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OUTSIDE, SAVAGE BROUGHT the horses around. He avoided looking at Stiles as he handed Sally’s reins over to him. “We need to head back if we want to arrive before nightfall.”
They had only ridden a few yards away from the station when the first shot rang out.
“Shit!” Savage roared and grabbed his right arm.
Stiles was a few yards ahead when he heard Savage’s shout. He looked back to see Savage holding his shoulder. Turning Sally, he headed back. Before he reached Savage another shot rang out, hitting the ground close to Savage’s horse. The animal startled and reared, throwing his rider to the ground. The scared horse ran off into the distance, away from the gunshots continuing to ring out. Sally was becoming jittery. The shots were getting closer to Stiles and his horse. The next shot pushed his hat off his head. He leapt from his horse and slapped Sally’s flank, encouraging her to run. Stiles reached Savage just as another bullet lodged in the ground next to the fallen man.
“Behind the shack,” Savage barked.
The shots continued to rain down, hitting the shack and the ground around it. Then suddenly, the shots stopped coming at them. They could still hear the sound of gunfire, but at least the barrage was not aimed at them. Stiles looked over at Savage. The man was gripping his shoulder tightly. Blood trickled down his shirtsleeve between his fingers.
“Let me take a look at your wound,” Stiles said, pushing Savage forward to see if the bullet had lodged in the man’s shoulder or had passed through.
Sucking in a raw breath, Stiles eyed the gaping hole in the meaty flesh of Savage’s upper shoulder. Though Savage had been pressing his hand to the wound, it would take more than that small amount of pressure to stop the flow of blood.
“The good news is, the bullet went all the way through. I won’t have to dig it out.”
“The bad news?” Savage grimaced as Stiles let him lie back against the shack.
“The bad news is, the hole in the back of your shoulder is twice the size of the entrance wound and it’s bleeding profusely.”
“It’s nothing,” Savage stated as if he wasn’t in pain.
“Bloody hell, man. We’ve got to get the bleeding—” A clap of something that sounded like thunder, far in the distance, silenced Stiles.
Savage’s eyes widened and he looked at Stiles. The sound of hooves beating the earth grew more intense. The ground around them began to shake. The first steer ran past the shack to their left.
“Stampede!”
Stiles barely heard the word. The deafening cries coming from the cattle as they moved rapidly across the plains grew louder, making it impossible to hear one another. Miraculously, the herd divided itself into two halves, one racing to the left of the station shack and one to the right. Dust kicked up on all sides of the shack as the cattle ran past them.
Stiles watched the commotion in amazement. Though he found it nearly unbelievable, he and Savage seemed to be completely safe where they were huddled down in the dirt, pressed as close to the shack’s back wall as they could get. Savage held his hat over his face, blocking the dust, dirt, and debris flying up and covering them, while Stiles buried his head in his arms. When the last cow could be heard far off, bellowing after the rest, Stiles sat up and looked at the havoc caused by the stampede.
The shack was still standing, but the well had been trampled. Trees and shrubs lay uprooted along the path the herd had taken. He expected to see riders approaching the station at any moment, but no one came. Whoever had fired those last shots had set the herd stampeding.
Their horses were nowhere in sight. Stiles hoped they were okay. They were going to need them if he and Savage had a chance of getting back to the ranch. No one would miss them until morning. Savage was going to need real medical attention, and soon. Stiles could patch him up some, but he was going to need stitches to keep him from bleeding out.
“Those last shots were not meant for us,” Stiles said as he looked down at Savage. His face, drained of color, showed a scowl set deep on his lips. “Come on,” Stiles said tugging gently at him to stand.
“Find the horses,” Savage spat out in response. “We’ve got to get back.”
There was a large dark brown stain on the clapboards of the shack where Savage had been reclining. No way in hell could the man ride on horseback in his present condition. He was losing too much blood.
“I’ll find the horses after I get you into bed and get the bleeding stopped, or at least slowed down.” Stiles tried to help Savage move, but Savage fought him the whole time.
“Go after the goddamned horses,” Savage said gruffly, and shuddered as pain shot through his body.
“Stop arguing with me. We both know you wouldn’t make it five miles before you blacked out.” Stiles gripped Savage’s waist tightly. “Now get your arse inside the bloody shack.”
It was a struggle, but Stiles finally got the stubborn man indoors. Removing his shirt wasn’t easy. Yet positioning him in the small bed where Stiles could examine him was even worse. He needed to be able to work on the exit wound where the blood flowed more freely.
“This will hurt,” Stiles warned as he probed the open hole. Blood quickly covered his fingers.
“Shit!”
After wiping the blood from his hands and helping Savage relax as much as possible, Stiles told him what he suspected.
“The good news is, I didn’t feel any shards of bone.”
Savage grunted some kind of response.
“Bad news: this hole is big and it’s bleeding too much.”
Stiles took the blanket at the foot of the bed and tore off several long strips of the material. Folding a strip into a tight patch, he placed it against the front of Savage’s shoulder. “Hold this.”
Surprising Stiles, Savage did as he was told without argument.
Stiles took two more strips and folded them into a square patch large enough to cover the two-inch opening in Savage’s back.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, then pushed the patch against the wound with as much pressure as he could muster.
Savage’s entire body shuddered. He bellowed curses, one after another, as Stiles continued to apply the steady pressure on the wound.
“If only I had some kind of disinfectant,” Stiles muttered to himself.
“Saddlebags. Whiskey.” Savage’s word were no longer gruff and arrogant. He was growing weaker.
“That means leaving you alone to go find them. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Go.” The word was barely a breath.
Stiles rolled Savage onto his back. He hoped the man’s own body weight would keep enough pressure on the wound. Savage was pale, and sweat dripped off his face and bare chest. He was in pain, no matter what mask he put on.
“I’ll be back.”
Savage’s only answer was a stiff nod.
FINDING THE HORSES took longer than Stiles had hoped. It was dusk before he got them and headed back to the station shack. He spotted a jackrabbit in a copse of trees. Dinner.
The only light in the shack was from the fire Stiles had managed to start. The flames left the room in a soft glow. Stiles watched as Savage cursed and tried to turn over in the bed. He’d been stirring for a while. More curses followed. He stilled long enough to turn his head toward Stiles.
“What’s that smell?”
“Dinner. You hungry?”
Frustration crossed Savage’s face as he twisted in the bed and tried to set up. He cringed and held his breath as he struggled. Eventually, he glanced at Stiles. “Help.”
Stiles smiled to himself. He left the chair he’d been sitting in and crossed the room. He brushed his hand lightly over Savage’s brow. No fever. That was good. It took a great deal of painful movements before he had Savage sitting upright in the bed. He motioned for him to bend forward and checked the last patch he had applied to the back of his shoulder. This one was nearly clean compared to the other three compresses he had previously applied. That was very good.
“What?”
Stiles decided if Savage’s one-word sentences weren’t so annoying, they’d be comical.
“Looks like the bleeding has slowed and no sign of a fever. Guess you’ll live.”
Savage answered with a grumbled word Stiles didn’t understand.
Stiles crossed the room to the fireplace where he had cooked the rabbit and was keeping it warm. Having eaten hours ago, he’d kept most of it for Savage. He fixed a plate for him. Luckily there had been basic cooking and eating utensils in the small shack and he’d been able to start the fire fairly easily to roast the rabbit.
Savage accepted the plate and dug into the meat. He’d been out for hours. Stiles estimated it was near midnight. There was no window in the shack, so neither man could see outside. As Stiles pulled the only chair in the room closer to the bed, Savage spoke up between mouthfuls.
“Horses ready to go?”
“We’re not going anywhere until morning,” Stiles replied.
“Like hell—”
“Like hell is right. Do you remember at all what happened to us today, or is it simply your stubborn arse getting in the way?” Stiles glared at him.
Savage shot Stiles a hard look, chewing slowly before he answered, “I remember being shot, the cattle being scattered, and you going after the horses. What the hell took you so long anyway?”
“I was only gone an hour or so, and you were out cold when I got back. Still bleeding. You did wake up when I washed out the wound with the whiskey from your saddlebag.”
“I remember that. You enjoyed it too much.”
Stiles couldn’t prevent a grin. “Then you drank down half the bottle and passed out. That was hours ago. I was outside before you woke up and the moon was nearly overhead. It’s close to midnight.”
Savage took another bite of the rabbit meat. “Any whiskey left?” he asked. “To wash the rabbit down.”
Stiles smiled at him this time and retrieved the bottle.
Savage took it and swallowed.
“We need to get some sleep if we’re going to head out of here at first light,” Savage suggested.
Stiles couldn’t help it. He laughed. Savage was back to giving orders as if nothing had happened to him. He nodded in agreement. After putting the plate away and tamping down the fire, he propped his feet on the end of the bed and closed his eyes. He didn’t have to look up when he heard Savage’s breathing deepen and become soft snores to know he was out again.