Joseph Cartwright rode hard and fast. He could hear the gunshots whiz past him as they narrowly missed. He chanced a glance behind him and noticed his brother coming close behind his pursuers, and he spurred his horse on.
He quickly came across his father and the military posse, and reigned to a stop, all of them dismounting and drawing their weapons. They ducked behind brush and rocks, and were ready to fire, but Ben stopped them with a yell.
"My son is out there! If you shoot you're liable to hit him!"
"If we don't shoot, they're liable to hit him!"
Sergeant Miles shouted back, taking aim and firing.
"No! Adam!"
The impact threw the eldest son sideways from his saddle, and he convulsed as another bullet sliced into him.
"Adam!"
Joe jumped from his hiding place and sprinted to his brother, narrowly avoiding the bullets himself.
He ignored the frantic shouts of his father and the other men as he dragged his brother to safety, and the took out his gun and began shooting.
Miles ducked and ran over to Adam and Joe, shooting and hitting the ground alternately. He dropped to his knees before even coming to a full stop, and carefully cut Adam's jacket away from his arm.
Blood and water soaked into the mud and Adam's jeans from the wounds in his arm and leg.
"Thank God it wasn't my bullet. Thank God."
The posse rushed forward, having subdued the bandits, and gathered them to bring them in- the ones left alive, anyways; and Ben ran towards his son with Hoss right behind him, a stricken look on his face.
"Joe! Go get the Doc. Hurry! Miles… It wasn't your bullet, but it could've been. What part of 'Don't shoot' didn't you understand? Ugh… never mind that now. Hoss, ride to the house and fetch some blankets and tarp. Go boys!"
He knelt next to his son, cutting away his shirt sleeve and tossing it aside, and then cutting away a pant leg where the second bullet had hit, a few inches above his knee.