Disclaimer: Frank and Hidalgo do not not belong to me, and I make no money whatever from this story.

Lost chapter 13

There was no real trick to firing with your left hand. Frank could do it well enough, though his right hand draw was slicker. But when push came to shove he was accurate enough with his left hand. Re-loading was going to be another matter.

He fired two spaced shots and made Eagleton step back a pace or two.

"Don't come no further, mister," Frank shouted, looking round for Sheriff Fischer. At least he was higher up than Eagleton, and had some sort of cover.

"I don't intend to, cowboy. You need to come down here. Your sheriff's bleeding like a stuck pig. You want him to live, you come down here."

That, Frank quickly decided, would be suicide. Then the sheriff would be dead and he would be too, which was hardly a step in the right direction.

He kept quiet and shuffled slowly to his right, keeping low and out of sight and ignoring Eagleton's further threats to kill the sheriff. By slipping a little further down he could see Fischer, who was sprawled on his back in the dirt but was already moving. Eagleton didn't seem to have a clear shot at him but was walking slowly to where Frank had last been.

The sheriff shook his head and looked round, spotting Frank almost immediately. Frank signalled 'stay down' and 'keep quiet' and considered his options. He needed Eagleton alive and preferably unharmed. He also needed him willing to confess, and maybe another couple of witnesses. All of which was a tall order in the circumstances.

He watched as Fischer took off his neckerchief and dabbed at a wound on his forehead, the one that had removed him from the action for a couple of minutes. If they'd only had time to make some sort of plan.

How many shots had Eagleton fired? Frank thought hard and counted four. Or possibly three. He grabbed a branch and shook it, hard, and was rewarded with another bullet, which was near enough for him to pull back his hand as if he'd been snake bit. Did the man have two left, or three? And what the hell was he doing just standing there?

"You need me alive, don't you, cowboy. And I need you dead. Interesting situation," Eagleton said, looking around him.

Frank studied the terrain carefully, ignoring the man. He had few options. But one more opened up when he saw Hidalgo, obediently ground tied but alert, ears pricked. Frank needed a distraction, and there it was. If he could use it without risking injury to his horse.

Frank readied himself. It was awkward, running unbalanced, but it would have to work. He stood, fired once and got Eagleton's attention right away. Then Frank whistled the 'come here' signal to Hidalgo and ran as fast as he could straight at Eagleton.

In a single moment his fate was balanced on the edge of a knife. It only needed him to be fractionally in the wrong place, Hidalgo to be a second late, the sheriff to interfere. In the time it took to try to put himself in the right place, Frank was aware of three things: one, that Hidalgo had run straight for him, shouldering past Eagleton and nearly throwing him to the ground; two, that Eagleton had fired twice and then once more, wildly, and three, that he was now looking at Eagleton, who lay on his back on the ground, his eyes closed. Spots of blood were decorating his white shirt in a pattern that Frank suddenly found fascinating. He was brought back to the present when the sheriff grabbed his arm and started shouting at him.

"Frank! He's had enough! Frank!"

Only then did Frank fully realise that he was kneeling on Eagleton's chest, his gun pressed up against Eagleton's face, and the man had his eyes closed, probably because he was scared Frank was going to pull the trigger.

Frank eased his weight off the man who, big as he was, hadn't been able to stand up to horse and master.

"Where's he hit?" Frank asked, looking again at the red spots still appearing on Eagleton's shirt.

"Huh? Let me see," the sheriff said, still dabbing at his own head wound. Frank allowed him to move in close and check the man who lay still on the cold ground. Frank eased back further, removing Eagleton's gun and throwing it away before he reached for Hidalgo's trailing reins.

"Whoa there, pardner. You did real good, little brother, real good." He stood and began to check Hidalgo for any damage but found him whole and untroubled.

"I can't see nothin' wrong with him," the sheriff reported, puzzled. "I'll handcuff him and we'll take him with us to his ranch – see what we can find there. You want me to reload for ya?" The sheriff was busy handcuffing Eagleton, who remained silent.

"Yeah, thanks," Frank said, feeling the fight drain away from him. "You think they'll still be there?"

"Frank," the sheriff said. "You feelin' okay?"

"Yeah," he answered, preparing to mount Hidalgo.

"You know there's blood on your shirt?"

"There is?" he said, startled, looking down. He hadn't felt anything wrong until that moment. With his arm still cradled across his chest it was difficult to see anything.

The sheriff was too busy with Eagleton to help out. Frank felt around then found a sore place in his side, right above the waist of his pants. His shirt was warm and damp, and his hand came away blotched with red.

"Damn," he said. Then, "Lil's goin' to kill me."

So it took a little longer than it might otherwise have done to get their little party organised. But manage they did, with Eagleton tied to his horse, the sheriff sporting a neckerchief tied round his forehead and Frank grimly holding his own neckerchief to the graze in his side and trying to juggle the reins at the same time. He was feeling light-headed but it didn't seem to him that he was losing much blood now. Maybe he could get away with keeping it quiet. He was picturing the scene, him standing there admitting he'd not been able to dodge trouble, her fighting mad, pulling off his shirt and then threading a large needle. It was an embarrassing yet somehow reassuring image, and he comforted himself with it as he tried to adjust to Hidalgo's trot.

"You gettin' on all right there, Frank?" said the sheriff, keeping a close eye on his prisoner.

"I always thought my horse had an easy gait," Frank said ruefully. "Beginning to think I need me another form of transport." He shifted in the saddle again, causing Hidalgo to change lead foot. "Ow, horse – you gotta stop doin' that!" Frank grumbled but Hidalgo took no notice of him.

Up ahead a straggle of buildings, all looking new and somewhat temporary, told Frank they had reached Eagleton's ranch. He was glad the sheriff was in charge. He was feeling decidedly poorly, though he managed to make his presence felt with a gun reloaded by the sheriff held steadily in his left hand. He tried to focus, and saw two ranch hands go into one of the huts and then re-appear, pushing another guy in front of them.

He couldn't be this lucky. He just couldn't be. He was watching Eagleton's own men being handed to the sheriff without an argument. He listened to what the sheriff was being told. The guys who were handing over two shame-faced men were there before, the ranch hands Eagleton had taken on with the ranch, and they had been none too happy with the way they'd been treated. It took them about ten seconds to decide which side they were on.

"Glad to see that back of ya, Mister Eagleton," one of the hands shouted at the big man on his black horse. Eagleton scowled. "Ain't no amount of money going to hold me back from testifyin' against ya!"

Frank was tired, more tired than he cared to admit even to himself. And here they were, a long string of men on horses, riding at long last back onto Mr Watson's land. Sheriff Fischer had handled the whole situation real well, and they had plenty of help now. There were four prisoners, the three men Frank had seen setting the fire, one with Frank's bullethole in him, and Eagleton, who was sitting as tall in the saddle as he could.

They rode right up to the ranch house, one wing of which seemed alive with slapping tarps and men sawing and hammering, repairing the damage from a fire that now seemed years past. He began to look for Lilian the moment they were close enough – yes, there she was, and she was waving and running towards him, then standing right by his boot, looking up at him and seeing the blood as she pulled back his coat. She grimaced but she didn't tell him off.

"Hey," she said softly. "You bin bein' heroic again there, Frank?"

"Nah. Hidalgo did good, though," Frank replied, wondering when they'd let him sit down somewhere more comfortable. "And the sheriff. I only managed to be in the wrong place again." He liked it when she put her hand on his leg.

"Got the sheriff on your side, eh? Smart move, Frank T."

"I thought so. You think the old man'll listen to him? He didn't do much listenin' to me. Or you."

"I hope so. If he don't, we're both goin' a long way from here."

"Both?"

"Yeah. Both. That all right with you?"

"That's all right with me," Frank confirmed with a small nod of the head. "Yup. Would rather stay here, though." The world was getting a little muzzy. A nice steady chair. A drink of something – yeah, that'd be good. What were they waiting for?

"Okay. You goin' to stay up there, or you plannin' to fall off? Because if you are, I'll just get out of your way."

Frank considered what to say. He looked down at Lilian, whose half-amused, half-concerned look decided him.

"I reckon I'd better get off. If the old man ain't goin' to shoot me if I do, that is."

"I think you're safe. You've gone awful pale. Come on, cowboy, get out of that saddle."

With a groan he gathered himself and manoeuvred round. It wasn't easy, with an aching arm and a sore side, not to mention the burns across his shoulders.

Lilian echoed his thoughts. "Well – that's three, Frank. Maybe you're due for a change now."

"Three?"

"Yeah, arm, back, now this. I think you're going to need some more bed rest."

"You think I need undressin' again, ma'am?" He hardly knew what he was saying, and managed only a half-hearted grin at his effort to make a joke. He now stood, and she was very close. He wanted to wrap his coat round both of them and for everyone else to go away.

He heard her, "Looks like it," before he felt hands turn him, then steer him, supporting him on both sides until he wondered if he was being held captive again. He searched behind him for Lilian, his agitation confusing him further, but she was right there, following along, and she smiled at him so that he knew she had everything under control.

Back in the bunkhouse he went, and was led this time behind the curtained-off area and eased onto the bed. Mrs Watson was there and she smiled at him, and Frank knew it was she who had helped Lilian pack a bag for him, so that he would survive out in the wild. Then Lil was helping him take off his boots, his coat and easing his shirt away from his wound until she made him suck in his breath.

"It's okay, Frank, I'll go and get some water and soak this off you. Boys, you get his pants off him and lay him down, all right?"

She was gone and he surrendered himself again. He felt as if his life, his recent life, consisted mainly of giving over control to other people and, odd though it was, it didn't worry him.

The momentary embarrassment over, he was lying on cool sheets and it was absolute bliss. He closed his eyes and began to drift until he felt a hand on his forehead, then a warm cloth being used to soak his shirt away from his side. He heard some murmured instructions then the fiery, brief agony as his wound was sewn up. Four stitches. Not too bad. When it was done, he was helped to sit and a bandage was wrapped round him.

"All done, Frank T. You get some sleep now."

Nothing to do now but obey the lady. So he did.