SHOT!

2026 June Round-up Challenge

by jfclover

~*~*~

The shot comes out of nowhere, and I fear the worst.  I urge Cochise forward until I see that Hoss lies flat on his back.  I run toward my brother.  Blood stains his shirt.  He’s gut-shot but still breathing.

I’m alone.  No backup.  No way to transport my brother back home.  Panic rises, and my heart pounds like a bass drum.  How the heck will I get him back to the house?  Gut-shot.  The worst type of injury that can happen to any man.  The odds of survival are minimal, and being this far from home doesn’t bode well.

I need to think.  I have to do the right thing, or I’ll lose the best man I know. I can’t let that happen.  It would break my father’s heart.  It would break my heart.

I have two choices.  Ride back to the house and hitch up the buckboard, or try to make a travois, but my brain seems muddled.  Which will be best?  Thinking straight has become a problem.  Without a saw, building a travois seems out of the question.  A wagon and a mattress.  That will be best, but it will take time.  Riding to town for the doc will take time.  Damn.  Damn it all to hell! How much time does Hoss have?

He’s barely conscious, but he stares up at me, and I relay the plan.  After giving him a drink from my canteen, I need to talk.  I need him to understand the best plan I can come up with.  If I’m mistaken ….

I cringe at the thought.  My brother lies dying, and I’m the only one who can get him to safety.  If only I’d been the one to get shot.  Hoss could’ve sat me in front of him on Chubby and carried me home, but no.  It wasn’t me, and if my plan doesn’t work ….

I need to abandon all the nasty thoughts that run through my mind.  I need to move forward.  My plan is solid.  It makes sense, and it should work.  There’s nothing I can do for Hoss here.  I need to leave him alone and hope the killer doesn’t return and finish him off.

But who in their right mind would want to kill Hoss?  We hadn’t had any cattle stolen, so I had to assume it wasn’t rustlers or bandits of some kind.  If a bank had been robbed, we were oblivious.  That only left the boys who’d killed the deputy then taken flight like a pack of wild dogs.

~*~*~

Our new peace officer is a living legend.  The beau sabreur of the West.  I’m not saying he’s the one who shot Hoss.  I’m sure he’d have more sense than to fire without identifying his target, but odd things run through a man’s mind when he rides his mount at breakneck speed.  The faster I get home, the sooner I’ll have the buckboard outfitted and ready to take on my brother.  Silly maybe, but I question my strength. Will I be able to lift Hoss onto the wagon bed without causing more damage?  It’s bad enough that the doctor will have to dig for the bullet, but could I make things worse?  Could I kill my own brother?

Before I make it into the yard, I wave my hat over my head when I see one of our ranch hands heading north in a wagon filled with wooden posts. I remember Pa saying that he was sending Hank out to repair the fence in the north pasture, but it will not happen today.  More important matters take precedence over any dang fence.

“Hank,” I yell, and he tugs on the reins.  I sidle up next to the bearded hand and explain what’s happened.  “It’s a matter of life or death.  It’s Hoss, and we need the doc.”

“I’ll turn the wagon around and get my horse.  I can get to town in no time.”

“You’re a good man, Hank.  Tell the doc to hurry.”

~*~*~

My situation has taken a turn.  Finding Hank is a godsend, and I see a brighter future for my brother.  We’re halfway there.  Doc and buckboard.  Those two single elements could change my family’s future, could make things right again.  I feel that the old saying—there’s light at the end of the tunnel—is a measure of hope for the Cartwright family.  I need to think positive.  I need to keep that bright, hopeful thought at the forefront of my mind.

My father would have words to say if he knew how fast I drove the buckboard over rough terrain, but I had no choice.  With a bullet lodged in his gut, I’d left my brother alone.  The tunnel’s end began to dim, and my thoughts became dark, too dark for a man on a mission.

“Why?” I shouted into the stillness around me.

My butt bounced on the wooden seat, and my thighs felt every rut and bump.  There wasn’t a road to follow.  I set my sails through pasture land, rugged and uneven and overrun with Ponderosa cattle. 

Earlier in the day, we were laughing and joking and rounding up strays.  A simple job.  A good day’s work until the unthinkable happens, and a man’s life is at stake.  It’s a stark reality of everyday life.  A gun, and an eager shooter.

When I pull up to the clearing, I turn the buckboard to face home, jump down off the seat, run toward Hoss, and fall on my knees.  “Hoss.”

Though breathy, my brother was able to speak.  “You came back.”

“Of course, I came back.”

“Wasn’t sure.”

“I had to get the wagon.”

“Oh … smart.”

“Think you can sit up?”

“Sure.”

Maybe Hoss was sure, but I wasn’t.  I moved behind my brother and helped him to his feet.  “Hold on.”

When he was settled on the mattress, I chucked the reins.  All that was left to do was pray, and I prayed like never before. 

The End

6-2026