IT TOOK OVER TWO HOURS of hard riding to reach the spot Wally sought. “I found his horse over there,” he pointed ahead and to the left, “by that big cypress tree. “Soon as I did, I started looking for him. It was still sprinkling some and dark. The water was near to the top of the bank.” His voice lowered to a soft whisper. “I called out to him, but…”

Emma dismounted and walked to the edge of the creek, slipping in the mud as she stepped over a fallen tree to study the swirling waters below. “Still pretty high. Probably won’t be normal until tomorrow or the next day.”

She paced around the area, noting all the boot prints and hoof prints, saw where the water had crested the bank into the surrounding brush. “What about the gunshots? Henry said it looked like a bullet grazed Diablo.”

He nodded. “I was on night watch. Maybe five or so when I thought I heard a gunshot. The storm had passed us but I still heard some thunder so I wasn’t sure. When I heard it again, I knew it was a shot.”

She stood beside a tall pine, trying to decide what to do next when she saw a bullet hole in the tree. No mistaking it. The bark was splintered by the impact. Her heart jumped. The obvious question of who would shoot Ty was overshadowed by the why.

I have to find him!

“Ok. You go on back to the herd. I’ll take it from here.”

Wally shifted in the saddle. “No, ma’am. I can’t do that.”

She hesitated, then nodded, thankful for the company. “Tell me who looked where and we’ll go from there.”

Each taking a side, they trudged on foot along the edge of the creek, the brush making it too hard to traverse on horseback. They searched until darkness made it impossible to continue. With a heavy heart, she called a halt for the night.

Wally took care of the horses while she got a fire going. Soon the tangy smell of brewing coffee filled the air.

The young man ambled up to the pot and poured himself a cup. “Miss Emma, maybe after we rest a bit we could fashion some sort of torch and look some more.”

She considered the idea, then shook her head. “I’d like nothing better, Wally, but the fact is, these banks are steep, and the water is still high. We might walk right by and never see him.” She gazed off toward the churning waters, and drew a ragged breath. “We have to wait til first light. Then we’ll start again.”

Sleep was a long time coming and when it did, distressing dreams kept her from resting.

The next day dawned gray and overcast. Please…no more rain she prayed as they continued their search. Thankfully, the rain held off and the sun soon blazed hot, drying some of the mud, but remnants of the storm continued to hamper progress.

Uprooted trees, a drowned calf, and someone’s milk bucket hung in the dense brush emphasized the power of the raging storm. The thought of Ty being caught up in its torrent turned her insides cold.

She had no idea how far they traveled from where Diablo was found. She just kept walking, one foot in front of the other, digging through brush that tore her fingers and scrapped her skin. Several times, they had to expand the search where the flood waters crested higher, moving out to the abundant underbrush.

By sundown, she was exhausted, covered in mud and loosing hope.

Wally snared a rabbit and cooked it for their supper.

She forced herself to eat, washing it down with strong coffee, knowing she needed the nourishment to continue, but anxiety and fear made each swallow difficult.

The growing sense of loss went beyond tears.

Around noon the next day, she spotted a bit of blue cloth snagged on the limb of a downed tree hanging near the edge of the bank. The same blue as Ty’s shirt…and stained with blood. She fell to her knees and clutched it to her heart, alternately thrilled and terrified, unable to stop shaking as she rocked back and forth, holding it against her chest.

Please, God, let him be alive. Let him be alive.

“Miss Emma!” cried Wally from the other side of the creek, “are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?”

It took tremendous effort to stand. “I’m fine. I found a piece of his shirt snagged on a tree limb.”

“I ain’t seen nothin’ over here. Soon as I find a spot to cross over, I’ll help you look on your side a ways.”

The underbrush was not as thick through this section and they made better time, but found no further trace of Ty.

The surge of hope she experienced on finding that scrap of cloth faded with the setting sun. Pain squeezed her heart and sorrow overwhelmed her.

Oh God! He’s gone. I may never find him.

Wally stood uncomfortably by and watched as she shattered into a million pieces, holding the bloodied fabric to her broken heart.

He slipped off into the shadows, leaving her alone as she submitted to the grief. She tried to smother the sobs, but anguish overpowered her.

When there was nothing left, she lay down on the bare ground, curled her knees to her chest and fell into a fitful sleep.

“Miss Emma! Miss Emma! Wake up!”

Wally’s frantic voice filtered in through the fog of heartache but she refused to wake, unwilling to face a new day without Ty.

A rough shake of her shoulder gave her no choice.

“You gotta get up, ma’am. I found ‘im. I found ‘im!”

She jerked upright. “What?”

“I found ‘im!” His freckled face was by turns happy and sad. “But we gotta hurry. He’s hurt real bad, but he’s alive! Just like you said, Miss Emma! He’s alive!”

She jumped up and grabbed him by the shoulders. “He’s alive?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His Adams’ apple bobbed wildly up and down as he talked. “Not too far from here.” He stepped away from her and grabbed a burning log from the fire. “We gotta hurry, though. Not much light.” Wally took off downstream and left her to follow.

He led the way around dense brush, fallen trees and rotten logs to a spot where the steep banks of the creek smoothed out to level ground.

“Somehow he made it out and up to a log over there. I almost missed ‘im.”

She rushed past him and dropped to her knees, tears of joy streaming down her face when she saw him lying face down behind the trunk of a fallen tree, one arm wrapped around a gnarled branch.

“Ty! Ty!” She gently shook him but he didn’t respond.

“He’s out cold, ma’am. I tried and tried to wake him but he won’t.”

“Help me roll him over.”

They got him on his back and she stifled a gasp. Dried blood covered his face and a deep cut slashed across his forehead. His shirt and pants were torn, bloody and caked with mud. A quick inspection confirmed her fears. “Looks like two bullet wounds. One in his shoulder and one in his thigh. I can’t tell if it’s still there or went through.” She sat back on her heels and looked at Wally. “I think the mud is helping staunch the flow of blood so I’m not going to mess with it right now. Fever’s already started. We need to get him home.”

“You stay here, ma’am. I’ll rig up a travois.”

The bulky contraption Indians used to convey people and supplies through the dense undergrowth was difficult for them to manage, so Wally left to get one of the horses. An hour later, they had him back at their camp.

But he didn’t wake up.

She heated some water and bathed the gash on his forehead, thankful it appeared to be nothing more than a graze, refusing to acknowledge how easily it could’ve killed him. She opted not to tackle his other wounds at this point for fear of causing the bleeding to start up again.

His skin burned hot all over as the fever continued to rise. She mixed some willow bark tea from Lupe’s provisions and hoped to get a spoonful through compressed lips, to no avail. She filled a canteen with the brew and saved it for later.

He’ll wake up. He has to.

“We need to head home as soon as possible.” Wally’s calm voice was the only thing keeping her grounded right now. “Tonight even. I can ride ahead and get a wagon, then head back toward you if you think you can handle him alone.”

“We are at least two days out from the ranch at the rate we can travel.”

“I know, but I could be there before morning and head back with help. Once we got him in a wagon, we can make better time and be home by tomorrow night.”

She considered options and realized there weren’t any. “Take Midnight, she’s faster. I’ll ride your horse. We’ll hook the travois up to the other one.”

In less than an hour, they were ready to go.

“Keep the creek on your left, ma’am, just like how we got here. Moon will be up in an hour or so. It’s waning but will give you some light.”

She nodded, unable to speak past the fear choking her.

“Keep your rifle handy, too.”

His words hit hard. Whoever did this was still out there.

She nodded again.

“He’ll make it, Miss Emma. He made it this far, he’ll make it the rest of the way.”

“I hope so, Wally. I hope so.”

Wally waited until she was mounted before he spurred Midnight toward home.

With one last look at her husband, she urged her horse into a slow walk.

The mournful call of a whippoorwill floated along the evening breeze reminding of something Lupe once said. “Each time you hear a whippoorwills’ call, it means another angel just got their wings.”

Swallowing the sob wedged in her throat, she cast tearful her eyes upward. “Please don’t take him from me, Lord. Please. Don’t take him from me.”