I've slid off my horse and am running before I even realize it when I see Rowdy's horse stumble and Rowdy tumble from his saddle into the maelstrom of dust and stampeding beeves. Reaching the thick, burgundy puddle that is beginning to pool around him, I grab him under the arms and use the momentum of my slide to get us both to safety behind an old dead stump, covering him with my own body, pressing us both against the small protection offered by the stump. I hold my breath and wait, for what feels like an eternity, as the deafening sound of three thousand terrified beeves' hooves go around and over us in their fear to get away.

I force myself to ignore the groans of pain that escape his lips when the noise and dust from the stampeding hooves finally die away as I rise and quickly tear his bloodied shirt open.

There is so much blood covering his stomach it is, at first, impossible for me to find the wound. I tug my bandana free and quickly wipe away the gore to expose the jagged wound. The blood loss is great but not so much to cause the pool of blood that is quickly surrounding us, soaking the ground and my pants legs as I lean over him.

My chest tightens as I realize what this probably means and I mumble an apology, warning him of what I must do. He closes his eyes and nods, biting down on his bottom lip as he somehow endures the agony of being moved.

I roll him as gently as I can, cringing when I hear him cry out, pulling up his blood-drenched shirt in the same movement. The exit wound is ragged, much larger than I expected, one of the terrified beeves' horns had gored right through his stomach and exited his back, probably as he had struggled to rise to his feet in a desperate attempt not to be trampled. It must have tossed him loose as it ran to get away.

I freeze, momentarily shocked and terrified at the sight, my hand hovering just above the wound as my mind tries desperately to remember what I need to do.

"Bad…, Boss?" The weakly spoken question breaks through my shock, and I look down at the too young a face for a drover that I have come to know so well.

I force a smile as I press my hands against the wounds, trying to not show him my true emotions as I swallow back the sob that is sitting in my throat as he cries out again and pulls away. I'm his boss and he is my ramrod. No, he is much more than just my ramrod on a cattle drive to Sedalia, he has become one of my closest friends. I shake my head and force myself to speak, trying desperately to keep my voice from breaking. "No, it's just a scratch. I bet Wishbone will have ya all fixed up by suppertime."

He nods weakly at my reply, his unfaltering trust in my words tears at my heart and I silently pray as hard as I can that that trust will not be broken. He whimpers again in pain as my hand continues to apply pressure to his wounds. I know he is trying his best to stay still just as I know how much pain I am causing. Yet I can still feel his warm blood trickling through my fingers no matter how much pressure I apply. I search my mind for something to say, of some way to apologize. I knew the beeves were restless with the approaching storm and that the smallest sound would make 'em run. I should have kept pushing them until they were too tired to even stand. Now it is me who bites my lip and tries to hide my pain.

He looks back up at me, his normally vibrant green eyes now tired and dull. "Ain't… your fault…Mr Favor." He whispers as his eyes slowly close, reading my mind even now.