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The third time the sandy ground rose up and smacked him off his horse, Roy considered the possibility that he might not make it back to town.
He dismissed this consideration with all the practicality of a cowboy. If he made it, he made it. If he didn't, then he would be dead and that would be the end of that. No use worrying about it.
At Roy's signal, Trigger dutifully knelt down and this time, Roy draped himself across the saddle, threading his arm through the stirrup as Trigger rose to his feet and continued down the trail. At least this way, it wasn't as far to the ground.
--
A cactus was mocking him. The shadow of it lay just beside him in the dry sandy dirt. The midday sun beat down, and Roy closed his eyes, swallowing painfully.
In another minute, I'll get up and get my canteen from Trigger's saddle.
One minute turned into two. Trigger gave up waiting patiently and nuzzled Roy's gloved hand, before moving to bump his unbandaged shoulder more roughly.
But it was to no account. Roy didn't stir. Blood was soaking slowly through the makeshift bandage around his wounded shoulder.
A buzzard circled lazily overhead. Trigger took stock of the situation and settled in to wait beside his master.
--
More buzzards had joined the first by late afternoon, when Nellybelle's growling roar could be heard coming down the trail. Trigger's ears twitched at the sound.
When Pat Brady and Dale Evans came roaring around the corner, Dale riding Buttermilk in front of Pat's Jeep, Trigger whinied and stomped his hoof as if to say, "What took you so long?"
"Roy!" Dale exclaimed, dismounting quickly. Bullet was already nosing Roy's face, whining in apparent concern as Dale checked his neck for a pulse. It took longer than she would have liked to find the thready beat.
"Help me get him into Nellybelle, Pat."
It took some huffing and puffing, but they managed to get Roy in Nelly Belle. Bullet hopped in after him, and began licking his face and hands. "
Good work, Trigger," Pat told the palomino horse, patting his neck reassuringly. "Those buzzards sure had him pegged for their next meal!"
Trigger snorted, as if to say, "Not on my watch!"
Dale mounted Buttermilk, who was already prancing in anticipation.
"Pat, you take Roy and Trigger back to my ranch house. I'm going to ride for the doctor."
"Sure thing, Dale."
--
Roy slowly drifted back to consciousness, the warm smell of coffee tickling the edge of his awareness. He chanced opening his eyes.
As if on cue, Dale came in the bedroom door, holding a steaming cup of coffee. She practically crowed with delight seeing that Roy was awake.
"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes! I was just fixing up another pot of coffee, so I could sit up through the night with you again!"
Wincing with every movement, Roy made to sit up. Dale clicked her tongue disapprovingly but still came over to adjust the pillows and help him lean back against the headboard.
She handed him a glass of water, and he sipped from it gratefully as she made cheerful conversation.
"Well I'm glad you're actually awake. The last two times your eyes opened, you were delirious and talking half out of your mind. You had me AND Bullet whimpering with concern."
At the sound of his name, Bullet thumped his tail on the floor, from his place on the bedroom rug guarding his master's bed.
"What day is it?" Roy asked once he felt like his voice wouldn't crack from the dryness in his throat.
"It's been 2 and a half days since we found you."
Dale tilted her head, considering, before continuing, "And it's been one and a half since the sheriff came by with news that he caught those outlaws that ambushed you."
"They sure got me good," Roy commented, taking another sip of water, "I thought I was a goner for sure."
Dale nodded, "Well, we were afraid of the worst, but the doctor worked hard, and I prayed harder. Here, I'll get you something else to drink."
She bustled out of the room and came back with a steaming cup of something that was definitely NOT coffee. She laughed at Roy's disappointed face, and then laughed again at the sound of disgust he made when he took a sip.
"Dale, if I wanted to taste water with leaves in it, I would just go have a drink out of Trigger's trough!" He complained, but Dale just shushed him.
"Now you, just hush and drink that good chamomile tea. You're going to let me mother-hen you for a bit while you recover, or else my name isn't Dale Evans."
She frowned down at him, a suspiciously wet looking glimmer in her eyes, as she continued, "If you had only seen the way you looked lying there in the sand, with Trigger standing over you to keep the buzzards away..."
She trailed off with a stricken look on her face, and Roy quickly and obediently took another sip of the hot tea.
"Thank you for the tea, Dale. And -- "
He paused, his smile tired and a little sheepish, "Thanks for everything else."
Dale fluffed his pillows and smoothed a gentle had over his forehead, before taking the tea cup from his hands and setting it on the bedside table.
"You're welcome, Roy. I guess God knows what it would do to me if I lost you too soon."
The moment stretched between them, as fragile and warm as the steam from the hot tea.
Bullet came to the rescue as usual, getting up to put his wet nose between them, nosing their connected hands. Dale laughed and patted his head, before standing up to tidy a few things around the room.
The chamomile tea was taking effect. Roy stroked Bullet's soft ears and tried to keep his eyes open. But his whole body ached with exhaustion, and it was a losing battle.
Soon Dale dimmed the lamp, and helped him lie down again, before tucking the quilt snuggle around him.
"I'll be here if you need me, Roy."
"Sure, I'll send Bullet for help if I need it," Roy murmured, as he drifted off.
"Sounds like a tried and true plan," Dale smiled.
Bullet whined and wagged his tail. He couldn't agree more.