All at once there was a tremendous amount of activity near Henry. The dun horse he had been holding pulled back hard in an attempt to get away from the falling red horse. Henry twisted violently in the saddle and was jerked toward the dun as he pulled back. At the same time he was going to the ground with the red gelding as he fell. Instinctively, Henry let go of the dun horse’s lead rope just about the time he was slammed into the earth, knocking both the wind, and his consciousness, from his body.

Several more cracks echoed through the canyon, and as the dun gelding high-tailed it for home, dirt, dust and rocks were kicked up near where Henry and the big red horse lay. Henry came to his senses quickly, and although groggy, he tried to figure out what was happening. He was under the assumption Topher was somehow involved in what was going on, but was having a hard time quantifying that in his mind. After all, why would Topher want to harm him? They had been working friends for many years, and they had been getting along all throughout the winter. Besides, Topher wouldn’t kill a perfectly good horse, which, with his leg pinned under the lifeless body of the big red gelding, someone had just done.

There was a brief pause in the action before more loud cracks sounded, and more dirt and rocks were kicked up. Jesus, Henry thought. Someone’s shooting at me! He tried to free his pinned leg by putting his free foot on the seat of the saddle and his hands on the saddle horn and pushing, but it was to no avail. Another brief halt in the shooting occurred, then started up again. Bullets whizzed around Henry’s head, and three more slammed into the big red horse’s body. Henry was able to use the horse as a shield. He struggled once more to free his leg, and then remembered the revolver he carried in his saddlebags. He scooted his body as best he could back toward the gelding’s hindquarters, and struggling due to the awkward angle at which he laid, worked feverishly to open the saddlebag and retrieve the Colt pistol.

The shooting stopped, and Henry could hear someone up in the rocks slowly making his way down to him. He kept working the saddlebag, which had its flap buckled into place, and after getting it unbuckled began to rummage around inside. The pistol was at the bottom in its holster, and it took Henry some time to locate it. He carried first aid supplies in the same pouch, and had to get past all of them before he could get to the gun. After what seemed like a lifetime, he felt the revolver’s rosewood grip, and with the tips of his fingers tried to work it closer to his hand so he could get a hold of it. The heavy weapon fought him and wouldn’t allow itself to be moved, and as Henry tried to reposition himself to get a better angle, and thus a little better grip, he heard a familiar voice.