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Wheat and Slick Hansen heard gunshots ring out behind them. Three riders were coming up fast, shooting at pursuers. Instead of continuing their casual journey following a lazy creek southward, the two young brothers obeyed the command of the big man in front who shouted and motioned with his pistol for them to go. Bullets began to whiz past Wheat’s head. Slick ducked as if flinching from a buzzing bee. To be stung by one of these bees could prove to be fatal.
The two brothers spurred their horses and heard the big man bellow as he closed in behind them, “Indians! You boys can take your chances alone or ride with us for now!”.

He turned and fired once more, passed them, and took the lead. Wheat’s new paint gelding stumbled sideways a few feet, but quickly regained his footing and stayed with the other four horses until they lost their pursuers. When they slowed to a trot, Wheat’s horse was reluctant to continue, only moving in a stumbling walk despite Wheat’s insistent spurring. The big man told Wheat to dismount and lead his gelding the few feet to a nearby embankment. He pointed out a small bleeding bullet hole on the horse’s right flank, just behind the ribcage. “Tough break, Kid. Grab your saddlebags and bedroll; you’ll have to ride double with your partner.”

Feeling embarrassed for trying to push the badly wounded animal, Wheat pulled his pistol to put the paint out of its misery. The big man grabbed his gun hand, “We can’t risk a shot. Those Indians would be back on us in no time. Shorty!”

Shorty and the third man were already dismounted. They knew the drill.
Slick spoke out with concern, “What about his saddle?” He quickly emphasized, “It cost six dollars!”

The big man smirked, “And it looks it.” He turned to Wheat, “Don’t worry, Kid; you stick with us, and we’ll see that you get a new outfit. Besides, you can’t carry a saddle and ride double at the same time. We have to travel as fast as we can to meet up with the rest of the boys at Kettle Rock.”

That was the moment Shorty’s blade sliced through the main artery of the wounded horse’s neck.
Wheat stared, frozen at the sight, when his paint’s lifeblood gushed rhythmically as if from a well’s hand pump. The horse staggered and collapsed to the ground. Lying on his side, the paint gelding released a final blow that vibrated his soft muzzle one last time.

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