Mike barely remembered the ride to town. He faded in and out, swaying in the sagging old seat of Adam’s Chevy. He hurt all over.
A couple of hours later, with two stitches in his lip, some X-rays that supposedly indicated nothing was broken, and a diagnosis of a concussion from fists and maybe the one club he had not been able to break, Mike felt a little less foggy, despite the painkillers he’d swallowed. The duty doctor wanted to keep him in the clinic overnight. It wasn’t a real hospital, but did stay open twenty-four/seven and had a half dozen beds and a couple of nurses on duty, as well as a rotating staff of doctors from the hospital in nearby Shiprock. He balked at that, concussion or not.
“I need to get back to the shelter. The dogs have to be fed and watched and—Oh s**t, those h
