DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters from Louis L'Amour's book The Lonely Men

When I opened my eyes everything at first was fuzzy and seemed to have a whitish glow. I thought maybe I was in heaven, but I wasn't quite sure if I could have made it there so I decided I must still be alive. Then my vision cleared and I found myself staring up at a hard wood ceiling.

I tried to think.

Where was I? What had happened? Slowly it came back to me. We were trying to get out of Mexico, Spanish Murphy, Tell Sackett and I. Tampico Rocca had died, Tell had said that, or had he? My memory was still fuzzy but I was pretty sure he had. Spanish had been hurt pretty bad, ever since we ran down that sandy slope he hadn't said a word because he'd been unconscious when Tell found him, and never woke up when we were riding.

Then I remembered riding into an Indian camp shooting we'd run right through it only Sackett fell off his horse, and with us running as fast as we could, we'd left him there. A sinking feeling tugged at my stomach. I'd left him there. I should have gone back.

I tried to think about what happened after that, Spanish's horse was tied to Tell's Black and we got separated. I remembered Indians coming out of the brush and that I'd been shot, more than once, beyond that, nothing.

But that still didn't explain where I was. Then I heard a step.

I sat up so suddenly that my head started swimming. A middle aged Mexican Woman was standing in the room.

"Where am I?" I demanded, saddening more panicked then I intended too.

"You are at my house, I live here with my husband." She said it as if she'd said it many times and was tired of having to say it again.

My second question was, "How long have I been here?"

"Sixteen days now," She replied with a sigh, "You are lucky to be alive, we had to take five bullets out of you, and one we didn't because it went all the way through your shoulder."

"What?" I was stunned, "Sixteen days!?

Her face seemed to light up a little, "Perhaps you are not as lost as we thought. My husband swore you would die. Do you remember nothing?"

"I remember up to being shot. I was asleep for sixteen days?"

"No, no. You woke up every once in a while, asked the same questions every time, you ate something sometimes and pass out again."

"Thank you. You saved me. I am sorry that I stayed so long, I think I will leave now." Slowly I stood up, "Did you keep my horse?"

"Your horse is dead. Dead when we found you."

I said nothing, but I was irritated, how many horses did I have to have shot out from under me? That was the third time that had happened this year. I thanked her again and then I went outside. The sun was rising in front of me.

I was alive.

After the whole trip of running from the Apaches and fighting, riding as fast as we could, the heat of the desert, dying of thirst, I'd made it out alive.

The Mexican women came back out, "I would give you a horse but I only have one."

"How far is Tucson?"

"It is fifteen miles to the southeast."

That was good news to hear, I'd been afraid I was still in Mexico and I didn't like the idea of walking out. Walking fifteen miles to Tucson, seemed like nothing right then. I excepted the canteen full of water she gave me, and I started to walk.

When I got to town in was well past four O'clock and I was swearing up and down that once I got a horse I would never come back to Arizona, Mexico, or even New Mexico. The heat was just down right unbearable.

I stopped in the shade and leaned against the saloon. I needed a plan of action. Here I was in a town, which was great, but I had no money, no horse, and let's face it, no friends.

Even though I was broke I walked into the saloon. I needed information. If Spanish was alive, which I almost doubted, it was probable that he'd come here to find the rest of us. I also wanted to be sure that girl got the kids to safety.

Everyone who looked at me just merely glanced at me as if they weren't very interested in who came in, but everyone who did look, looked again.

I probably looked a sight, I hadn't shaved in sixteen days and I'd been wearing the same clothes which meant I was probably soaked with dry blood. I'd apparently been shot six times and I probably looked like I had been too.

With everyone staring it made me want to see what I looked like, so I glanced down out myself. Besides the fact that I had obviously been in a losing battle I wasn't much. I stood just six feet tall and I was leaning slightly to the right, my left leg was bothering me a bit, I had cuts and scrapes all over me, my right hand was bandaged up and my boots were falling apart.

If I'd have still had my hat I would have pulled it low over my face just then, but I'd lost it long ago so I couldn't. The bad thing was that I was broke and needed a job, and who was going to hire a man who looked like I did?

I walked up to the bar, most everyone by now was trying to mind their own business but everyone kept glancing at me while they talked and I had a pretty good feeling they were talking about me.

The bar tenders back had been to me but he turned around now wiping his hands on a towel and asked, "What can I get you?" Then he stopped short and just looked at me.

"Information," I said.

He hesitated, "About what?"

"Spanish Murphy, I'd like to know his whereabouts." The room got so quite you could have heard a pin drop. All eyes seemed to shift and look at the far right corner of the room, I turned around so I could look too.

Three Mexicans had been sitting there, but they were standing up now, Murphy was not one of them.

"Spanish Murphy is a friend of ours. And he is my brother."

"Is?" I asked, hopefully.

"I should have said 'was'." He replied coldly.

So he was dead? I was the only survivor among us? Sackett might have lived, he was a strong man. But last I saw him he was as good as a prisoner of the Apache, and I knew what that meant.

"So," The Mexican continued, "Just why are you asking after him? It has almost been a month since he died. Everyone knows about it, why don't you?"

I thought about replying but I decided I had something more important to say. No one knew we were going into Mexico, and if everyone knew about it now, that could only mean one thing. Someone made it back.

I turned quickly back around to face the Bartender, "Did those kids get rescued from Mexico?" I demanded sharply.

He was startled, "Yes...but if you didn't know…how did you…know?"

"Who brought them in?"

"A girl named Dorset," he replied, still looking at me in confusion.

"How 'bout Sackett? Did Tell make it back?"

"Yeah, Sackett took a job for Pete Kitchen just a few days ago and rode out."

Tell was alive! And I'd only missed him by a few days! Pete Kitchen's? I had to get there as fast as possible, I had one living friend in the world it seemed and my best bet was to find him. There was only one problem, Pete's kitchen was nearly a hundred miles away, and I had no horse.