When we got to Yakima, the doctor said that there was nothing he could do.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pursing his lips and shaking his head.

“Sir,” I replied, “I walked this horse five miles through the rain and the mud to get her to you. She’s got strength in her. She’ll live, if you treat her.”

“There’s a bullet in her neck! She can barely stand!” he protested. “I’m sorry, son, but there’s just no way. I’d have to get that bullet out. And clean the wound. And stitch it up. Ain’t no horse gonna put up with that. Ain’t enough whiskey or morphine in the world to keep a horse calm enough to get through all that.”

“I’ll keep her calm for you, doctor. And I’ll keep her standing. Please, sir.”

“She’ll have to be still. She’ll have to be still through it all. Ain’t no way she’s gonna stand still if I’m digging a bullet out and putting in stitches.”

“She’ll stay still, sir. If I ask her to. She’ll do it for me. Please.”

Doc Stevens had been home, eating his lunch, when I’d come a-knocking. We were standing just outside his front door. Sarah was standing, head bowed, in his little front yard. She was a sure enough sorry-looking sight. One side of her was covered all in mud from where she’d been lying. The other was caked in dried blood from her bullet wound.

The doctor shook his head, looking at her. He looked back at me. He blew out his breath.

“Fine. I’ll do what I can, if you can keep her standing, and standing still.”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you!”

He held up a hand.

“Don’t thank me, son. I’m telling you, she ain’t gonna make it. She’s lost a lot of blood, and she’s about to lose even more. But we’ll do what we can. Bring her on around to the stable in the back. I’ll get my things.”

The stable was dark and musty and smelled like it was seldom used. The doctor brought a flickering lantern in with him and hung it from a hook, casting a yellow light into the cramped space.

“All right,” he said, zipping open a black leather bag and pulling out a variety of metal tools. “Let’s get to it. I’ll work just as long as she can stay still. When she gets to bucking and stomping, I’m putting her down. It’d be cruel not to.”

I swallowed. My broken heart quivered at his words, but I kept my voice as strong as I could.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

I stood right in front of my Sarah, right square in front of her. I put both my hands on her cheeks and bent in close, locking my eyes on hers, big and brown. Her breathing calmed, and we both stood, each looking at the other.

“Stay with me, Sarah,” I whispered right down into her heart. “Stay right here with me.”

The doctor moved around over by her neck, over by that bleeding bullet hole. His hands came up, each holding metal. He paused, and from the corners of my eyes I could see him look up at me.

“You ready, son?”

I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead up against Sarah’s. I held her head tight in my hands. I touched my lips to the coarse fur of her nose. I said every prayer I’ve ever said or am ever gonna say, without saying a word. I felt for her heartbeat through my hands and found it and held it and added my own into it, so we were together.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “We are ready.”

And with a sigh and a breath, the doctor went to work.

Sarah tightened under my hands. Her muscles went all taut and her head started to pull back but I held it tight. I opened my eyes and looked right into hers and I held her tight, and strong, and steady.

“Easy,” I whispered. “Easy, girl. Stay with me, Sarah.”

Her eyes rolled and her nostrils flared and her breath came hot and fast but she stayed with me. She held steady with me. Her lips curled and her mouth opened but she stayed with me.

“That’s it. That’s it.” I scratched at her jaw with my fingernails and kept my palms tight and warm against her.

“All right,” the doctor said, stepping back and wiping at his forehead with his sleeve. “The bullet’s out. Now I’ll have to clean it. That’ll sting something awful. Then it’s stitches.”

“Go, sir. We’re ready.”

He cracked his knuckles and reached for more tools and a little bottle.

“Here we go,” he said.

Sarah stomped and her head reared back, but I caught her and held her. She let out a whinny, high and hurting, but I held her and she stayed still for me. I blinked away the tears that sprang to my eyes.

“It’s all right, Sarah. It’s all right.” I squeezed my eyes shut and my head dropped down against hers and I let the tears seep through my lashes and down my cheeks. “It’s all right, girl.”

I could hear Doc Stevens working, could hear him bustling and breathing and licking his lips. He was hurrying as best he could, I could tell, and I was grateful.

“Almost there,” he said. I let go my hard grip on Sarah’s head. I rubbed my hands in slow, soft circles on her neck, her jaw, her cheeks. I whispered words to her, words of comfort and words of memory and words of promise. I blinked into her eyes and she blinked back into mine and we stayed together. We stayed together, Sarah and me, amidst all the world around us.

“Done,” the doctor said, and a weepy, almost-crying kind of smile came to my face. I half laughed, half sobbed, and wiped my tears off on Sarah’s nose. The doctor took a step back and mopped his brow. His arms hung slack at his sides and he looked at me, shaking his head.

“Son,” he said, “I declare I have never seen anything like that in all my days. A horse, standing still for stitches like that. And not bucking or kicking or nothing. Never seen anything like it.”

“Well, you ain’t never seen nothing like my Sarah,” I said.

“I have,” he answered. “I have seen plenty of horses in my day, all kinds. What I have never seen the likes of is you and that horse, together.”

He sat back on a stool against the wall. Sweat was dripping down his neck and showing through on his shirt. I rested my cheek on Sarah’s head and smiled.

“Now, son. We got the bullet out. And she’s still standing. But that’s about it. If I was a bettin’ man, I wouldn’t put my money on her making it through the night. I don’t want your hopes up, is what I’m saying. Your horse is still more than likely gonna die.”

“No,” I said, calm. “She’s not.”

The doctor shrugged.

“Well. We’ll see. Come on inside, son. I’ll get you something to eat.”

“No, thank you, sir. I’ll stay with her, if that’s all right.”

He shrugged again.

“Suit yourself. There’s oats in the bin there and the well’s out back. If you can get anything in her, that’d be good. I’ll check on you both this evening.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” He patted Sarah on her back. “Good luck, horse.”

*  *  *

I did not leave Sarah’s stall the rest of that whole day. Or the night that followed, cold as it was. The good doctor brought me a blanket and some food and I slept right there on the stable floor, in a pile of straw, with my horse. I remembered Papa, never leaving Mama and Katie’s side. And Ah-Kee never leaving Mrs. Davidson. Taking care is what we do, I s’pose. It’s all we can do, really. All we can do is be there. And sometimes that’s enough.

I kept waking all night long, jumping up with a start and feeling for Sarah in the darkness, reaching for her to make sure she was still standing, still with me. And she was, every time.

At some point I must have finally fallen into a sure enough deep sleep, because I awoke to the doctor creaking open the stable door and letting in the light of full-on morning. I jumped right up to my feet.

Sarah was there, still standing, but with her head low and her mouth open, breathing ragged.

“Well, I’ll be,” the doctor said, slapping Sarah lightly on the rump. “Look who’s still here. Glad to see I was wrong about you again, horse.” He looked over at me, rubbing my eyes and yawning the sleep out of my head. “There’s someone here to see you.”

The sheriff walked in and nodded at me. His tall frame filled up the shadowy stable.

“Morning, son,” he said, holding out his hand. I shook it and nodded back.

“Good morning, sir.” He cocked an eyebrow at Sarah and shook his head. “I see this horse of yours is still breathing,” he said, with a half smile hiding under his bushy mustache. “She’s making me look pretty foolish.”

“No, sir.” I grinned back. “But I s’pose she’s making me look pretty smart.”

He chuckled and held an envelope out to me.

I took it, then looked inside. I gasped. In the envelope was money. And plenty of it.

“What’s this, sir?”

“That there is your reward, paid by the U.S. Marshal and the State of Washington. For the capture of one Caleb A. Fawney. Two hundred and fifty dollars, paid in full. Doc here is my witness.”

I blinked and swallowed and looked up at him.

He frowned.

“I kinda thought you’d be pleased. That’s a nice little sum of money.”

“Yes, sir. It’s just … well, how I got it, I s’pose. I never thought I’d kill a man, is all. And I certainly never thought I’d get paid for it.”

“Huh. Well, if it eases your mind any, you didn’t kill Caleb Fawney.”

“He’s alive?”

“Nope. Not remotely. But Mr. Caleb Fawney died by his own hand, technically speaking. Shot himself as my posse rode up on him. Your shot didn’t do him any good, but the fatal bullet came from his own gun.”

“But I took his gun.”

“Seems he had another. Little derringer. Reward’s still yours, though, as the one most responsible for his death and capture. Congratulations, son.”

I looked at the money, thinking. Fawney’d had another gun the whole time. He could’ve pulled it on me, could have shot me for spite or revenge or to try one last desperate escape. But instead he’d shared a drink with me, and wished me luck. And given me his hat.

I cleared a scratch from my throat.

“I owe Mr. Campbell,” I said. “For my horse here.”

The sheriff shook his head.

“John Campbell is already halfway to Walla Walla. Told me to thank you sincerely for getting him his money back, and that if anyone owes anyone anything, it’s him owing you. The horse, he said, was already yours. He was pretty darn impressed with your grit, and he wishes you and your horse here the best.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly. I bent down and put the envelope into my satchel.

“So, where’s your home, son?”

I looked down at the dirt stable floor. I didn’t have no home. I didn’t have no nothing, except for Sarah. I reached up and put my hands on her. She lowered her head and nuzzled my neck, soft and warm.

“She’s right here,” I answered. “Sarah here is my home.”

The sheriff’s eyebrows furrowed down.

“You ain’t got somewhere to go?” he asked, his voice gruff. “Some family somewhere?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have the words for it. I kept my eyes and my hands on my horse.

“Well,” the doctor said, “you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need, Joseph.”

“Thank you,” I said, still looking at Sarah. “I appreciate that, sir.”

“Will you come in for some breakfast, then?”

“No, sir. Thank you. I think I’ll stay here with Sarah.”

“I figured. I’ll bring something out. And, Joseph … she ain’t out of the woods. She’s made it longer than I thought, but she’s still not eating, and she’s getting weaker all the time. You need to prepare yourself. She’s put up a helluva fight—you both have—but the odds are still that she ain’t gonna make it. You understand that?”

I nodded without looking up at him.

The sheriff shook my hand and wished me luck, and the two men left.

I stood there with Sarah. And she stood there with me. She rubbed her nose up against my shoulder. I scratched at her mane.

“Don’t you go leaving me, girl,” I whispered. “We’re all that we’ve got, me and you.”

*  *  *

Doc Stevens kept bringing me food, out there in the stable. Breakfast, and then lunch, and then a dinner. But it wasn’t my eating I was worried about.

Then, finally, as the sun was setting and the night chill was coming on, Sarah did it. She shoved her nose in the feedbag I’d been offering her every hour and she started munching on those oats. My heart went right to thumping and I don’t know if it was a half-beat or a whole but it was sure enough a happy beat.

I almost danced and sang right there, but I had to hold that feedbag for her.

“That’s it!” I whisper-sang. “Eat up, girl! Eat up!” Sarah chewed her way right through that sack of oats and then, with big, slopping licks, she emptied the bucket of water I held up to her.

Tears were in my eyes, but for the first time in as long as I could remember they were happy tears.

I fed my Sarah on and off all night. Any time I woke up in that darkness I’d call her name and fumble for the bag and hold it out to her for as long as she ate.

When the doctor came in the morning I jumped right up.

“She’s eating, Doc! She’s been eating oats all night!”

The doctor raised his eyebrows.

“How much?”

I held up the feedbag.

“Three of these! And three buckets of water, too!”

The doctor looked at Sarah. She looked better, there weren’t no doubt about it. Her head was higher. Her ears perkier. Her eyes brighter. The doctor smiled.

“Well, I’ll be,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll be.”

“So she’s gonna be all right? She’s gonna get better?”

Doc Stevens rubbed a thoughtful hand across Sarah’s flank.

“I reckon she will, son.” He shook his head again and laughed, just a little laugh. “I reckon she will. Now will you finally come on out of this barn and let this horse be alone for just a while?”

I wrapped my arms around Sarah’s neck, a smile on my face to match the peace in my heart.

“I reckon I won’t, Doc. I reckon I won’t.”

“Yep. I don’t s’pose I would, either.”

The doctor left, after taking a look under Sarah’s bandages. He reckoned it’d be a couple more days before she’d be ready to do any traveling.

When he left, I sat down in my straw bed, back up against the stable wall. In a couple days, then, I’d be free to go. I’d have no horse to chase, no debt to pay, no man to find. No place to go.

I had my horse. And I had some money. And my papa’s pistol. And a little black bird. And an outlaw’s hat. But that was about it.

What I didn’t have was a home.

But I s’pose, maybe, I had an idea.