The Indian fell, then started crawling. Billings struggled but still could not free himself.

Rusty slid his horse to a stop, dropped the reins, and swung the rifle with both hands. He felt the Indian’s skull break under the impact of the heavy barrel. His stomach turned.

Billing’s face glistened with sweat, his eyes wide. “Oh God! Are you sure he’s dead?”

“Dead enough.” Rusty knew the disgust was palpable in his voice, but he did not care. He dismounted, fighting an urge to club Billings as he had clubbed the Indian. “Instead of goin’ after one of your own, you came runnin’ to try and finish mine when he was already down. I ought to’ve let him gut you.”

A quick look around assured him that no other danger was imminent. The war party had broken up. Warriors were fleeing in several directions, most pursued by rangers.

A single rider approached. Fearing he might be Comanche, Rusty hurried to reload his rifle. He was relieved to recognize Sergeant Forrest.

Billings’s fright gave way to impatience. “You just goin’ to stand there? Get this horse off of me.”

Rusty glared at him. “You brought this on yourself. I wanted to keep that warrior alive.”

“What for? There’s still plenty of Indians. I’m ordering you, Shannon, get me out of this fix.”

“Order away, damn you. I’m not in the army yet.”

He tugged halfheartedly, in no real hurry. The horse’s dead weight barely budged.

Billings’s voice went shrill again. “Put some muscle into it. You want those savages to come back and catch me helpless?”

Rusty saw merit in that proposition. “That’d suit me, except they’d catch me, too. I turned my horse loose to save your ungrateful neck.” True, he had let go of the reins, but the dun horse had stopped a hundred feet away. The excitement over, the animal was beginning to graze. Rusty saw no reason to point out that he would be easy to catch. He watched Forrest’s approach.

“Maybe me and the sergeant together can get you loose.”

Forrest dismounted on the right-hand side because of the wooden leg.

Billings complained, “It’s about time you got here. I can’t get this redheaded peckerwood to be any help.”

Forrest frowned. “I saw enough to know that this red-headed pecker wood saved your life, and with some risk to his own.” He leaned down to inspect the fallen animal.

Rusty said, “There’s still a little life in that horse, Sergeant. You’d best watch out for his hooves if he commences to kick.”

Straining together, Rusty and Forrest managed to raise the animal a little. Billings wriggled free just as the sergeant’s breath gave out and forced him to turn loose.

Forrest told Billings, “Better be sure that leg’s not broke.” His voice sounded hopeful.

Billings rubbed the limb and found it intact though skinned and bruised. He rebuked Rusty. “You ought to’ve shot that Indian good and proper the first time. He wouldn’t have killed my horse.” Still sitting on the ground, he jerked his head quickly from one side to the other, eyes wide with concern. Looking for Indians, Rusty supposed.