Sister Mine

7

Riddick's side was on fire from the swollen open wound, and he felt his bandana coming loose as he rode. Fumbling beneath his shirt he packed the fabric back into the holes, urging the horse beneath him faster, feeling the heat of the night wind sweep across his cheeks. It had been a close thing, much too close, and too reckless. The memory of it made him break out in a cold sweat. Riddick glanced behind him, seeing nothing but darkness, hearing nothing but the pound of his horse's hooves but that did not comfort him. Somewhere in the night behind him, they would be coming.

Swinging east he slowed the gelding down to an easy trot, staying along the low line of hills and ridges. Cantua's men had set the land on fire in search of him, and Riddick had been faced with the flame, or bullets. Either way spelled almost certain death for him, but a self-made man he'd chosen to take his chances with the flames. Shadows were driven from the night by the growing blaze around his hiding place and Riddick had moved fast, staying low as he ran along the gorge bottom. He was seen about ten feet from the fire line and shouting and bullets had filled the night.

Swearing in pure hopelessness Riddick had taken a wild leap straight into the mouth of the fire, feeling the heat sear his skin. He had burst through the wildfire right on top of the men who had started it and in a near panic he'd jerked his rifle up and shot from the hip. Nobody was prepared for the chaos that reigned as he waded through them, using the Spencer as a club when the chamber emptied of shells. Even as Riddick broke through the line he felt the slug hit him, spinning him around. That had saved his life, for several more lead emissaries spat into the air where he'd just been, and had he not fallen he would have died. With a lunge he was up and running for their horses, not daring to even pause to look back.

Now he was running flat out, heading for where he guessed Aguascalientes to be, and bleeding heavily. Slowing the horse in the deep shade of a hillside Riddick finally took the time to load his rifle with the cartridges in his satchel. Peeling his shirt away, pouring a little water on it from the canteen on the saddle, he grit his teeth. It burned, even though cool, and that was a bad sign. He dared not stop and build a fire, so his only choice for now was to move on, and hopefully buy himself a little time.

"I hope you know this area boy," he spoke quietly to the big horse.

He started the animal again and they moved on into the night, keeping to rock and hard packed ground to leave little trail. Riddick doubled back on his trail a few times and switched over a few ridges and valleys, the horse likely thinking he'd lost his mind. Eventually the gelding stopped on his own his head lifted high, ears perked. Then Riddick smelled it too, the damp, unmistakable scent of mud and water. Urging the horse forward they rode cautiously forward and topped a small rise, dropping down into a shallow but wide gulley. A stream no more than six inches high ran the length of the wash, but it was wide, perhaps as much as eight or ten feet across. Stepping from the saddle Riddick and the horse both put their faces to the water and gratefully sucked it down.

He rubbed it across his face and the back of his neck, then splashed it over his head, refreshed and cooled. Stripping from his shirt in the dark Riddick bathed the wound with the fresh water, gently examining the wound with his fingers. It was a through and through, straight over the bone of his left hip hitting nothing vital but bleeding freely. Grunting he got to his feet and took his satchel from the saddle, digging out a pouch of ground corn meal. Using his bandana he made a pocket and sprinkled just a little water on it, then packed the maize against both sides of his wound. The ground corn would act like a sponge and a sealant, soaking up his blood and coagulating around the wound. It was not the best bandage, but the method would have to work for Riddick had no desire to linger here. He gingerly got back into his shirt, his side on fire.

He filled his canteens as now he had two and he drank again long and deeply then stepped back into leather. The horse went willingly enough and they covered some miles before dawn found them. By then Riddick was weak, drained and hungry. He dozed in the saddle, opening his eyes every so often to look vaguely around. The sorrel he rode was heading somewhere with purpose and Riddick let him go. He was too tired to care, as long as he could get some sleep, some food, and heal. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep again until he opened his eyes again, looking down over a narrow valley lined with trees. Sparkling here and there between the branches he saw the glint of sun on water.