“Hey — hey! Keep your damn eyes open!” He scolded, holding your limp body in his arms. O’Driscolls had ambushed you both while on a ride — and you were shot through the leg in a crossfire.

The fight was over, and Dutch had you held tight to his chest, his hand pressed harshly against your leg to lessen the bleeding.

“We’re going to get help. Back at camp.” He whispered quickly, brushing sticky strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead.