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Force of Will

Summary:

Heyes and Curry are pursued by a determined bounty hunter. (Originally published in Issue 32 of the Just You, Me and The Governor zine)

You can view more of my stories at https://eleanorward.wixsite.com/asjfics

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of this author. This author is in no way associated with the owner, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made from this work.

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 You can find more of my ASJ and non-ASJ stories on my webpage at https://eleanorward.wixsite.com/asjfics

 

FORCE OF WILL

by

Eleanor Ward

 

*Originally published in Issue 32 of 'Just You, Me and the Governor' (2008)*

 

Sometimes, the only thing left to give is yourself.

 

           *   *   *  

 

Hannibal Heyes pushed his horse as hard as he could up the steep incline, shale and small rocks causing it to slither backwards, hindering its progress. Eventually it reached a patch of smoother, level ground and Heyes pulled up and turned to look across to another similar ridge, a short distance away, where he spotted his partner, Kid Curry, making a more successful ascent than the one he himself had just made.

They had spent the last day and a half trying to evade a Bounty Hunter, a half breed Indian who went by the name Hesutu. But, so far, despite employing all of their usual stock of tricks for avoiding pursuit, they hadn't been able to shake him off and, in desperation, had decided to split up, to at least give one of them a chance of getting away since he wouldn't be able to track both of them at the same time - although both were beginning to think that this guy might even be capable of doing that.  If either, or both, of them, got away they would travel to Rawlins and either wait for the other to arrive, or try to track down their whereabouts and, if possible, make some kind of rescue attempt.

They had wished each other luck, each gripping the other's hand for a longer time than served as a normal handshake, neither wanting to voice what was in their hearts for fear of tempting fate,  but their unspoken words were communicated in their eyes before they finally loosed hands and then set off in opposite directions.

Heyes quickly scanned the area for a sign of their pursuer, but could see none.  He was about to turn the horse and continue over the ridge when, suddenly, he saw Curry jerk in the saddle, almost like he'd been punched in the chest, before toppling off the horse, which continued on along the path it had been travelling.

Heyes sat, transfixed, barely breathing as he watched, praying to see the Kid get to his feet.  There had been no gunshot, so that had to mean he'd been hit by an arrow.

As though to confirm his thoughts an arrow whizzed past his own head, missing him by a mere yard.

A subconscious instinct for survival prompted him to spur his horse on up the ridge, even though his conscious mind was across on the other ridge with Kid.  He was on a more level trail now but it was littered with boulders, and bushes, and part grown trees that grew at crazy angles from between rocks and crevices, which made speed difficult, but he pushed the horse as fast as he could, already working on a way to circle round somehow and get to Kid.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain just below his right knee, but before he had time to wonder what had caused it his horse let out a shriek before falling to its knees and pitching Heyes over its head. He had a vague sensation of something swatting his forehead before he crashed onto the rocky trail and whirled down into blackness.

                    *   *   *   *

Heyes opened his eyes and squinted up at the bright blue sky, trying to work out where he was and what had happened.  His head hurt and he had a stinging pain in his right leg.

Slowly, his senses began to clear and his memories start to return.  Kid!   Kid had been hurt.  He had to get to him!  He was just about to make an attempt to move when he heard a faint sound off to his left.  Realising he had no time to get up and find cover before whoever, or whatever, was making the sound could reach him, he lay still and played dead.

Quietly, Hesutu, his long dark hair tied back in a leather thong, popped his head over a bunch of rocks and studied the man lying on the ground a few feet away.  He appeared to be unconscious, or dead. Either was just as acceptable to him.  The reward money was the same dead or alive.

He watched for several moments before, seeming satisfied, he put his floppy hat on his head and stood up, his moccasined feet making no sound as he clambered over the boulders.

Drawing a long knife from a sheath on his belt he quietly approached the still figure on the ground.

Watching through half closed eyes, Heyes saw the shadow of a man loom across him and, as the man made to bend over him, he suddenly brought up his legs and kicked hard at the other man's shins, knocking him off his feet.

With a speed that surprised even Heyes himself, given how dazed he was feeling, he scrambled up and threw himself on top of the man, trying to wrest the knife from his hand. They rolled over and over on the ground, kicking and punching each other.  Hesutu was lithe, and very strong, and it was taking all of Heyes' strength just to keep his knife hand at bay.  He managed to roll over so that he was on top of Hesutu, his right arm pressed against Hesutu's throat while his left hand tried to wrench the knife from his hand.

Hesutu delivered a timely knee to Heyes' groin which caused him to momentarily lose his grip on his attacker's arm and the next thing he felt was a sudden sharp pain as Hesutu plunged the knife into the area just behind his armpit.  Heyes let out a howl of agony.  Hesutu withdrew the knife and raised his arm for another strike but Heyes managed to grab it and held on with all of his fastly failing strength.

They had rolled over again and Hesutu was now on top.  Heyes was exhausted and knew that his chances of overpowering this younger, stronger man, now that he had wounded him, were slim, but, from somewhere deep within, he found a reserve of strength and, pulling up his legs, managed to get his feet under Hesutu's thighs and, with a supreme effort, pushed up, and out, and managed to catapult the man over his head.  He rolled over onto his stomach and scrambled onto his hands and knees, ready to face another onslaught but, as he lifted his head, his attacker was nowhere to be seen.

Slowly, Heyes crawled to the edge of the rocky trail and peered over.  There, twenty feet below, Hesutu lay, staring unseeingly up at the sky, his spine broken by the large boulder he had landed upon.

Heyes slumped down on the rocky trail, too exhausted to move.

It was several minutes before he collected himself enough to sit up and take stock of his situation.

Twenty feet away, his horse lay dead, killed by the arrow that had grazed his leg before plunging into its chest.

Pulling up his leg, Heyes bent to examine the wound.  The arrow had made a two inch slit in his fawn coloured pants, the leg of which was now stained red with blood, and, as he parted the fabric, he saw a cut of corresponding length across the side of his  leg, about four inches below the knee.  It was deep enough that it could use a couple of stitches, but it wasn't a life threatening injury.

As he studied the wound, spots of blood dripped onto his left hand, drawing his attention.  Lifting his other hand to his head, he felt an open wound on his forehead.  Glancing across to where he'd landed after being thrown from his horse, he noticed a large tree branch, sticking out from the rocks, which had obviously struck his head as he'd fallen.

Untying his bandana from around his neck, he folded it and tied it around his forehead to stem the bleeding.  This done, he unfastened his jacket and tentatively reached inside his shirt to examine the wound in his back.  Even though he couldn't see the wound, his fingers told him it was serious and that he needed to get medical attention as soon as possible if he wasn't to bleed to death.

He sighed heavily. The first thing he had to do was get to Kid.  The rest he would worry about later.

He glanced across at his dead horse.  Without a horse, he would be unlikely even to make it back down the ridge.  He thought about his attacker.  He must have ridden up here, to have caught up with him so quickly, which meant his horse had to be tethered somewhere nearby.

Heyes struggled to his feet and began to make his way back along the trail looking for a sign.  He spotted the animal five minutes later, hidden in amongst some bushes below him.

Going back to his own horse, he retrieved his saddlebags and then limped back along the trail, scrambling and slithering down the steep incline to where Hesutu's horse was tethered.  He was relieved to find two full canteens of water hooked over the saddle.  He and Kid had used up all their water the previous afternoon and hadn't had an opportunity to refill their own canteens.

He unscrewed one of the canteens and drank, deeply, savouring the feel of the cool water on his parched throat, before replacing the cap and hanging the canteen back on the saddle. He then proceeded to examine the saddlebags, finding a bottle of whisky, some packets of strange smelling substances which Heyes guessed were some kind of Indian herbs, some tobacco, and papers, and some rolls of bandages.  He contemplated using some of the bandages to bind the wound in his back, to try and slow down the bleeding, but the wound was in such a position that it would be difficult even for another person to bandage it and almost impossible to do it himself.

With a sigh, he secured his own saddlebags to the horse and hauled himself into the saddle.

He made his way back along the trail, pausing as he reached Hesutu's body.

Even though the man had tried to kill him, Heyes felt bad about leaving his body there to be eaten by the buzzards and desert denizens. In his opinion a man deserved a proper burial, whatever he'd done. But he knew that if he expended the energy it would take to bury him he wouldn't have enough strength to get to the Kid, and so, with a silent apology to his attacker, he turned the horse and headed back down the trail.

It was past noon now and, as the sun reflected off the bleached rocks, it was stiflingly hot. Heyes picked his way carefully back down the steep incline, hoping the horse wouldn't slip and break a leg. His head ached and he felt sick, and there was a constant throbbing pain from the wound in his back.  He tried not to move his arm and shoulder too much but he could still feel the warm blood oozing from the wound to trickle down his side.

It took him more than forty minutes to get back to the point where he and Kid had parted company.  He stopped the horse and sat looking at the other ridge, trying to locate the spot where he'd seen Kid fall.

Once he'd satisfied himself where he had to make for, he spurred the horse once more.  He was feeling light headed, and was having trouble thinking coherently, but he kept his gaze fixed on the spot he was headed for and pushed the horse onwards, his only thought to find the Kid. 

That was the only thing that mattered.

                   *   *   *   *

Heyes glanced around at his surroundings.  If his calculations had been correct, this should be pretty near the place he'd seen the Kid fall. He had picked up the tracks of his horse, but although he'd been searching for a sign of him for the last ten minutes, he'd seen none. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or worried.  Did it mean that the Kid hadn't been seriously hurt and had managed to get back on his horse and head for Rawlins as they'd planned? If so, that was great, but Heyes knew that he himself was unlikely to make it as far as Rawlins in his present condition, and it was doubtful the Kid would come looking for him before it was too late.  On the other hand, it could mean that the Kid had been badly hurt but had managed to get on his horse somehow and wandered off the trail to goodness knows where and might be unconscious, or worse, somewhere, and he might not find him.

He tried to think logically, but it was becoming harder and harder to concentrate.  He could still see the horse's tracks in the dusty earth and so he fixed his attention on them, trying to blot out all other thoughts other than following them until they either petered out or led him to his friend.

Suddenly, he let out a gasp and pulled the horse to a halt.  There on the trail, a few feet ahead, lying on his side, eyes closed, was the Kid. His horse was nowhere to be seen.

"Kid!" Heyes voiced the name on a whisper.  He sat, staring at him, afraid to dismount and cross to him for what he might find.

Eventually, he slid off the horse, gasping as pain shot through his injured leg as he took his weight on it.

His eyes riveted on the Kid's motionless form, Heyes limped across to stand at his feet. An arrow was sticking out from his chest, about three inches below his collar bone. A small circle of red stained his blue shirt, but the wound hadn't bled too much, plugged by the arrow shaft.  His wavy fair hair was matted with blood, which had trickled down the side of his face.

Heyes knelt down at his side and, holding his breath, gingerly reached out a hand and placed two fingers to the Kid's neck, letting out his breath out in an audible groan of relief when he felt a pulse.

"Thank God." he choked, squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden tears that sprang into them.

Heyes leaned down to examine the wound to his head. The blood had come from a gash on the side of his head, presumably from striking it on a rock when he'd fallen from his horse. The area around the gash was badly swollen and bruised.

"Kid." he called, slapping his face.  The Kid did not stir.

Heyes sighed, trying to decide what to do.  There was no way he could get them both to Rawlins in the condition he was in, he would pass out from loss of blood long before then, and even if the Kid was conscious he was in no fit state to travel that far either.  So what were they to do?

Twisting sideways to sit on one hip, he tried to think of some way out of their predicament, but he was so tired, and so light headed, he couldn't get his thoughts into any kind of logical order.

He sat there on the dusty trail, for once completely at a loss. It looked like this was finally going to be the end of the road.  They weren't going to die in some shootout, or locked away in a prison cell.   They were going to die out here, in the middle of nowhere, their bones picked over by buzzards, with no-one to even know, or care, what happened to them, and there wasn't a single thing he could do about it.

In desolation he lay down on his back, next to the Kid, and stared bleakly up at the sky.  The only consolation was that at least they were together.

He closed his eyes, feeling angry that death was finally going to catch up with them but, at the same time, too exhausted to care.  He thought about his parents, wondering if he would see them again - afterwards - and wondering if they would be disappointed with the path he and Kid had taken in life.

A slight smile touched the corners of his mouth as a picture of his Mother's smiling face floated into his dazed mind, her arms outstretched towards him in a welcoming embrace, like when he'd come home from his first day at school.  It would be so nice to walk into that embrace, feel her arms around him and know that he was home, know that he was safe.

He was just beginning to drift off into semi-consciousness when a thought sprang into his mind, dragging him back to the present. He opened his eyes and stared up at the sky for several minutes before scrambling into a sitting position.  He remembered an old cabin that they'd come across once, further up in the mountains, probably erected by some long-since-gone prospector.  It was only a small place, but it had a cot and a fireplace and a stove.  If they could make it that far, just maybe they could patch each other up enough to be able to travel into Rawlins in a day or two and get proper medical attention.  He scanned around the area, trying to get his bearings.  If he could remember the exact location, it was probably only a couple of hours ride.  If he didn't get hopelessly lost, they could make it there before sunset.

Scrambling onto his knees he leaned over and slapped the Kid's face once more. "Kid," he croaked. "can you hear me? I'm gonna get us out of this, do you hear?"  There was still no response.

Carefully, Heyes snapped off the shaft of the arrow leaving just a couple of inches sticking out of the Kid's chest.  It needed removing as soon as possible, before infection set in, but it was better to leave it where it was for now as it was preventing a large amount of blood loss.

Summoning all of his remaining strength, Heyes hauled the Kid up and over his shoulder and, staggering across to the horse, managed to heave him into the saddle before falling to his knees, exhausted by the effort.  It was several minutes before he could summon enough strength to get to his feet and drag himself up onto the horse behind the Kid who was slumped forward across its neck.

Heyes picked up the reins and set off, trying to work out the quickest and easiest route to his destination.  The sun was starting to dip towards the horizon and he wanted to get to the cabin before nightfall, if at all possible, otherwise it was unlikely that either of them would survive until the next day if they had to spend the night outside in the cold mountain air.

                    *   *   *   *

Heyes anxiously scanned his surroundings.  It would be dark in another half an hour and still there was no sign of the old cabin.  The Kid was still unconscious and Heyes wasn't far from it himself.  He knew, if he didn't find the cabin before dark, that his, and probably the Kid's, chances of survival were slim.

He rode on, praying for a sight of the cabin, while at the same time beginning to acknowledge that the odds were stacking up against him.

A wave of anger engulfed him at the thought.   No! He wasn't going to let them die out here, in the middle of nowhere. He would find the cabin! He had to, if it was the last thing he did. He gave a wry grimace, knowing that it very well might be.

Steeling himself against the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment, he pressed on, anxiously scanning the area for a sign of the cabin.

It was almost too dark to see when, suddenly, Heyes made out the outline of a building against the rapidly darkening sky.

With a sigh of relief, he rode up to it and slithered off the horse, hanging onto the saddle as a wave of dizziness engulfed him. Once it had passed enough for him to walk, he tethered the horse to a hitching post just outside the door which was next to a water trough for the horse to drink.  Then, drawing his gun, he limped up to the cabin door and rapped on it.  When he received no response, he opened the door and went inside.

An oil lamp stood on the table, still full. Holstering his gun, Heyes crossed to the table and lit the lamp, casting around him as it lit up the room.  There was a coating of dust on the table, the stove and the floor. It didn't look as if anyone had been in here for a long time

Limping back outside, he reached up and pulled the Kid off the horse.  He tried to take his weight, but he was too weak and the Kid landed on the ground in a crumpled heap, with Heyes landing on top of him.

"Sorry, Kid..." Heyes muttered, hoarsely.

Scrambling to his feet, Heyes grabbed hold of the Kid's coat and dragged him inside the cabin, too weak to carry him.  He managed to manoeuvre him onto the cot and then sank, exhausted, onto the floor beside it, gasping for breath, the room spinning around him.

Once the room stabilised, he struggled to his feet and, going back outside, pulled the horse's saddle off and deposited it behind the water trough, not having the strength to carry it inside.

"Sorry, horse." he muttered to the animal. "You'll have to make do with whatever grass is growing around here."

Grabbing the canteens of water and his and Hesutu's saddlebags, he staggered inside the cabin and closed the door.

There was a stash of firewood by the side of the hearth and, with an effort, Heyes managed to light a fire and the stove.  He had noticed a rainwater butt at the side of the cabin and, taking the lamp, limped outside to inspect it.  It was well over half full.

On a shelf in the cabin, Heyes had found a kettle, a few tin plates and cups and a couple of saucepans, and he used these to collect some water and put it on to boil.

This done, he wedged one of the chairs from the table under the cabin door handle to give a warning of anyone trying to enter without their knowledge. Not that it was likely, but old habits died hard.  Then, exhausted by his chores, he sat down at the table to wait for the water to boil.

He was so tired he just wanted to lie down and sleep for a hundred years, but first he had to tend to the Kid.

The whistling of the boiling kettle pulled him back from the edge of sleep.  Getting to his feet, he pulled a knife from the inside of his boot and thrust it into the now hot fire before moving to pour some hot water into a saucepan.

As he straightened, he caught sight of his reflection in an old, cracked, mirror on the wall.  He barely recognised the pale, almost grey, face that stared back at him.  The blue bandana tied around his forehead was soaked with blood, his eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles of fatigue beneath them, and his cheeks were hollow. Heyes shuddered.  He'd seen dead men look better than that.

Forcing his attention onto the task in hand, he carried the pan of water across the room and set it down by the cot on which the Kid lay, before crossing to pick up the saddlebags which he'd dropped by the door.

He removed the rolls of bandages and the bottle of whisky from Hesutu's saddlebags as well as some thread and a needle from his own.  Then, taking his knife from the fire, he poured some cold water over the blade, to cool it, before turning to the Kid.

Kneeling by the side of the cot, he removed the Kid's jacket and shirt and then, taking the knife, took a deep breath and cut into the flesh around the arrow in order to remove the arrow head. Blood began to pump from the wound as soon as the arrow was removed, making Heyes feel nauseous.  He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, trying to ward off the red mist that was threatening to engulf him.

Opening his eyes, he picked up the Kid's discarded shirt and used it to mop up the blood and then poured some of the whisky into the wound before taking the needle and thread and beginning to stitch it up. His vision kept blurring, forcing him to pause, but he screwed his eyes shut and took deep breaths and, when his vision cleared enough to see what he was doing, pressed on. When he'd finished the task, he put one elbow on the cot and bent to rest his head on his arm, struggling to stay conscious.

The urge to just drift away into the black void that called him was almost overwhelming but, presently, he drew himself up and, fetching some more water, began to tend to the wound on the Kid's head.  He cleaned away the dried blood from the gash, frowning at the egg sized lump on his head and praying that the blow hadn't fractured his skull.

Once he'd finished his doctoring, he made the Kid as comfortable as possible on the small cot, covering him with the single, somewhat moth-eaten, blanket that had already been on the cot and then putting the Kid's own sheepskin coat on top.  Putting his hand against the Kid's forehead, Heyes wasn't surprised to feel it warm. Leaving the arrow in until they reached the cabin may have prevented the Kid from bleeding to death, but ran the risk of causing an infection which could also kill him.

"You aint gonna die, Kid, do you hear me?" Heyes croaked into his ear.  The fact that his own condition was equally, if not more, precarious as the Kid's never even entered his head. All he knew was that if the Kid, his oldest, and only true, friend, closer to him even than a brother, died then he didn't want to live either.

Struggling to his feet, Heyes fetched a pan of cool water, which he set by the side of the cot, and then proceeded to rip up one of his spare shirts, from his saddlebags, to make cloths.  This done, he then fetched one of the canteens of water, unscrewed the cap and, lifting the Kid's head, tried to get some into his mouth. He swallowed a little as a reflex action, but most of it just trickled down his neck.

Heyes took a drink himself before wringing out one of the cloths he'd fashioned and beginning to dab at the Kid's fevered brow.

He made himself as comfortable as possible on the floor, at the side of the cot, intending to keep a vigil through the night in case the Kid's condition deteriorated.

Exhausted, and weak from loss of blood, it wasn't long before Heyes' mind started to wander and his will to stave off unconsciousness weaken but, every time he felt himself start to drift off, somehow he managed to find something of himself and struggled to his feet to either add a log to the fire, or get some fresh water to bathe the Kid's brow, anything to keep himself alert.  Several times he almost lost consciousness only to be brought awake by the Kid throwing out an arm in his fevered sleep and banging into him, or suddenly yelling out.

He'd long since forgotten where they were or how they'd got here, his only conscious thought being to keep the Kid alive.  But eventually even that thought could sustain him no longer and, in the dark hours before dawn, he finally succumbed, slumping to the cabin floor, the cloth he'd been bathing the Kid's face with still clutched in his hand.

                    *   *   *   *

Bright sunshine pierced his eyes.  He tried to open them, but it was too painful.  He screwed them shut and tried to retreat back into the darkness, but something prevented him.  A noise.  A noise that made so sense at first. A noise that sounded like someone banging a drum in his head. But, gradually, it turned into a recognisable sound; someone's voice.

"Heyes?" the voice was calling. "Heyes?"

Heyes rolled his head in the direction of the voice and tried once again to open his eyes, squinting up at a blurred figure looming over him.

"Heyes!" the voice repeated with more urgency.

Heyes blinked and the blurred figure slowly crystallized into a man's face.

"Hey, Heyes." the face spoke.

Heyes just stared up at him, trying to work out where he was and whether he knew this person.

The man reached out a hand towards him and he instinctively recoiled, gasping as pain flowed through his battered body at the movement.

"It's O.K. You're safe.  Just relax." smiled the man, reaching out to brush his hair back off his face before gently placing the back of his hand to his forehead, checking his temperature.

Heyes continued to stare at him, trying to collect his thoughts.  Presently he croaked "Kid?"

The Kid nodded, his smile broadening. "How do you feel?" he asked now.

Heyes' gaze shifted to the ceiling as he contemplated the question.  "I-I don't know ...what happened...?"

The Kid shook his head wryly.  "I was hoping you could tell me that." he said, giving him a knowing look.

"I..." Heyes began, looking confused as he tried to get his muddled thoughts into some kind of order.

"The last thing I remember was feeling like I'd been kicked by a mule and falling off my horse." said the Kid.

Heyes nodded, slowly, beginning to remember.

"You were shot... with an arrow..." he muttered.

The Kid nodded. "The next thing I remember was waking up in bed, here, feeling sick to my stomach, with the headache from hell, and finding you unconscious." he told him.

When Heyes made no comment, the Kid said. "You'd practically bled out all over the floor."  He explained how he'd had to cauterise the knife wound in his back, to stop the bleeding, before stitching up the wound, and then stitched the cut in his leg and cleaned and bandaged the gash on his forehead before getting him into the cot.

"That was three days ago." the Kid told him.

"Three days?" croaked Heyes, looking incredulous.

The Kid nodded.  "You'd barely got any blood left in you. It's a miracle you aint dead." He smiled as he spoke, but his eyes reflected the worry of the last three days as he'd kept a vigil at Heyes' side, praying he would survive.

Heyes gave him a weak smile. "You know me..." he began, his voice a whisper.

"Yeah, too stubborn to die." the Kid finished for him.

Heyes' tired smile broadened.

The Kid got up and, still holding his left arm protectively to his chest, fetched a canteen and, lifting Heyes' head, held it to his lips for him to drink.

"Thanks." muttered Heyes, when he'd drunk his fill.  He eyed the Kid as he screwed the cap back on the canteen. The lump on his head had

gone down a good deal now, but the bruising was spreading outwards across his forehead and Heyes noticed how gingerly he moved the arm on his injured side.

The Kid put down the canteen and turned to Heyes with a smile. "You hungry?  There's some beef stew on the stove."

"Beef stew?"  repeated Heyes.

The Kid nodded. "I found some cans of beef stew, and beans, that someone must have left when they came up here. Looked like they'd been here a while, the cans were a bit on the rusty side, but the stuff's still edible. Want some?"

Heyes nodded.

The Kid crossed to the stove and returned a moment later with a plate containing a small portion of stew, which he spoon fed to Heyes.

"That's not half bad." Heyes muttered, when he'd finished.

The Kid grinned.  "It'll do, until you're fit enough to travel." he told him.

Heyes nodded, his eyelids beginning to droop, tired once more.

"Heyes?" The Kid's voice pulled him back from sleep.  He opened his eyes and looked up at him.

"Yeah?"

The Kid looked at him seriously. "Heyes, I know how far this cabin is from where we were when we split up. I don't know how you got us away from that guy, or how on earth you managed to get me up here in the state you were in - you can tell me all about that later, when you're feeling stronger - but, thanks. If it wasn't for you, I'd probably be dead now."

Heyes grinned, weakly.  "If it wasn't for you, so would I." he whispered, his eyes closing as he drifted back to sleep.

The Kid gave a wry shake of his head. He couldn't begin to imagine what Heyes had been through to get them here, but he thanked God for the sheer force of will that he knew had driven him to save them. Without it, it was highly possible they would both have died.

"Rest." he told him, as he pulled the blanket more closely round him, a frown creasing his brow as he regarded his friend's pale face.  It would be several more days before he would be strong enough to even get out of bed, let alone ride to town, but they would be safe here.  They had water, and firewood, and the Kid could go hunting to supplement the canned food in the cabin. It would be his way of repaying his friend for saving his life.

He smiled down at Heyes' sleeping form.  "Take all the time you need, partner." he said softly. "I've got your back".

 

END