The Darkness of Day

The bullets flying around the battle scene were slicing down trees up to two feet thick. Grant decided he was too close to the line of fire and had better make his way back a distance. There was a minute of confusion while he tried to figure out which direction to go. The mist and fog were so heavy that it was impossible to see farther than a few yards. Pulling out his compass, Grant started to turn Buck towards the north. Did he hear the whistle of the bullet before feeling the searing pain, or at the same time? He didn't have time to ponder the question when the wind seemed to go right out of Buck and down they both went. Grant's leg was pinned under his horse. He couldn't move. "Buck, get up. Up! Up!" Raising up on his elbow he tried to urge his horse up. Buck was breathing heavily. The horse tried to raise his head. He laid his head back down with a last deep whinny. Blood was pouring out of a wound in the side of his chest. The cold realization that his treasured companion had a fatal wound wrenched at his heart and the tears slid down Grant's face. He stroked his horse and called his name over and over. It was then, that Grant's love for his horse was greater than his grief, and he pulled his LaMat out of the holster. The shot ended Buck's suffering. Grant lay there mourning his horse as he stroked his neck. He finally realized he needed to tend to himself. He was able to see that his leg wound was just a grazing from the bullet that had taken down Buck. He tried to wiggle out from the dead weight of the horse, but his leg was pinned solid. The muddy ground was so slippery he couldn't get a grip. Grant flopped back, emotionally and physically exhausted, fear gripping him for the first time. He didn't know how long he had been there before he heard a voice coming from a figure approaching him. A feeling of dread flashed through him as he heard the southern drawl.