He lay stunned on the ground. He rolled over onto his back and tried to catch his breath. His wind had been knocked out, but he couldn't tell if he was hurt or not. Just ahead of him, the horse, on its side, was just beginning to move its legs. Still fighting for his breath, he rolled back to his side, knowing now that his shoulder hurt, and tried to get back on his feet. As soon as he put weight on his left leg he went back down. He stayed down then, fighting the panic of not being able to pull air into his lungs, and he watched as his horse awkwardly kicked and struggled to get its legs under it and right itself. He began to cough then and knew he had his breath back, but he could only watch as the horse, up and tentative for a bit, seemed to remember the panic of the last several seconds and took off with a start, riderless, after the other horses. He pushed himself up, took a step forward to go after the horses, and went down again, hard into sand, rock, and grass. He pushed himself back up onto one knee and felt then the pain bloom through his left side. He watched the horse go and did not try to rise.

He was able to get up by pushing himself with his arms and taking the weight on his right leg instead of his left. Upright and wobbly, balancing on one leg and using the other as only a stop against falling to that side, he watched his horse going after the others. He took a small step, more hop than stride, and stopped again to rebalance. He put a little weight on the left side. It hurt, but it also hurt without the weight, so he managed a couple of slow shuffle steps over to where his hat lay in a bit of low-growing saltbush. Once there, it took him a couple of attempts to bend down and pick it up.

He looked back the way they had come. He couldn't see any dust plume, but he had never seen it, had only taken off when Tom and Sisson had. He looked both south and north and may have seen a small swirl to the north, but he couldn't be sure what it was or how far away. Looking with only one eye, it was very hard to gauge distance. He turned and took slow, steady steps toward the east where Tom, Sisson, and his own horse were retreating into the distance.

He had gone twenty deliberate steps when he saw the lone rider heading his way. He stopped to wait, then went forward instead, limping heavily on his left leg. When he looked up, he saw it was Tom, come back for him.

“You're supposed to stay with the horse, you dumb shit.”

“The horse is supposed to clear the fucking fence.”

“You all right?”