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Backing Madonna right up to the edge, she called down, “Heads up. I’m throwing down a rope.”
“Okay,” Mack answered, but she could hear his voice tinged with pain. She had to get him out of there and to a hospital as quickly as possible.
As carefully as she could, she lowered the cord, watching it snake its way down the rock face until it vanished into the gloom below. She heard Mack grunting and the echo of the rasp of boots on gravel. He must be levering himself to his feet. She could just imagine how hard that would be with only one hand and an injured ankle. But there was nothing else she could do to help him, so she waited, wincing in sympathy as she listened to his stifled, inarticulate sounds of pain.
“I can see it,” Mack called out eventually. “But can you swing it back and forth, it’s all the way over on the other side of the shaft and I can’t reach it.”
“Sure.” She wriggled the cord and got it swinging in a slow circle. Suddenly, the cord jerked, and she gave a small clap of glee. “Have you got it?”
“Yep. Just give me a sec to get settled.”
She waited with bated breath, until he finally called. “All set.”
Bindi went around to Madonna’s head and slowly led her forward until the all the slack was gone from the cord. “Hang on,” she sang out. Then she clucked loudly, urging Madonna forward, pulling hard on her halter. At first, Madonna balked at the strange weight pulling her sideways and backward, but Bindi kept her gaze trained on the horse and angled her head to the right, encouraging her with her words and her body.
“Come on, girl,” she said, her breath coming in short pants as she strained to pull Madonna forward. “You can do it. Good, girl.”
Step by step, the horse dragged Mack out of the shaft. Bindi was afraid to let her gaze leave the mare, in case she decided the weight was too much to bear. She couldn’t let Madonna go, or she might drop Mack right back to the earth below. She had no idea how close Mack was to the edge. She just kept Madonna moving, inching forward, one hand on either side of the halter, almost as if she might pull Mack up all by herself.
“Stop, stop,” Mack’s voice rang out, echoing off the pile of boulders. “I’m out,” he puffed, and Bindi dared to let her eyes leave Madonna’s face to glance back toward the hole. Sure enough, Mack was lying prostrate on the ground a few feet from the lip, dragging in huge gulps of air.
“Whoa,” Bindi called to Madonna. As soon as the horse stopped, she ran back to where Mack lay on the dusty ground. She slipped the hook of cord from around his foot, just in case Madonna took it into her head to move off again, and crawled up to cradle his head in her lap. His beautiful, tanned face was pale, sweat running freely down his temples, his eyes pinched and lined with pain.
“Oh, Jesus, are you okay?” She stroked his sweat-soaked hair away from his face.
“I’m great.” He tried to raise a smile for her, but it was missing that cocky tilt that she’d come to love. She wanted to lean down and kiss all the pain and hurt away from his face. Kiss him until he no longer felt anything but her in his arms.
“Let me help you sit up,” she said gently.
But he grimaced and let out a groan from between gritted teeth the moment she moved him, then fell back onto the earth. It seemed that the act of being pulled out of the shaft had drained most of his energy and ability to fight down the pain. Her half-baked plan of perhaps helping him onto Madonna’s back and both of them riding out of here disappeared in a whoosh of air. He wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. She needed another plan. It looked like she might have to leave without him and go and find help. Which was the absolute last thing she wanted to do, but she may not have an option. She needed to get him into the shade, at least. This blazing heat would do him no good. They were both already dehydrated, and they’d brought no water.
“What have you done with Whip?” a tremulous voice asked from behind her.
“What the fuck?” she said, turning around slowly to see a large man in a blue T-shirt pointing a gun at her head.
