, you least of all. You just… just hang on 'til Wishbone gets here."
Yates' breathing was quick and shallow, and there was a tinge of crimson in his mouth.
"Listen, boss… I'm real sorry. I'm just real sorry."
Favor shook his head.
"Rowdy, there ain't nothin' to be sorry about. You done good for this outfit, for me…"
Yates sighed, and let go.
"Rowdy?"
The younger man didn't stir.
"...Rowdy?" whispered the trail boss.
Disbelieving, Favor grasped the other's shirt, shaking him slightly. Yates' head lolled in the mud, lifeless eyes staring up at the grey clouds, mouth agape.
Favor peeled away the bloody handkerchief from the wound. He found a clean corner of the cloth and began gingerly wiping the blood from Yates' nose and mouth, and the cuts on his face.
When he finished, he started to fold the kerchief, but realized it was useless and simply dropped it into the mud.
Yates was still staring up into the rain, so Favor reached out with a shaking hand, and pulled the man's eyelids down over his unseeing eyes.
His hands were red.
He sat, staring at his hands for a few moments, unable to think about what had happened but unable to get his ramrod's cries out of his head.
Finally, gentle and slow, Favor gathered up Yates' limp body into his arms, and rested his own head on Yates' unbreathing chest.
There the trail boss sat, statue-still, holding his ramrod until the others rode in hours later.