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“Why would they shoot you?”
“It is what I would like to know. I came as always, and never saw anyone. Except the man who fell from the sky.”
“What? Where was that?”
“About thirty miles back.”
“You crossed that way again? Jesus Christ, Miguel.” The old Mexican drank all the water in his glass and Sam refilled it. “What about this falling man?”
Miguel told him.
Sam said, “Let’s get you in the truck and take you in to the hospital.”
“No. Those men will find me if you do.”
“They won’t know where you are.”
“Please, amigo. No hospital.”
“Well, do you want me to call the Sheriff?”
“No. Will you tend to my wound, Sam? That will be enough.”
Sam brought his medicine kit and a .22 rifle cleaning kit to the table. He checked Miguel’s wound. “I could bring you some tequila and get you ready. I need to sew the front hole closed, but leave the back one open enough so I can put in a cloth shunt for draining.”
“What kind of tequila do you have?”
“You must be feeling better, even though you don’t look it. It’s Dulce Vida, a very good one.”
“Okay.”
Sam brought the tequila and two glasses.
The bottle was a third down when Miguel said, “I am ready.” As he and Miguel continued to sip the tequila, Sam cleaned and disinfected the wound. Miguel hissed when Sam used the aluminum .22 caliber cleaning rod to ease a white cotton patch dripping with hydrogen peroxide through the wound three separate times, then followed it with a final patch coated in Neosporin.
Sam said, “That last one will help with the pain.” He picked up the needle and thread and went to work, and was quick and neat. When he finished, the front hole was closed and the rear wound was almost closed. A thin, twisted strip of sterile white linen protruded a full inch from the wound. Sam taped a four-by-four sterile pad over it and said, “We’ll change these as often as we need to.” He
put two small bottles of pills on the table and pushed them toward Miguel. “Take two of these every six hours. I bought them in Ojinaga a while back. Amoxicillin should help with any infection. The other bottle is for your fever and the pain.”
Miguel pocketed the bottles and said, “I should leave. I heard the men in the helicopter say they would hunt me this morning. And they know of the ranch.”
They both heard Chula bark, and ten seconds later there was the sound of a helicopter landing. Sam said, “You go in my bedroom. Get my pump shotgun out of the closet and wait there.”
Miguel left and Sam knew the helicopter was down because he heard the rotors idling. He rose and took the cocked-and-locked Colt Government Model .45 off the top of the refrigerator, eased the slide back to make sure one was in the chamber, then walked to the front door and opened it with his left hand, keeping the pistol in his right, out of sight behind the door frame.
Two men stood in the front yard. The helicopter was thirty yards further back. The two men wore light hunting jackets and camo clothing. The beardless one wore wraparound sunglasses, and the man with the beard had a thin pale scar beside his right eye.
Sam said, “You boys lost?”
“The one without the beard said, “We are looking for someone.”
“Nobody here but me and the dog.”
The two men looked at each other, then the bearded one said, “This is the only place he could be.”
Sam said, “Is he driving, or walking, or what? Look around you, there’s miles and miles out here where somebody can be. Who is he?”
“We don’t know his name.”
