“I’m going to stop them, then I’m going to find Eddie.”
“By yourself?”
“Stay with the herd!” Hawke shouted again, already starting back toward the sound of the guns.
The two cowboys were more than anxious to comply with that order, and they fell in beside the herd, shooting and yelling, urging the cattle to run faster.
Hawke rode at a gallop to a nearby ridge, leaped from his horse and lay on his stomach on a flat rock.
He saw them then, four mounted men, moonlit and silhouetted against the star-bright sky. They were riding hard in pursuit of the herd, their right arms extended in front of them, pistols in their hands, firing toward the thundering herd.
Hawke fired at the one in the rear and saw him tumble from the saddle.
Because of the noise of the nearly stampeding herd and the sounds of the gunshots, the men did not realize that they were themselves under attack, nor did they know that one of their number had been shot.
Hawke fired a second time, again taking out the man riding at the rear. Not until he took out the second man did the two remaining riders realize what was happening—that they were no longer the hunters, but the hunted. Breaking off their chase, they turned and galloped away as fast as they could. Hawke threw a couple of long distance shots at them, purposely missing them now, because they no longer represented a threat. But he put the bullets close enough so they could hear them passing and keep running.
With the danger now gone, he rode back over the ground, looking for Eddie. He found him about a mile back, lying belly down. When Hawke got down to look at him, Eddie suddenly turned over, his gun in his hand.
“No, Eddie, it’s me!” Hawke said.
Eddie lowered his gun.
“Where are you hit?” Hawke asked.
“In the ass,” Eddie replied. “The sons of bitches shot me in the ass.”
Hawke looked, and saw that the bullet had hit him in one cheek of his buttocks. He didn’t see an exit wound.
“The bullet is still in there,” Hawke said.
“In the ass,” Eddie said again. “Can you think of a worse place to be shot?”
“Yeah,” Hawke said. “Think where you would be if it had hit you in the front at about that same place.”
“Oh,” Eddie said. “Oh, yes, I see what you mean. Yeah, I guess I am lucky at that.”
“Think you can sit a horse?” Hawke asked.
“I don’t know what happened to my horse.”
“We’ll catch up with him. Right now you’re going to ride double with me.”
Hawke helped Eddie up onto his horse, putting him on just behind the saddle.
“Oh, damn, this hurts,” Eddie said. “We’re not going to be able to ride very fast if those guys come after us again.”
“They won’t be coming after us.”
“They won’t? How do you know?”
“Because I ran them off,” Hawke answered without further elaboration.
Chapter 19
EDDIE TAYLOR’S HORSE KEPT GOING, ALL THE WAY back to Northumbria. Several of the hands recognized the riderless horse as Eddie’s, and they were forming a group to go after him and the others when a rider some distance from the Big House spotted a herd on the move. Cautiously, he headed toward them. When he recognized the men, he quickly closed the distance. That was when he saw Eddie being pulled in a travois.
“When Eddie’s horse come runnin’ in all alone, we was some worried about you,” the cowboy said.
“Hey, Tim, is my horse all right?” Eddie asked. “Was he shot?”
“No, he wasn’t shot. He’s fine. What happened to you?”
“Nothin’,” Eddie said. “Nothin’ happened to me.”
Win laughed. “He got shot.”
“What’s so funny about gettin’ shot?” Tim asked.
“Here,” Win said, pointing to his own posterior. “He got shot here.”
“I’ll go back and tell the others you are all all right. They was gettin’ ready to come after you.”
“Don’t you tell them nothin’ ’bout where I got shot!” Eddie shouted as the cowboy headed back toward the Big House. “Do you hear me, Tim? Don’t you tell them nothin’.”
“They’re back!” Tim told the others a few minutes later, galloping into the main compound to report. “I seen ’em. They’re back, and they’ve got the herd with them!”
“What about Eddie?” Dorchester asked anxiously.
Tim smiled. “He’s all right. He just got shot in the ass…uh, the rear end,” he said, amending his comment in mid-sentence because Pamela was present.
“Eddie was shot? Then there was shooting,” Dorchester said.
“I reckon there was, bein’ as Eddie got hisself shot,” Tim replied. “But I don’t know much else about what happened. I figured I’d better get on back here and tell you folks ’fore you rode off.”
“Yes, Tim, that was the right thing to do, and I appreciate it,” Dorchester said.
“Where is Eddie now?” Pamela asked, concerned for the young cowboy.
Tim laughed. “He’s lyin’ belly down on a travois, with his ass stickin’ up in the air.”
Several of the cowboys laughed, and Tim, realizing what he had said, blushed and apologized to Pamela.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean no disrespect.”
“That’s all right, Tim,” she said. “Your characterization was most…descriptive.”
“Phil,” Dorchester called to one of his men. “Ride into town and get Dr. Urban, would you? Tell him we have a wounded man out here.”
“Yes, sir,” Phil said, starting toward the corral to saddle his horse.
“How about some of you other fellas comin’ with me?” Tim said to the others. “Let’s go out there and take the herd, so those boys can come on in. They’ve had a long night of it, I expect.”
“Thanks, Tim,” Dorchester said. “That’s a good idea.”
Half a dozen cowboys responded to Tim’s suggestion, and a few minutes later they were saddled and on their way.
About fifteen minutes after the cowboys left to bring the herd in, Hawke, Willie, Win, and Eddie showed up. Eddie was on his stomach on a travois, and as Tim had pointed out, his bottom was sticking up in the air. The few cowboys who were still there laughed at the sight.
“What the hell are you laughing at?” Eddie shouted angrily. “How about I shoot some of you in the ass and see how you like it?”
“Take him in the house,” Dorchester said. “Mr. Wilson will find a bedroom for him. I think he would be better off there than in the bunkhouse.”
“Yes, sir,” Win said. “That’s real decent of you, Mr. Dorchester.”
Win helped Eddie up, and then, with Win on one side and one of the cowboys on the other, they started walking him toward the house.
“Hawke, you want to tell me what happened?” Dorchester asked.
“Well, they had clearly decided to keep the herd for themselves,” Hawke said, “because they had people out there guarding it. When we came after it, they opened fire on us.”
“How did you manage to get the herd away?”
“When the shooting started, the herd stampeded,” Hawke explained. “And fortunately, they were running in the right direction.”
“There was four of ’em, Mr. Dorchester,” Willie said. “Four of ’em come at us, and Hawke, here, turned ’em back all by his ownself.”
Dr. Urban came out of the bedroom where Eddie had been taken. His sleeves were rolled up and his hands
