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response to that. From the impression Runt’s body made in the short scrub grass, Cole guessed he’d crawled some ten feet from where Will left him. He was turned on his side, scrabbling at the ground with one bloody hand while the other was pushed between his legs. Before Cole reached him, he could make out the dark stain on Runt’s trousers. The outer edge of blood was soaking his thighs.
    Cole beat Will to the dismount and had already dropped to his knees beside Runt when Will joined him. He set his bag on the ground and jerked off Runt’s hat and tossed it aside. Laying the back of one hand across Runt’s forehead and then his cheek, he noted the cold and clammy condition of his skin, the effect of the blood loss and the beginning of shock. He circled Runt’s outstretched wrist with his fingers and searched for a pulse. It was weak and thready. In spite of that, he felt Runt try to resist the grip. There was a measure of fight still left in the young man, and even if it ran counterpoint to Cole’s own will, he considered it an encouraging sign.
    Without looking up, he told Will, “Drop the sheets. I need you to take Runt’s wrists. I have to see the injury.”
    Will winced at Runt’s low keening cry and found himself hesitating.
    “Do it now, Deputy, or you’re no use to me or him.”
    “Sorry, Runt,” Will whispered. He took Runt’s wrist from Cole’s grasp then reached between Runt’s doubled up legs and yanked.
    Cole replaced Runt’s hand with his own. It didn’t require as many years of medical training as he had on his curriculum vitae to make his diagnosis.
    “What is it, Doc?” He regarded Cole anxiously, certain now that the only thing worse than Runt’s wounded animal cry was the doctor’s stony silence. “What’s wrong with him?”
    Coleridge Monroe looked up from his patient and fixed Will with a glare that gave no quarter. “What’s wrong with him is that he’s having a miscarriage.”

Chapter 2
    Will knew he was staring like a fool at the doc, knew his jaw had gone slack and that his eyebrows were climbing toward his hairline, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He figured he was about as stupefied as a man could be and still draw breath.
    Cole had no comment for Will’s reaction. His attention had already returned to his patient. “Tear one of the sheets into strips,” he said. “You can let go of her arms. Runt’s not going to fight us.”
    “Then he must be dead.” Will didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Cole barked the order at him a second time. He dropped Runt’s wrists like they were hot coals and grabbed one of the sheets. Using his knife, he quickly shredded it into bandages while Cole opened Runt’s trousers and union suit.
    “I don’t see it, Doc,” he said, stealing a glance at Runt’s face. Not dead, just insensible. There was no belligerence or hint of challenge left in the set of Runt’s mouth, no jut to the jaw or flare to his nose. The loose features weren’t exactly peaceful either, and they resisted Will’s effort to see the female in them. “You sure Judah didn’t beat Runt’s privates to bloody pulp?”
    “I’m sure.” Cole grabbed one of the bandages, folded it end over end into a pad and carefully placed it between Runt’s thighs. “Help me lift and turn her. We’ll use the slope to get her feet higher than her head. If I can slow the bleeding here, we might be able to move to the cabin.”
    Will slipped his forearms under Runt’s shoulders and back. Cole supported her legs. On Cole’s count, they lifted her just the few inches necessary to make the awkward half turn on their knees. Runt never twitched.
    “Take a few of the bandages and wet them in the stream.” Cole spared a glance at Will when the deputy didn’t move quickly enough to suit him. If one got past the greenish tinge, Will’s face was almost as pale as Runt’s. “Are you going to faint, Deputy?”
    Will rose unsteadily to his feet.