He dipped his bandanna into the bracing water and pressed it to the fierce exit wound the bullet had left in his upper right shoulder. When he heard the breaking of brush across the narrow stream, he looked up, but was unable to draw his Colt with his right hand. By the time he’d gotten the gun up with his wet left hand, the figure across the stream revealed himself. “Mac?” said Tad Harper, looking surprised and happy to see him. Then his eyes went to the bloody wound and stopped there. “Yeah, Tadpole, it’s me,” Mackenzie said, letting out a breath of relief. He holstered the gun awkwardly and struggled to get up. “Hold on! Let me give you a hand,” said Harper, pulling his white-faced roan along by its reins across the shallow stream. In the few seconds it took Harper to cross the water, Mackenzie made it up onto his feet. “I’m good,” he said, staggering a bit, then catching himself. “You don’t look too good,” said Harper. “I’m a lot better than I was,”
