1

It was one of those peculiar sights that Joe simply couldn't reckon without investigation. He sat his horse at the top of the rise, midway to Reno, and watched the wagon tear across the empty rock and scrub brush. The wheels were so dry they were smoking, and before he could get to the horses, the wheels began to burn. Joe had his knife out of his boot before he left the saddle, and cut at the traces as quickly as he could, fighting the bucking of the wagon, and the horses.

One of the animals pulled free and took off, startling Cochise, Chub, Sport and Buck. By the time he got the second animal free, the back of the wagon was completely engulfed. Joe climbed into the driver's seat, shielding his face from the flames and heat, trying to see what the wagon held. He spotted crates, nestled in and containing straw, and the glimmer of glass bottles with a clear liquid in them.

Only three or four things looked like water, but would need so much protection, and most of those things didn't respond well to fire. Joe lept from the wagon, started Cochise into a trot, and used momentum and gravity to get himself into the saddle, riding hard away from the buckboard. The string of horses he'd been leading followed close behind.

He was at a good distance when the wagon went up but he still saw pieces of wood and glass fly by him, and his ears were ringing painfully from the blast. Joe sat on his dancing horse, staring at the wagon, or what was left of it. He waited until the fire had begun to die before he tried passing by it to get to the draft horses.

He stepped down from the saddle and talked softly to the first animal, coming up to it slowly and gathering the reins it had been trailing. The gunshot came from the rocks half-a-mile away. Joe was facing the rocks when he heard the sound and he saw the puff of smoke drifting on the wind after. The horse he held jolted and kicked, then stumbled and went down. Joe's first instinct was to draw his six-shooter but he knew it was useless. He bolted for Cochise, intent on either escape or finding cover and someplace to make use of his rifle.

Joe made it into the saddle then felt hot lead bite into his back. The bullet went in low, just above the line of his gunbelt on his left hip, and tore out the front. Joe's body jolted, his heels kicking Cochise into a run. Joe curled over the saddle horn, held on with his knees and his hands, and did his best to find a way to breathe.

Cochise ran, pulling the other horses with him for nearly a mile before Joe found an outcropping that he could hide himself and the horses in. Joe had to get down on the right side and he did it slow and easy, talking to his skittish horse the whole time. He worked on loosing the knot that had kept the other horses with him, directing them back into the narrow canyon he'd found. He let Cochise go with them once he had his rifle and canteen. Leaning on the rock wall, Joe backed away from the entrance and into the shadows, easing his way to a good spot from which he could pick off anybody chasing him. He checked overhead and behind, making sure he had good cover before he leaned the rifle against a rock and looked to the wound that had soaked his left side down to his ankle.

Joe pulled his kerchief down from around his neck and used his teeth to tear it in half. He wadded one piece, then pinched and twisted part of it into a point. This he directed at the hole to the left of his belly button, pushing the cloth into the wound a ways to help plug it up and form a scab. Doing the same for the wound on his back was difficult but he found a way, feeling with his fingers until he was sure both were in place. Joe untucked his shirt and tore a strip off the bottom to tie the bandages in place.

The wound care had taken time, more than enough time for anyone on his trail to have found where he was hiding. Joe had done nothing at all to hide the tracks, because there hadn't been time.

He was only a few miles from Washoe, but being the nearest inhabited town, if anyone was still after him that would be the first place they'd looked. Going back out to Virginia City was a much longer haul, but he'd have more friends there. More protection. Pressing on to Reno, where he was to meet his Pa and brothers with the horses would mean crossing that same patch of ground, or going miles out of his way to avoid it.

Joe looked down to his makeshift bandage to see how bad the wound was bleeding. "Not too bad." He said to himself, but he knew the saddle would agitate it plenty, no matter how easy he rode. "Reno, Virginia City, or Washoe. What do you think fellas?" Joe asked the horses. Chub was looking for something to eat, Buck shook his head against the bridle, Cochise snorted and Sport ignored him. "You guys are no help."

He was trapped by indecision and no little fear, but moving now was better than moving later. Joe limped to the horses and retied the leads, then pulled himself carefully into the saddle. Just the little time he'd taken to bandage the wound had given it the chance to start aching horribly. Joe desperately wanted to take off his gun belt but didn't dare put his gun any further out of reach. He pulled the rifle from the scabbard and held it in front of him, then eased Cochise back out of the canyon, his eyes as wide as silver dollars.

He still hadn't made up his mind when he edged Cochise' nose out into the open. He headed east, trying to find a way to ride the horse and favor his hip at the same time. It didn't work and he was forced to either walk Cochise or walk himself. The pain began to exhaust him within the hour. By the second hour he had already turned north, hoping he was far enough away from the bunch so touchy about a wagon full of explosives that they would shoot one of their own horses, and the man trying to save those horses, just to keep it.

The wagon was in smithereens by now, Joe could hardly understand what the value of it was. Maybe they thought he was trying to steal the horses? Maybe somebody just had a touchy trigger finger? Maybe somebody deserved to be back shot and left out in the middle of nowhere just so they would remember not to do such things the next time.

Joe was a sorry, sweating, pain filled mess by the third hour. The muscles in his back, forced to compensate for the way he sat his saddle, were a twisted knot and Joe wasn't sure he would ever sit up straight again. His side was on fire, just a constant, low, hard burn that nothing he did would put out. Part of his left leg had gone numb, either from how he was sitting or some medical reason he couldn't fathom.

Joe came to a stop at a fence line, then guided Cochise to follow that fence back west, hoping he'd find a gate, and then a house, and then a nice cool bed, with a kind soul possessing whiskey and lemonade. The thought of that combination would have had Joe's mouth watering if it hadn't been so dry. He clung to the saddle until the fence turned, then redirected Cochise and went back to clinging to the saddle.

The pain in his side had started to elicit verbal responses that Joe couldn't control. His hat was suddenly too heavy for his head and his jacket felt like it had grown into his skin like an extra layer of winter fat. It was too damn hot and Joe wanted nothing more than to disrobe. Cochise kept walking, he kept hanging on. When the break in the fence finally came, it was along with two narrow-shouldered ranch hands, struggling with a post that they hadn't dug a deep enough hole for.

Joe could spot the problems with their technique easily, and in his mind he was correcting them. What the 'hands' heard were a series of muttered comments before the young man dumped himself on the ground, one foot still trapped in a stirrup.

Becky looked at the string of dust covered horses the man had been leading, then to the wet smear of blood going down the side of the man's horse.

"He's hurt bad. Real bad." She said.

Her sister, Sarah, straightened from the pole she'd just dragged out of the shallow hole and eyed the gun on the boy's belt. "That's what comes from gun play." She said sternly.

Becky glared at her sister then stepped over the tangle of barbed wire and went to the boy. She soothed the horse so that the animal would stand still long enough for her to free the boy's boot, then knelt by him. She had, at first, thought this was a much younger man but she realized he had to be about her age.

She felt the heat coming from his forehead, then parted his jacket and looked to the bandaged wound. "Sarah, we can't leave him here. You should get back to the house and get the buggy. Tell Jenny to ride into Reno for a doctor."

"That would take hours and she has chores to do." Sarah said, stepping over the barbed wire and kneeling by her sister. "It can't be that bad." She looked at the blood soaked bandage then peeled it back and winced involuntarily at the red flesh beneath. "We can't afford a doctor any more than we can afford a man dyin', might as well pick the lesser of two evils." Sarah stood and kicked the barbed wire out of the way before walking the pinto and the line of horses onto their property. She stepped up into the saddle of her bay and took off for the house, the horses stringing behind.

Becky got her canteen and the light blue kerchief she'd just finished the embroidery on the other night. She doused the cloth and wiped the dirt and sweat from the man's face and cheeks, cooling off his neck and chest, best she could. The ministrations seemed to bring him around a little and she stared at the softest, brownest eyes she'd ever seen. Her older sisters abused her all the time for falling for men. Said anything in britches would turn her fancy, so Becky did her upmost not to fall for those eyes. Or the sweet, plump lips, the round cheeks, the strong shoulders she could feel under her cloth.

Becky did her very best for ten minutes before she started to wonder what this man would look like in a black suit. Or no suit. "You just hang on, mister. My sister's gone for the buggy, and my other sister will get the doc out of Reno lickety split."

"R-reno?"

"Yep. It's only fifteen mile from here."

"My p...my pa's in Reno."

"Really? Ya'll from there?"

The man shook his head, which confused Becky a little, but she poured more water onto the cloth and patted it over the man's face.

"Well..what's your Pa's name?" Becky asked. She realized that the man's eyes were following the canteen and she blushed fiercely, embarrassed that she hadn't offered him a drink. She guided his head up and put the canteen to his lips and he drank slow and careful, like he'd done it before.

"Ben Cartwright." The man said. "I'm Joe."

"I'm Becky. That was Sarah, my sister. And Jenny is my other sister."

Joe nodded, his eyes closing. Becky made sure he wasn't about to die on her, letting her fingers rest against his chest to check on his breathing. It also felt good to rest her hands on his chest.

"Sarah took your horses. We can put them up in the barn for ya."

Joe didn't respond, but he was still breathing. Becky sat back on her heels and pouted a little, looking over her shoulder, then all around. Seemed he had been alone, and it seemed like whoever had shot him wasn't hanging around either. She wondered if he wasn't a horse thief, stringing all those horses along after him. All it would take was checking the brands of course.

Becky went back to soaking the cloth, hoping it would bring Joe around again. Even a slow conversation was better than nothing, but the man remained stubbornly unconscious. When she checked the wound he mumbled a bit and she thought he might have been coming around, but she heard nary a peep from him for the rest of the next thirty minutes.

Sarah came with the buggy and between them they were able to hoist him up into the back seat. Becky sat with him to keep him upright and Sarah drove them back to the ranch house.

"Jenny go into town yet?" Becky asked.

"No. She said she wanted to stay with ma, so I'm going to go."

"This man said his name was Joe Cartwright. And he said his pa's name was Ben Cartwright, and that he's in Reno."

"They live there?"

Becky shook her head then said, "No. Maybe just visitin'. But maybe the sheriff would know."

"I'll ask." Sarah said. "We'll put him in the guest house. Best to boil some water and clean up that wound. Looks like he stuffed those bandages into the holes. That's where that infection is coming from."

"Sure is warm." Becky said.

"And you mind yourself around him. We don't know him from Adam." Sarah chided.

"Yes, sister." Becky said. She started to roll her eyes but stopped when Sarah cast a glance back at her.

"I told you not to roll your eyes. Only old men and gamblers roll their eyes, not young ladies."

"Some things require a girl to roll her eyes." Becky retorted.

"None of those things are the type that get a girl married."

"Phooey." Becky said. "Whose gonna find a man to marry out in this dust heap."

They rode the rest of the way in silence. When they got to the small cabin that had once been their first home, Joe was awake enough to walk some. Becky got Joe into the cabin on her own, shooing Sarah in the direction of the city. "And don't forget his pa!" Becky shouted, missing the pained wince from Joe or the fact that she had just shouted it in his ear.

She coaxed the wounded man into the one room cabin and over to a bed that had four pillows and a quilt. "This is the guest house. We used to live in it once. All five of us. But then we got a good herd of goats in and we could afford a bigger place. So we use it now for guests. It has it's own pump and everything."

Becky went to close the door then started a fire in the stove in the corner, and set water on to boil. "My sisters and I used to sleep on beds that we hung from the rafters. We would put them up and take them down every night. And when it was rainy, sometimes the rain would soak down the ropes and into the canvas of our beds, and we would be sick all the time."

Becky went and tugged on one boot, then on the other, wincing at the pitiful moans that followed each action. She straightened with her hands on her hips for a second, then went after the gunbelt. She got the buckle undone but when she tried to take it out from under him, Joe yelped and jerked on the bed like he'd been bit. Becky realized the problem when she noticed that Joe had his holster on the left hand side. The butt of the gun was now smeared with blood from where she'd accidentally hit the wound with it.

"Sorry.." She whispered, going to the other side of the bed and gently pulling the belt through that way. "That's a funny place to keep your gun mister. Unless I guess you're wrong handed. My sister Jenny is wrong handed, too. Was something awful for her in school, having to learn to write with her right hand instead. She learned both ways, and she likes to show it off sometimes. But Ma yells at her. Says it isn't lady-like to show off that way."

Next Becky went after the jacket.

"Could...could you get me...a d-drink of water?" Joe asked after the second tug on his jacket sent hot, white lightning through his side. He met the young woman's eyes under the shade of the ranch hat she'd been wearing and added a weak smile and a, "Please.." He saw the girl blush again.

"Of course...I'm sorry. I have a single mindedness that my Ma says is gonna be the death of me someday." Becky went to the pump and filled a cup with clean water then dashed back to the bed, lifting Joe's head again, though it seemed he'd regained enough strength to lift his head and shoulders off the quilt. Joe gently took the cup from the girl and drank from it, savoring the taste both for the pure joy of it, and to give himself time.

"Do you think..I could just rest for a spell?" He asked.

The girl had pulled a chair to the side of the bed and she sat on it, her eyes bright. She had the longest lashes he'd ever seen, with curls of blonde hair slipping out from under the hat. Joe thought she was cute, if talkative.

"No.." Becky said. "I don't think that would be good. My sister Sarah says that we need to clean out that wound right away. I need to get you outta that jacket and shirt. At least."

"Well...I..I'm feeling mighty refreshed. I think I can handle, gettin' these things off...if you had something else you had to do." Joe said. "Just give me about fifteen minutes of privacy and...I'll be ready."

Becky's lips scrunched up into a bow, her eyes narrowing. "I don't know who you are, mister, really. And that sounds like the sort of thing a man might say if he had somethin' to hide."

Joe's play for a chance to just sleep was slipping through his fingers, and his ability to make it look like he had energy and strength was waning with every minute. "I...I don't have a thing to hide. I'm Joe Cartwright, I told you that right out. I even told you where you could find my Pa, and my two brothers. I just...I'm a man, and a man has his pride. And a prideful man doesn't let a lady take his clothes off...when he can do it hisself."

Becky had begun to blush and Joe figured he had her. "I'm going to take your gun though." She said, reaching for the gunbelt and playing her thumb over the buckle.

"That's...that's alright. Be careful with it." Joe said, trying a smile.

Becky narrowed her eyes in response, but stood slowly, the coiled gunbelt unspooling as she pulled it off the bed. Joe started to sit up, rolling toward his wounded side to make the distance shorter. His boots hit the floor at about the time that Becky yanked the rest of the belt off the bed. He heard his gun clear leather, heard the hammer hit the floor, then a gunshot that exploded in the small space like a powder keg. He felt the bullet hit the calf of his right leg, jumped, then fell off the bed entirely, landing in the narrow space between the bed frame and the wall. There he could see his gun where it had fallen out of the holster, a victim of gravity.

Becky was on the floor too, where she'd fallen back, tripping over the chair and landing on the seat of her jeans. She lay down on her side to peer under the edge of the quilt, wincing. "You okay, Joe?"

"No." Joe whined.

"I guess it was loaded."

"Of course it was loaded! Why would I carry a gun that wasn't loaded!"

"Well we don't leave the rifles loaded!" Becky retorted angrily.

Joe moaned. "You shot my leg."

Becky bared her teeth and hissed softly in sympathy. "Sure am sorry about that."

"You're sorry."

Becky got to her feet and went around the end of the bed, looking down at the mess she had made. "Guess I'll have to take your pants off now, too."