After some hours searching, they came across their horses beside a brook quietly grazing on some patches of lush grass. They appeared unharmed by their ordeal, but not Cole. By now, the beating he had taken previously was beginning to cause him a great deal of discomfort. During the furious firefight, all of his pain had been pushed to the back of his mind, but now, with normality having returned, exhaustion overwhelmed him. Blood seeped from his nose and mouth, and the effort of climbing into the saddle brought such a surge of pain that he almost vomited.
“Boy,” said Renshaw, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, “you need to find yourself some more of that sand I thought you possessed. Seems to me that mercy killing has turned you soft.”
Leaning across the pommel, Cole shot him a
