Ezra’s mind raced as he galloped away at full speed. He almost couldn’t believe he’d actually escaped. He risked a glance over his shoulder and found that he could no longer see the camp behind him. By all accounts, he should be dead.

As much as he wanted to complain about his luck, he had to admit to himself that he did have plenty to be thankful for. It felt so good to be free of the ropes. Though his experience as a captive seemed at the time, to stretch on forever, now that he was free again, he realized that he had been in the bounty hunter’s possession for a relatively short time.

Though brief the ordeal had been, Ezra vowed that he would do everything in his power to make sure that he would never be in that position again. Easier said than done, he thought. I’ll probably want to quit stealing horses as a start. He’d never wanted to be a horse thief. Had never even considered it.

All of his life, he wanted nothing more than to abide by the laws of the land and live in peace. As long as he had a nice quiet place to live and enough necessities to maintain a relatively normal life, he was content. Or at least that used to be the case. What had changed?

A lot of things. He wasn’t sure if the changes themselves were more shocking or the speed at which they had occurred. Either way, they’d led him to where he was now. Condemned. A horse thief was a dead man. Everyone knew. And if by some miracle, a man was found innocent, a second occurrence was akin to building his own gallows, and then unceremoniously stepping into the noose of his own accord.

What was he going to do? It was a question with implications too dire to consider. The thought of it made him sick to the point that he became disoriented. Which was something he simply couldn’t allow. Not now. It really wasn’t even his fault.

He was guilty of nothing more than doing right by his friend. But he doubted the law would see it that way. This was more on Vincent than on him, by his thinking, but he doubted they would see it that way either. Vincent was incapacitated. It was Ezra who had taken the actions that led to crime and his subsequent pursuit by the law.

Neither of them had much choice in the end. They were just doing the best they could. But being wrongly accused left him looking for someone to blame. There was plenty to go around. Between the apathy of his colleagues and the outright abandonment by the foreman, there was little room for an ideal approach.

This was all bad enough, but what really added salt to the wound, was that even though he’d done everything humanly possible, there was a good chance that it still wouldn't be enough. And if he’s dead, the hard truth that all of my sacrifice will have been in vain. That thought instantly brought clarity to his mind. He didn’t have time to waste. He had to get to Vincent and get him back to camp. Once Vincent was safe and sound then they could sort out the mess they’d gotten themselves into.

He didn’t have Buster along for the journey this time. He was grateful for the guidance that Buster had provided. He knew he wouldn’t have gotten as far as he did so fast without him. And now that he’d successfully traveled back to Vincent in the dark, he was confident that he could find the place again without the hound’s aid.

He was quite fortunate that Buster had been either too content by the fire, too weary from the initial trip, or both. He had done well, but he would only impede Ezra’s progress at this point. Ezra couldn’t begrudge the hound taking a rest. As he knew firsthand that it was well earned. Ezra picked his way carefully, but quickly. Far more comfortable and confident now than before. He had come to depend on Duke and felt a strong sense of synergy with the horse in the short time that they had ridden together.

In addition, Ezra had grown accustomed to riding in the dark and was more familiar with the path at night on horseback now that he was traveling the terrain a second time within the last few hours. Duke still had plenty of stamina and was able to maintain impressive speed --and before long -- Ezra galloped back to the site of the makeshift tomb.

Ezra’s senses were tingling with excitement and relief at having successfully arrived without incident this time. But as soon as he saw the tomb again, his stomach dropped. A familiar sense of dread settled into his bowels, and he was instantly reminded of the suffocating shroud of trepidation he’d experienced earlier as he closed in on the scene of the carnage. He genuinely feared what he would find inside, but he mustered up the courage to face it. Even if the sight of it haunted his dreams forever, he had to know.

After all was said and done, he deserved that much. So, with a deep, shaky, breath he moved forward. Mentally preparing himself for what he might find. As he approached, he was struck by the stench once more. His stomach lurched and he scrambled to cover his mouth as he had the first time. The flies were still buzzing, and gouts of blood still littered the immediate area. Though by the light of the moon, they appeared more like dark shadows.

Ezra found that imagining them as shadows rather than blood, set his mind somewhat at ease. The more he reassured himself that there was nothing to be afraid of here, the more he seemed to be able to cope with the dread threatening to overwhelm him.

As Ezra scanned the aftermath, he couldn’t help but be impressed. He felt a rising sense of respect for Vincent, which was a welcome contrast to the fear. Vinent had put up a good fight. The corpses of several wolves remained, acting as potential posthumous trophies in honor of Vincent. Ezra had already counted one dead outside, and as he moved toward the entrance, he surmised the total was at least two, if not more.

He reluctantly lifted the corpse that was blocking the entrance and pushed it aside. Then, struggling against a wall of innate resistance, he forced himself to look inside. His heart sank at the sight. There was another wolf inside. Lying on top of Vincent. Or at least what was left of him. He could see only his legs sticking out from under the bloody mound of fur.

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The wolf appeared to be dead, but maybe it was simply sleeping atop the remnants of its kill. Ezra drew his weapon. Ready to defend himself in case of an attack. It didn’t seem to be moving. He stood for a long moment, searching for any signs of movement. When he was reasonably sure that virtually no movement had occurred, he tentatively stretched out his arm, gun in hand, and prodded the wolf with the barrel.

It did not respond. He repeated the motion with the same result, and this time, Ezra was convinced that it was no longer a threat. The fact that it was dead, gave Ezra a small measure of hope that perhaps Vincent had survived the vicious attack, but he couldn’t imagine how anyone, in such a weakened state, could manage to fight off an attack of this magnitude without also perishing amidst the battle.

More than likely, the animal would have torn him to shreds as he fired his last rounds and long after he’d already been eviscerated, the wolf would finally succumb to its injuries. Ezra summoned another surge of courage and rolled the mangled body of the wolf away from Vincent and to the side. Ezra took note of the blood oozing from its head. He hadn’t realized that upon rolling the final wolf away, he'd avoided looking at Vincent.

It took him a moment to register that he’d been squeezing his eyes shut. He paused. Slowly opening his eyes to reveal Vincent’s body. It was pale. More pale than he’d ever seen Vincent in his life. He looked stiff and cold. Ezra visibly cringed at the blood caked on Vincent’s face and body.

Though he felt a slight sense of relief that Vincent hadn’t been mangled beyond recognition. Besides the dark pool of blood, Vincent’s body seemed to be mostly intact. Except for one of his arms which appeared to have sustained significant damage, but it was hard to tell without further inspection.

Ezra was having a difficult time determining how much of the blood was Vincent’s and how much had come from his attackers, but Ezra hoped that it was more theirs than Vincent’s. He leaned forward reluctantly, checking Vincents throat for a pulse. He felt nothing - and his heart sank, but he pressed harder, just to make sure. Still nothing, Vincent’s body was so cold.

Ezra knelt there in the dirt for a long moment. A vacant stare in his eyes. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he was resuscitated from his stupor as he sensed something under his fingers. It felt like…. A pulse! A very weak pulse – but one, nonetheless.

He curled his hands into fists in front of him and bumped them in a show of exultation. He's still alive! There’s still hope. His sense of urgency was palpable. Ezra rushed back to Duke and grabbed the only blanket he had. Carefully wrapping Vincent inside. He needed to keep Vincent alive. Save what little body heat he had left and dress his wounds. He didn’t spend a lot of time cleaning them.

Instead, he quickly wrapped them to keep the wounds from bleeding further and then carefully lifted him onto the horse. He kept Vincent leaning forward, slumped over and resting against the back of Dukes head. Then Ezra, clambered up behind him. This would allow him to keep Vincent in the best possible position.

The ride would be much gentler than if he were thrown over the side, which would also allow Ezra to ride faster. He did his best to keep Vincent’s head up as they road and keep from opening his wounds any further. If he’d held on this long, Ezra was hopeful that he would survive until they got back to camp. Then he could finally get treatment and begin to heal. More than anything at the moment, his body needed nourishment in order to activate his own natural healing process.

That would give him the best chance to continue fighting until his wounds could be cleaned and dressed. Then they could get him next to a warm fire so his body wouldn’t have to fight so hard just to maintain a stable temperature. The lack of Buster also meant that they were moving slower than before, but they were still making good time. Ezra could hear the low, raspy whine of Vincent’s ragged breathing.

Hold on brother. Just hold on! The night had dragged on forever and it seemed it would never end, but as they rode on, Ezra saw the telltale signs of morning. Slowly but surely, light increased, and he was able to more easily navigate as they hurried back toward camp.

It was early morning now. Ezra knew that the sun would not rise for a while yet, but he welcomed the light and the warmth of another day. Relieved to finally be nearing the end of eternal night. He didn’t know how much longer Vincent could hold out, but he hoped it would be long enough to see him safely to camp.

Sometime later they reached the final hilltop and Ezra knew that it wouldn’t be long now. Exhausted and ready to fall from his horse, the sight brought him a sudden burst of energy and he felt the sudden alertness of a second wind. Finally, they crossed the threshold into camp and Ezra rode straight for the camp physician. As soon as he arrived at the physician’s tent, he dismounted and carried Vincent inside.

The tent was larger than most throughout the camp as it was setup for patients. Ezra laid him down on one of the cots and shook the doc awake. One thing Ezra knew for sure, was that the doc was not happy to see them. He called out in surprise at the sudden presence of a stranger in the wee hours of the morning.

“My God, man! What are you thinking? You can’t just come into a man’s tent and shake him like a skiff in a sea storm. You’re just lucky I’m not armed. Or I might’ve added a hole to your head.”

Ezra nodded impatiently. “Yeah, yeah… sorry doc, but I have an emergency here.” He pointed to Vincent. Doctor William Duluth or “Doc” for short, climbed awkwardly out of bed in his skivvies and shuffled toward Vincent. He grabbed a nearby lantern and quickly lighted it, holding it over Vincent’s body.

As soon as light revealed his condition, the doctor gasped. “How bad is it doc?” Ezra asked, wringing his hands. The doctor turned toward Ezra and gave him a look. One that Ezra didn’t like. He gestured with the lantern and Ezra took it from his hand, holding it up so the doctor could inspect Vincent more closely.

He inspected the wounds, wincing at the damage and then checked Vincent’s pulse. “I’m sorry, son. He’s gone. The- there’s nothing I can do…”

Ezra stared back at him in horror. “No doc.” he said, shaking his head. “No. There must be something you can do. Anything.”

The doctor let out a deep sigh but said nothing. Shaking his head again. Ezra felt a rising sense of panic. He was short of breath as if his lungs had suddenly been robbed of all oxygen. He felt the crushing weight of sorrow come over him, then an overwhelming sense of rage. So many emotions swirled inside him like a violent hurricane. Then they suddenly stopped.

“No, he said defiantly. I won’t accept it. If you can’t help him, I’ll find someone who will.” He retrieved Vincent’s corpse from the table and loaded it back up on the horse. The doctor stood in the entryway, dumbfounded. Ezra mounted and turned the horse about. Then kicked Duke’s sides with his heels.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?" the doctor called after him. "He’s dead!” Ezra ignored him, riding off into the darkness of early morning.

William’s grandfather had always gone on about how the world was going to the hogs for as long as he could remember. He’d always ignored it offhandedly, taking it for nothing more than hyperbole. As he stared in disbelief at Ezra riding away, he considered for the first time that maybe the old codger was onto something. Maybe the world really had gone insane.

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