17
William was not aware of what transpired back at the house. He was certain that many riders on horseback were already in pursuit of him. He sensed that the horse beneath him was strong and fast. As William held on for dear life, he realized his injury was not too severe, since each arm was equally strong in its grip.
Thomas was slow in preparing a horse. By the time he gave chase, William was not visible. Thomas rode his horse for an hour or so until he lost hope of catching up to William. When he finally stopped, Thomas knew he had lost him, and it was futile to continue further. Thomas turned his horse around and headed back to his house.
William had galloped at full speed for over an hour without stopping. He wondered when he would hear the thunder of countless horses behind him. Finally, he found the nerve to bring his horse to a slower pace. By now William had climbed up a hillside, which afforded him a view of the countryside for miles behind him. There was not a soul in sight. The late afternoon sun was poised on the horizon, and William knew that it would be dark in a few hours. A small stream was visible in the distance. As he made his way toward it, he wondered if he was about to awaken from a very long dream. Now more than ever since this ordeal commenced, he felt alone, as if he were the only man left on earth. William dismounted his horse, whose mouth had already found the refreshing cool water at his hoofs.
“Hey, save some for me.”
William lowered himself on all fours at the water’s edge, now upstream from the horse that he was certain saved his life. He placed his hands on large boulders in the six-inch deep water, and lowering himself in a pushup position, proceeded to drink directly from the surface of the stream. When William quenched his thirst he clutched at his wound. By now the blood on his shoulder and arm had dried up. He removed his shirt and, turning his head, stretched his neck over his shoulder to visually inspect the area that was hit by the bullet. William’s sigh of relief was even louder than the noise made by the horse beside him as it continued to gulp up water.
“Thank God it’s just a flesh wound.”
William realized he was speaking to the horse and what was even more peculiar was that he was expecting the horse to join in on a “That was a close call” type of conversation that two comrades would have during battle with the enemy. William proceeded to clean the blood from his wound and surrounding area. He clenched his teeth as he stroked the area that was directly injured. A small trickle of blood emerged from the edge of the wound. William quickly created a makeshift bandage by tearing strips of cloth from one of the sleeves of his borrowed white shirt.
“Well, horse, you must have a name, but I guess you can’t divulge that information.” William needed to amuse himself. “Go ahead, speak horse. Tell me your name.” William was looking around, pretending to make sure no one could hear him.
“Listen, I know you guys can speak when you want to, I saw Mr. Ed do it on television when I was a kid a hundred years from now. If you don’t tell me your name I will have to call you Trigger or Lightning or some dumb name like that, or how about Bullet since you seem to fly like one?“