Chapter 2 – An Encounter

From where he had fallen off his horse, the only thing he could do was stare up at the sky, which was now slowly growing darker. Night already? Spending a night on the plains was a bad idea – especially since there was nowhere to shelter, and he'd been shot in his thigh. The blood would attract wolves, or even cougars or even – knowing his current streak of bad luck – make the bison stampede. He didn't know which would be worse. He'd rested in the shallow dip of a hill after he'd fallen, but he knew he couldn't stay there forever.

Damn poachers. He'd found them trying to catch some of the bison he had tasked himself with protecting and he'd given chase on his mare, Crae. In the ensuing mayhem and gunfire, he'd managed to shoot dead one man of twelve before he himself took a bullet wound to his left leg, fallen off his horse and been left for dead.

However, Andrew Marcus considered himself a level-headed man and knew that things could have been a lot worse. For example, he could have been missing his water bottle or not have had his rifle with him. Besides, he thought, Crae's a good mare. She would go straight home, and the others would realize that something was wrong. Then, they would come find him.

It was only a matter of when they would come.

But they would come. They'd find him…

Hours he'd lain there, during which time he'd torn the right sleeve off his shirt and tied as a tourniquet round the wound. No good trying to get the bullet out on his own, he reckoned. The thing felt like it'd buried itself in bone. Marcus realized that he would be lucky if he got to keep his leg. The bleeding had slowed, the blood begun to congeal but Marcus felt weak; tired, even.

"Ya jus' gotta hang on till they find you, Marcus," he told himself. And then louder, "I ain't gonna die!"

There wasn't any response, and neither was there an echo. The plains were a lonely place to be. The sun dipped lower in the west, to the right of where he lay. He closed his eyes wearily, wishing he could just fall asleep and rest… But he knew he couldn't. Marcus knew he had to stay vigilant; especially now, when he was injured. But even so, he found himself slipping in and out of consciousness, dreaming strange and lucid dreams. And it was as he was dreaming, that he thought he heard a noise – he thought he heard footfalls.

Marcus jerked awake, his heart beating faster. Had he been dreaming…? He didn't know but he wanted to.

"Hey! Who's there?" he called out.

All he heard was the rustle of the wind through the grass.

"I heard you!" he exclaimed when there was no reply. "Who's there?!"

"Just a passer-by." Replied a deep voice.

And at that moment, Marcus almost swore. He hadn't expected anyone to be there – much less respond. He craned his neck, trying to spot the newcomer but to no avail; it seemed that whoever it was, he was staying out of sight by waiting behind the rise of the hill.

"I see you're armed." The man observed.

"Who the hell are you?!" Marcus demanded, nerves getting to him. Because what kind of person roamed the plains at dusk?

"No one you need concern yourself with." There was a pause. "You're hurt…?"

"Yeah," Marcus grunted. "I've been shot in my leg."

"Hmm…" The stranger rumbled, "You know how to get out of here?" The voice was thoughtful.

"… Uh… Yeah; yeah, I do." Marcus nodded.

"Alright, then what do you say to a deal?"

"… What do you want?" Marcus asked, his voice suspicious.

"I need to find the nearest town – you can show me – and I can get you some much-needed medical attention." The stranger told him.

"… Fine."

And then the stranger began to walk again. Marcus couldn't help but count the footsteps – one, two, three, four. Wait, WHAT?! Did this guy have four feet or what? Or… no – he must be on a horse – of course…

But then a bison walked into his line of view and Marcus stared at it dumbly.

Damn, was it big. It must have stood about six and a half feet, and that was excluding its hump. Most likely it was male and was – unusually – completely black-furred and a lot less shaggy than other bison he'd seen. Strangest, though, was the sheathed… thing on its back. Underneath the sheath were tucked folded clothes. Oh, and the bison had what appeared to be metal plating along its forelegs and seemed to be wearing pants.

Marcus stared at the bison and it stared back at him with eyes that looked too human. There was no one riding the bison; no one walking alongside it… So who had Marcus been talking to?!

Aw hell. This wasn't one of those animal spirits, was it? Slowly, Marcus pulled himself back and away from the bison that had moved to stand in front of him. As he did so, the bison's eyes narrowed marginally at him. Those eyes… they looked too human…

"That's it," Marcus concluded. "I've gone crazy. Or I'm dead – pretty sure there're talkin' bison in God's country," he laughed.

The bison looked at him almost quizzically. And then it spoke.

"Are you suffering from dehydration or sunstroke?" It was the same voice Marcus'd been talking to earlier.

He'd been talking to a bison. As he realized this, Marcus nodded, accepting it with a calm smile. A talking bison… Who'd have thought…? And then he snapped.

"Aw hell, no!" He burst and the bison drew back, "I'm goin' crazy – that's the only explanation – 'cause there is no goddamn way that I am talkin' to a bison!"

The bison in question merely looked at him.

"Wait, wait – I'm hallucinating – ha – that's it… Or I'm dreaming… yeah, dreamin'. Just gotta… gotta wake an'… and it'll all be jus' fine…!" Marcus laughed wildly.

"You're delirious." The bison stated flatly.

"'Course I'm delirious!" Marcus snapped, "I gotta be delirious if I would dream up somethin' like you – and stop talkin'…! Bison ain't supposed ta talk!"

"Fine," the bison harrumphed, "though why you people overreact so much is beyond me."

The bison then – somewhat moodily, it would seem – walked behind him and out of Marcus' line of view. In the meantime, Marcus didn't know what to think or even what to do for that matter. He stared at the first stars that were appearing slowly in the east and at the darkening landscape beyond. Because it was so quiet, Marcus reached the hesitant conclusion that he had been hallucinating. And it was then that a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared and held out his hand towards him; an offer of help. A moment's deliberation was all it took, and then Marcus grasped the hand and was hauled to his feet.

As, he did, he felt a stab of pain from his thigh and winced involuntarily.

"The sooner we find you a doctor, the better," the newcomer said, almost to himself.

Marcus turned to look at the man, distraught. Because as the newcomer had spoken, he had spoken with the same voice as the bison.

"Aw shit. Yer the bison, aren't ya?" He asked.

"Yes," the man admitted with a sigh. "I'm the bison."

"Knew it." Marcus grinned.

And then he passed out.