Rusty handed his rifle to Tanner. “Not if I can help it.” He wrapped his neckerchief above the wound as a tourniquet. He twisted it tightly until the blood slowed. Anger began to rise. “Damn it to hell, I didn’t want this. But he was fixin’ to shoot me.”

Oldham showed no sign that he had heard, or if he heard, that it made any difference. “Little brother, don’t you go and die on me. Don’t do it, I say.”

The only answer was a deep groan.

Rusty managed to choke the blood flow down to a trickle. “I don’t suppose anybody in your camp claims to be a doctor?”

Barlow said, “There’s a preacher comes to see us now and again, but he ain’t there right now.”

“A preacher?” Rusty felt a sudden hope. “Would his name be Webb?”

“That’s him. You know him?”

“From as far back as I can remember.”

The more he looked at young Oldham’s smashed arm, the more he despaired of saving it. At this point he would not wager two bits that the youth would even survive. “Ain’t much more we can do for him out here. You-all better get him back to your camp.”

Clyde Oldham looked up, hatred in his eyes. “You think we’ll just let the two of you ride away?”

“That’s all we wanted in the first place. The rest of this was your own doin’.”

Tanner stepped between the men and the weapons they had tossed away. “You can come back later to fetch these.”

Rusty heard horses and looked up. Six or eight riders came loping out of the thicket toward them. His heart sagged, and for a moment he felt defeated. Then he recognized the man riding in the lead. Hope began a tentative revival.

Tanner raised his rifle. Rusty motioned for him to lower it. “James Monahan is with them.”

Tanner hesitated. “Last time you and him met, you didn’t part real friendly.”

“He’s the best hope we’ve got. We can’t fight our way past all that bunch.”

James brought his mount to a rough stop, raising a small cloud of dust. “We heard shootin’. What the hell happened here?”

Barlow jerked his head toward Rusty. “It was Buddy Oldham’s fault. He tried to shoot this ranger.”

James recognized Rusty. His reaction was less than cordial. “Damn it, Rusty Shannon, can’t you go anywhere without takin’ trouble with you?” James examined the wounded arm and looked up at Rusty, his eyes critical. “If you had to shoot him, couldn’t you just crease him a little?”

Rusty knew it would be poor politics to say he had aimed at the heart. “I didn’t want to shoot him at all. He gave me no choice.”

James turned on Clyde Oldham, his voice severe. “You’re his big brother. Looks like you could’ve kept him jugged and stoppered.”