Return of the Outlaw by C. M. Curtis Page A

still not aware. The blood from his broken nose was drying on his face and the flesh around his eyes was swollen and dark. Fogarty swore and kicked again. Healy flailed his arms and tried to rise up, shaking his head. “What?”
    Fogarty reached over and pulled the door shut to deaden sound. There was no light inside the small shed. Healy repeated, “What?” Then his bewilderment turned to terror when he heard the sound of the pistol being cocked.
     
     
    The mare ’s choppy gait had heightened Jeff’s nausea, and twice he had leaned out and vomited. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his mind focused. He had no clear plan as to where he was going or what he would do when he got there. For now, he simply wanted to escape the men who would by this time be in pursuit. 
    He desperately needed to know what had happened. How had that bunch of riff raff and outlaws come to be in possession of the ranch? And where was Amado? Jeff realized that it had been the worst kind of luck that Ollie Shepard hadn’t been at the livery stable when he arrived. Ollie would have warned him and he would not have ridden into that den of snakes.
    The mare kept trying to turn back toward town, to her own stable, a common tendency of rented horses, but Jeff wanted to make it to the river. Once there, he could use any number of the tricks Amado had taught him to confuse the men who were following. Another wave of nausea came on and he felt himself spinning. H is brain told him he was leaning to the left but it was a lie. He leaned to the right in compensation, and fell out of the saddle onto the rocky ground.
    He had n o way of reckoning how much time passed before he awoke, but however much it was, it was more than he could spare. His first awareness was of two mutually incompatible sensations: nausea and extreme thirst. Then, he remembered the peril he was in. He was surprised to find the mare had not left him. It took several tries before he was able to stand, but he managed it at last by steadying himself against the mare. Getting into the saddle was another test of his strength of will but he managed that too. He touched his heels to the mare’s flanks and she started forward at a walk. The weakness and dizziness were getting worse and he knew if he fell again he would never be able to make it back into the saddle.
    If he could get to the river he could release the mare and let her find her way back to town. Hopefully this would deceive his pursuers. Meanwhile, he could h ide in the thick brush growing along the riverbank.
    It was a plan that would never come to fruitio n. There was a tree branch overhanging the trail—easy enough to see and to duck under—but Jeff had his eyes closed, fighting back the nausea and dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. The branch caught him full in the face and he found himself once again lying in the dirt. This time he remained conscious, though barely so. Lacking both the strength and the balance to stand on his feet, he knew it was useless to try to get back into the saddle. The mare swung around and came back to investigate. “Good girl,” Jeff whispered, “go home.” Earlier he had knotted the bridle reins so they would not trip her if she were left to go on without him. Now, that time had come.
    But the mare didn ’t move. She stood over him, patiently awaiting his next decision, and he realized she must have been a good horse in her day; maybe one of Ollie’s best. She would be fine. She would find her way back to her stable and he would try to crawl as far off the trail as he could, and hope for the best. Not much of a plan, but it was all he had left.
    The problem was , the mare wouldn’t leave. Jeff’s mental clarity was diminishing with each passing second and he simply did not have the strength to make her go. If she stayed by him she would draw his pursuers to him. He tried to think of a plan, but his mind refused to focus. In the end, he lay on his back and closed