Broken Wings

5

"Out of bullets, but yes." Strickland closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he slowly nodded his head, "I'm too old for this... they came out of nowhere like some damned hoogly-boo's on All Hallow's Eve."

Shepard grunted. "We should see if any of 'em are still alive." He watched Strickland struggle onto his left elbow and knee, "I can see to it myself if you'd prefer to check on your men?"

Strickland scowled, stumbling to his feet and bracing his hands on his thighs to catch his breath, "I thank you kindly for the offer, but I'm not so wounded or long in the tooth I'm about to let you do my job when I'm more than capable."

He straightened and clutched his injured shoulder and side, "Damn, but nothing makes me mad as a wet hen than getting shot off my horse and having to watch Dynamite Fairleigh escape again."

Stooping with a pained groan to pick up his hat, he dusted it off against his thigh before settling it atop his head, then gathered the reins and mounted Flapjack.

"Dagblasted all... but I don't remember it hurting this bad last time I got shot." Strickland fished around in his right coat pocket, mumbling several curses under his breath and grimacing in pain until he retrieved a dented brass telescope.

Extending it to its full six inches, Strickland held it to his right eye and surveyed the direction they'd come from.

Shepard was looking down, poking at his wounded thigh, when Strickland let out a curse. "What?"

"It appears Walt's the only one of our group besides you and me who's still alive," Strickland grumbled with a shake of his head, casting the telescope in a slow sweep of the area.

Shepard looked up ahead and squinted, barely able to discern the vaguely human lump moving around that must be Walt. "He look wounded?"

Strickland pursed his lips and nodded, "By the way he's moving, I'd say that's a definite yes... but he's up and walking, so I think he'll be fine long enough for us to check Fairleigh's gang for survivors."

He collapsed the telescope with the heel of his hand and tucked it back in his pocket, then clicked his tongue and nudged Flapjack into motion.

They walked their horses to the first body, and Shepard dismounted, bracing himself against Bubbles when his vision wavered.

"This one's Scars Stroud," Strickland said, bringing Flapjack closer to the corpse lying face up. "Elmar, I believe was his real first name...."

Shepard forced down a swallow as the dizzy spell passed and wiped a hand across his sweaty brow. "He a part of that mess back in San Luis?"

Strickland nodded, watching Shepard awkwardly kneel beside the dead man and begin searching his pockets. "Dynamite's shadow, Rufus used to call him."

"Five licorice drops," Shepard withdrew the pieces of candy and tossed them on the ground, then reached into the dead man's other trouser front pocket and removed a gleaming pile of coins. "And seventy-two cents," he murmured.

He struggled to his feet, wishing he hadn't knelt in the first place. Then, sighing in disgust, he pocketed the coins and limped to Bubbles. "Elmar Stroud, you said?"

Strickland nodded.

Shepard patted his right saddlebag, "I've got a warrant for Elmar Stroud with me. Thought about going after him a couple months back but decided to pursue a higher bounty instead."

There was a slight pause, and for a second, Shepard worried Strickland would ask who the outlaw was he'd pursued before arriving in San Luis. He didn't want to think of Stanley Hastings ever again or what going after him had cost.