Ezra’s body heaved as it struggled desperately to find a source of oxygen. He lay stunned. Wide eyed and gasping, like a fish out of water. The moment stretched on. Each second without air, more excruciating than the last. Just when Ezra was certain he’d pass out and die from the sheer lack of oxygen, he finally gasped, hungrily sucking in fresh air again. Each breath was sweet relief to his deprived lungs, and he sighed internally as his breathing shifted from a sporadic spasm into a discernable rhythm. Though the pattern of his breathing was still far from normal.

He drew deeply in an effort to replenish his body, gasping with each breath. His situation was troubling to be sure, but the good news was he had regained a measure of bodily control. In addition to gradually regaining his physical faculties, he was beginning to sense the welcome return of his reasoning capacity.

“I’m not dead quite yet. That’s good…” he thought sardonically.

Ezra knew he didn’t have much time. He could hear the sounds of the bounty hunter approaching and needed to act fast. If he didn’t come up with something brilliant and soon, he would cease to breathe again; this time permanently. He imagined the agony of a bullet tearing through his body and the horror of choking on his own blood. It wasn’t the most pleasant thought he’d had up to this point. Not by a long shot.

Ezra quickly decided he’d rather go with option B. Whatever that was. He looked around, quickly taking stock of his situation. Whoever was in pursuit was rapidly gaining ground, and they would be upon him soon. How soon, he couldn’t quite tell. But Ezra would be very surprised if they were any more than a minute or two behind him at this point. He could hop back onto Duke and continue riding, but he’d lost so much time struggling in the dirt, that he seriously doubted his ability to stay ahead now.

Not to mention the fact that Buster had grown so weary. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. And once Buster fell behind, Ezra would lose his scout, increasing his risk considerably and slowing him down even more. But what other option did he have? There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. This gave him pause.

“Wait a minute… hide.” Ezra mentally shuffled through the possibilities at lighting speed and quickly surmised that this solution would leave him with an entirely different set of problems.

There was the problem of finding a suitable hiding place. Could he find sufficient cover in time? Unlikely. And even if he could, what about Duke and Buster? They would be a dead giveaway. He had three flawed options.

First, he could continue riding as the hunter inevitably gained on him. It wasn’t hard to imagine how this would end. Eventually the attacker would edge close enough that he could line up his sights and gun Ezra down. Second, he could try hiding. But even if he could find a suitable place in time, the animals would give him away and he would be easily killed. His last option was to stand and fight. He had his gun with him, which meant he at least had an opportunity to defend himself.

To increase his chances, he could shoot Duke in the head and use the horse’s body for cover. Ezra loathed the idea, but in a life and death situation, he considered it a necessary evil. It would also be a quick, clean, death for Duke. This method would not only ensure minimal suffering but could greatly increase his chances of victory.

With this new strategy, Buster would also shift from being a liability to becoming an asset. He could sic Buster on the hunter, distracting him and giving Ezra the opening he needed to line up a shot. It was also possible that Ezra would retain the element of surprise. He considered it for a moment, but decided that was unlikely. The hunter was already pursing him, so it wasn’t like he could be caught unaware.

Beyond that, the shot needed in order to kill Duke would almost certainly give him away. Still, the option provided two advantages he wouldn’t have had otherwise. It was clearly his best option, but was it a good option? What chance did a layman like himself have against a professional killer? If Ezra was truly honest with himself, he would have to admit that his chances were still abysmal. But a slim chance was better than none.

He braced himself, cocked his revolver, and pointed it squarely at Duke’s head, when a thought occurred to him. If he were only up against one trained killer he had a slim chance, but what if the foreman had sent both? His entire plan would be pointless. He’d die either way, and he might not even take down one of them with him. With this in mind, he wasn’t so sure that the third option was a good one.

Now, his handful of choices all seemed equally useless. The realization was almost like a kick to the groin. Ezra could feel a torrent of rage building up inside him. He knew fighting wasn’t a good option, but he also knew he didn’t have time to think of anything else.

“I need more time. I need more time!” he thought with frustration.

But time was the one thing he didn’t have. When he’d heard the galloping horse in the distance earlier, it hadn’t seemed like two sets of hooves, but he couldn’t tell for certain. The fact that he didn’t know was driving him crazy.

“Was it one or two? One or two!?”

In the end it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t going to go down like a rabid dog; getting shot in the back. He wasn’t going to wet himself as he cowered behind a tree, waiting for them lodge a bullet in his skull. It was do or die. He inhaled sharply, preparing himself for the ear shattering discharge, the smoke, the sickening squelch of mutilated flesh and bone and the wet, unpleasant, splash of warm blood spatter.

Ezra squeezed his eyes shut as he began to squeeze the trigger – then stopped. Exhaling a breath of relief. He clicked the hammer back into place, holstered his gun, and slapped Duke on his hind quarters as hard as he could. Duke whinnied, sprinting off into the distance. Then Ezra turned and hunkered down, hiding against the hill that had caused his fall. And just like that, his source of doom had suddenly become his source of hope. He called Buster to his side and prayed that by some miracle, the hound would have sense enough not to give away their position.

###

Ezra and Buster waited in terror. Their adrenaline high, their nerves shot. Each quivering with anticipation. Ezra pressed his back against the hill as hard as he could. Desperately trying to hide himself under its ledge. As the thunderous galloping of his killer approached, he pressed harder and harder. Squeezing his eyes shut tighter as well. They could feel the vibration of the hooves in the earth and Ezra could feel it reverberating through his spine and into his skull.

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Buster began to growl as the hunter closed in and Ezra felt a rising sense of fury at the animal.

“Just shut up, you stupid mangy mutt! Shut up!” He thought with disdain.

Under better circumstances he would have understood Busters natural instinct, but right now, he just wished Buster would stay silent or die. He could have lived. He could have made it, but now this stupid dog was going to bark and give away their position.

What would stop him? Dogs barked. That’s just what they did, and no matter how much Ezra wanted him to remain silent, Buster wouldn’t understand. There was nothing he could do but wait to die.

He suddenly had the insane urge blow Buster away with his revolver, but that would give away his position for sure. Buster tensed as he continued to growl.

Ezra suppressed his desire to shoot Buster, but it was quickly replaced by the desire to turn the gun around and bash Busters’ head in until he couldn’t make a sound.

Ezra considered it for a moment, but he realized that he might not be able to knock Buster out right away and the blow could cause Buster to yelp, bark, or possibly even attack him. As the threat drew closer, Buster grew more tense and as the vibrations of the thundering hooves coursed through Ezra’s body, it almost pushed him beyond the edge of his sanity.

He felt a strong urge to scream in cathartic release, but he managed to hold himself back. Buster was still panting heavily from running for so long, but he seemed to be tensing up to bark. Instinctively, Ezra reached out and forcefully gripped Busters’ snout with his hands. Clasping his mouth shut. Ezra held on tightly, his body quivering as if he were wrestling an alligator to the ground.

Finally, the thundering sounds of galloping reached a crescendo and the horse and rider leapt over the hill in a single bound. Ezra stared in disbelief as the rider passed over them. Hurriedly chasing after the tracks that Duke had left behind. Ezra let out a silent – crazed laugh. Still in utter shock that they had survived.

He continued laughing until he couldn’t breathe, his face crimson. Buster whined at him, licking his face. Ezra continued his bout of insanity for a time, but Buster did not relent, repeatedly licking his face. This eventually revived Ezra from his stupor and he scrambled to push Buster away. Then he cautiously stepped out from the hiding place and studied the path ahead.

It was too dark to see much more than a dozen yards ahead of him, but the sound of the hunter had faded into the distance. With the danger now safely past them, Ezra was once again, glad to have Buster at his side. There was no telling how much time their ruse had bought them. They needed to get back on Vincent’s trail with haste.

They had to find him before it was too late. There was no telling if or when the hunter would return. Ezra had studied the figure to the best of his ability as he was riding away. If Ezra wasn’t mistaken, it appeared to be John Wexler. Though he couldn’t be sure. Ezra also wasn’t sure if he preferred the bounty hunter to be Wexler or Callais. The thought of either one of them made him shiver. Regardless, he was a dead man if they caught up with him.

Successfully avoiding the hunter had provided him with a fleeting opportunity to make it back to Vincent and for both of them to make it out of the wilderness alive. He wasn’t about to squander it. He retrieved the bandages and held them up to Buster’s nose so they could get a lock on Vincent’s scent again. Buster faithfully leapt to his feet, eager to do his duty. He picked up on the scent more easily this time and they rushed off to find Vincent.

Only this time, they moved much slower. Without Duke to take them swiftly to their destination, the remaining journey would be significantly delayed. Not only did they have to travel on foot, but they had to be careful not to lead the hunter right to them. They meticulously worked to obfuscate their trail in an attempt to throw the hunter off.

Ezra hoped that they were close now. He was desperate to find out whether Vincent had survived. He cursed his misfortune both in his reception at the camp, and the return journey to retrieve Vincent. If they’d just lent him a horse, he could have gotten back on the trail faster. And if they hadn’t forced him to steal, he wouldn’t be on the run for his life and he could be on horseback right now, instead of moving at a crawl on foot, while simultaneously trying to cover his tracks.

He could feel the heat of his blood rising and at this rate, it would soon begin to boil. After all he’d been through, if – scratch that—when he finally returned to Vincent, they would be back to square one. What was the point of coming all this way if he didn’t even have a horse to carry Vincent back? The sheer tragedy of it was almost too much for Ezra to bear. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on that now.

He couldn’t allow himself to become distracted. He could focus on the problems, or he could choose to be grateful he’d escaped certain death and focus on how to help Vincent now that he was drawing near. They plodded their way slowly but surely and after a time, Ezra was beginning to think that he recognized the area. If memory served him, they were only minutes away.

Struck with a sudden sense of anticipation and urgency, they picked up the pace. Their attempts to cover the tracks had become far sloppier, but Ezra just didn’t have it in him to wait any longer. He forgot all about everything else and ran to find Vincent.

At last, they arrived at the area where Vincent had been buried. Ezra wasn’t sure before, but he knew without a doubt now, that this was the place. His heart began to race, surging with a new sense of hope and he ran toward the entrance with an overwhelming sense of relief. His excitement was beginning to build, but as he approached -- and as the area slowly became visible -- what Ezra saw next -- made his heart sink.

He gulped, his breath becoming shallow, his throat suddenly dry. He shook his head in despair and disbelief.

“No,” he said aloud. “No!” Buster instantly went on alert, letting out a low growl as they moved toward the scene of carnage. Ezra saw signs of struggle and bouts of blood surrounding the area.

He heard the telltale sign of death. The buzzing of flies upon a corpse. Busters’ demeanor became increasingly agitated as they moved forward. His growl rising in volume and intensity. Ezra moved forward slowly with a grimace. His stomach turning as the smell wafted into his nostrils. He quickly covered his nose and mouth with his arm in response.

Vainly attempting to block out the wretched stench of decay. The sight of the carnage, along with the smell, made him gag. He heaved, nearly vomiting, but he managed to keep his stomach in check. He saw the mangled bodies, the excessive splotches of blood, and the damage that had been done to the barricade he’d built about six hours earlier. There was no sign of Vincent. If he was still alive, he would have expected a response or some other sign that he was still breathing.

Buster moved past him. Digging at the entrance until he was able to slip inside. Ezra watched him disappear and a sudden wave of fear rushed over him at what he might find inside. There could still be predators about, but oddly, the idea of a wolf attacking him wasn’t what scared him the most.

What he most feared to witness, was the carnage of Vincent’s death. He didn’t want to see the horror that had befallen his friend as he had waited helpless under a pile of rocks. The idea of Vincent enduring such an excruciating death because Ezra had abandoned him, was too sickening to contemplate. He stood there for a time, searching for the courage to enter. It took a moment, but he drew a deep breath and cocked his revolver. Ready for whatever lay on the other side of the mound.

He buried his face in the crook of his elbow again and took a tentative step forward. Then jolted suddenly as he heard the click of a gun cocking behind him. He froze.

“Drop it.” He heard a flat, cold, voice say.

Sweat ran down his forehead, his hands shaking. He could feel the trigger of his own weapon, cool against his forefinger. He seriously considered what would happen if he decided to use it.

“Drop it now. Or I’ll put a bullet in your back.”