There was no doubt about where the first bullet had hit, because the throbbing in my head told me. There idght he a hole in it, but I did not want to know.
Another rock ahead, and I crawled on. Then a juniper tree. I crawled … and then I passed out. I awakened in the dark, and this time I crawled toward a low star somewhere ahead of me. It was a reddish star … Mars, maybe. I’d heard that Mars was a red planet.
But crawling on, I somehow got too close to a bank and rolled over, hit bottom, or seemed to; a rock gave way and I fell straight down, landing with a thud. Pain shot through my skull and I passed out once again.
The sun was hot when I tried to open my eyes.
My hands were thick and heavy. There was nothing in my mouth but a dry stick where my tonpe should be.
I was lying in the bottom of a narrow gulch.
Looking up, I could see where I had fallen .
all of six feet.
Above there was the sunlight and the sky, the lovely clear blue sky. I rolled over on my belly and looked down the gulch. Rocks, water-worn and smooth, small rocks, huge boulders, with two banks rising high above me.
Vashti I was going back to Vashti. I had started out to go there, and she would be waiting. I crawled again, and something hammered inside my skull, waves of heat and cold swept over me. My hands were ugly to look at, the blood was stiff with sand and gravel and gray dust.
No longer did I sense clearly whether it was night or day. Dimly I chose rocks, junipers, anything to crawl to.
I chewed on leaves. I tore at a prickly pear, ripping my bloody hands on its thorns, but crushing some of the pulp into my mouth. It was sticky, but wet.
And again in the heat there were those shadows that passed over me. I finally crawled into a hollow under a rock and lay there for some minutes with my eyes closed.
The sand was damp, and with my bloody hands, I dug into it until soaking blobs of sand came up, and I lay in the wet sand drinking in the coolness through my dry, parched skin. Water was around my hand.
My hand was in water.
It was slowly seeping in, it was muddy, but it was water.
I lowered my sore face into it, drank a little, then drew back away from it. After a while I drank again. I bathed my face with it, bathed the blood from my raw hands. I put water on my neck, my face.
Then I dipped my head into it to my eyebrows and held it there. After a moment I lay back again.
My pants were torn, but I found where the bullet had gone in right under the belt. Moving the belt, I bathed the wound. It looked inflamed and ugly.
I felt that the sun would kill me if I went out in it again. I must wait until night. I stayed in the hollow, poured water over me, waited for it to seep in once more, and then drank again. After that I slept, and it was dark when I woke up. I took a long drink, then got to my feet.
Outside of the hollow where I stood, I could make out the trail, still slanting away from me. I found a stick nearby, and took it for a staff. Then I started to walk, hobbling a little because my side was painful.
I was going to live. I was going back to Vashti.
I was going back to her, but first I was going to find Pony.
Most of the night I walked, with occasional rests, and toward dawn I hunted for shelter. With the first rays of the sun I found three junipers bunched together and I crawled into their partial shade. By hunching myself up and moving a bit as the sun moved, I stayed in shade the long day through.
Then I started on, walking, falling sometimes, but moving along.
Far ahead of me I saw a star, a star low down-too low.
A campfire … I broke into a stumbling run, but fell after only a few steps, exhausted.
After a while I got to my feet. The fire was still there, but dimmer now. I struggled on, walking, falling, crawling, then getting up to walk again.
After a long time the fire was nearer. Day was coming.
When day came the man whose camp that was would mount and ride away, and then I would be lost.
There could be no town within miles, or even a ranch or a settlement.
I had to make it.
I tried to break into a run again, but I couldn’t manage it. But I was getting closer, and now I could see a T thin blue trail of smoke rising.
It was there. There was a fire, and there was somebody at the fire! I tried to yell, but no sound came.
I went ahead and then I was at the fire.
Two horses … Pony.
He got up, staring in horror at me. Then he let out a hoarse scream and grabbed at his rifle.
I lunged at him, but I fell, and heard the bellow of his gun.
I heard it again, felt the sting of sand kicked into my face, and then I got up, and I swung my stick. He lifted a hand to catch it, and as he did I dived at him.
He tried to step back, but tripped and went down. He got up, but I swung at his face, my fist smashing his nose. He fell back into the fire, but rolled clear, grabbing for a gun. I swung a burning stick at his face and when his hand came up to ward it off, the flame enveloped his hand.
He gave a scream and staggered’back, then swung at my head with a stick. The blow caught me across the forehead and I went down, twisting as I went, to fall clear of the fire.
Again I was struggling back to consciousness, again it was night.
The fire was still smoking a little, but no flame showed. Pony was gone, the horses were gone. His frying pan was there, and his coffeepot. He must have jumped into the saddle and fled.
I got to my knees, reached the coffeepot.
Coffee sloshed in it and I drank. It was very hot, but I hardly noticed. After a moment I put the coffeepot down and poked at the fire, found some unburned ends and added them to it. I tried to blow, but my lips were broken and bloody, and I almost cried out with the pain as they cracked open again.
But a flame sprang up. I looked in the frying pan.
Shriveled pieces of bacon lay there, and I ate them.
Turning my neck stiffly, I looked around.
Evidently Pony had been packed to go when I appeared, and had simply leaped into the saddle after he struck me down.
I drank more of the coffee, and felt better, but I hated the look of my hands. The cracks had opened and they were bleeding again.
My knife was still there, and my stick was there, too.
Nothing seemed right. How had I come up to him when he was riding horseback and I was afoot? Why was he not far out of the country?
Again I drank coffee, but when there was still some left I put it back close to the fire. I added fuel and lay down on the cold ground.
Vashti . . .
Dawn came cold and gloomy. Shivering, I drank the last of the coffee, scraped the fire apart so it would die quickly on the bare ground, and then I started.
My legs were stiff, and I hobbled, but I moved. when I had gone only a short distance I fell, and this time I did not get up. One leg drew up, but it slipped back, and I lay still.
I was not unconscious, nor was I quite conscious.
I was vaguely aware that it had started to sprinkle.
Rain.
Feebly, I struggled to turn over, trying to get on my back.
Somebody was watching me. The thought slowly seeped into my dulled brain. Somebody was watching me! It could not be. I was going crazy.
I managed to roll on my back and opened my mouth. Slowly the rain fell over me, some water tackled down my throat, and my face felt good.
My body was chilled and stiff, but somehow refreshed.
My head lifted, I looked around, fell back. Somebody was watching me.
They were Indians. There were forty or fifty of them and there were no women or children among them.