Bart quickly drifted off into a half-conscious state. The pain was preventing him from sleeping, but he was so tired that his brain couldn't keep him fully awake. Bret had done what he could to make his brother more comfortable—if that was even possible in his condition—but there was nothing beyond that he could do.

The sun was setting after the rain had once again stopped. Bret was starving, but all they had in their saddlebags was beef jerky. That would do in a pinch, but it was nothing like the huge steak that Bret was used to having for supper. He had a feeling that it would do just fine for Bart, whose appetite never measured up to his own and was probably not even hungry because of the pain.

Bart suddenly groaned and moved his head.

Bret reached over to where his brother lay on his bedroll and touched his good arm. "Take it easy, Bart," he said, softly. Part of him hoped that Bart would drift off again, but the other part hoped that he was awake enough to eat.

"Bret?" Bart whispered.

Bret squeezed his brother's arm. "That's right."

Bart winced, sucking in a breath. "Does it ever end?" he asked.

Bret wasn't sure if his brother meant the pain or the dangerous situations that they always got themselves involved in. "Of course it does," Bret said, trying to make himself believe it.

Bart sighed.

"Are you hungry, Bart?" Bret asked.

Bart shook his head.

Bret mentally scolded himself. He should've told Bart that he was going to eat rather than ask. "Well you're eating anyway, and you have two choices."

"Of?" Bart asked, eyes still closed.

"Jerky and jerky."

Despite the pain, Bart chuckled. He winced again immediately after, reaching to hold onto his wounded arm.

"Can you sit up?" Bret asked him.

Frustrated from the pain, Bart replied, "Do I look like I can?"

Bret understood how Bart felt, and didn't blame him at all for being testy. "No, but you can't eat while lying flat."

Bart sighed again. "Don't wanna move."

Bret understood that too. "You need to eat to gain back some strength."

"I don't think jerky is gonna help very much," Bart answered.

Bret couldn't argue with that either, but it was better than nothing. "You have to eat something and this is all we have," he said. "Now, come on." He slid an arm under his brother and pulled him up into a sitting position.

Bart couldn't stop a groan from passing his lips.

Bret carefully leaned him against the rock; grabbing a canteen and helping his brother drink some water.

Bart may not have been hungry, but he was definitely thirsty, and drank nearly half the canteen before he was satisfied. Afterwards, Bret handed him a piece of jerky, and Bart reluctantly ate it. "How long have we been here?" he eventually asked.

"A few hours," Bret told him. "How do you feel? Don't say 'fine', because I'll know it's a lie."

Bart closed his eyes with a sigh, reaching over to hold his injured arm again. "Not good."

Bret nodded sympathetically. To Bart, 'not good' really meant 'terrible'. "Try to sleep. I'll keep watch. "

Bart nodded and let Bret help him lie flat again. It took a while for Bart to fall asleep, and when he finally did, Bret was very relieved. He stayed beside his brother through the whole night, forcing himself to stay awake to protect Bart from harm. It got very chilly, and Bret eventually had to cover his brother with another blanket.

Bart woke up a couple of times, but never for very long, seeming half-asleep even when he was awake.

About an hour after dawn rose, Bret decided that they should leave. Bart had slept for about ten hours, and they couldn't wait any longer to get further away from Mundy. Bret could only hope that they'd still be able to outrun him.

Bart woke with a wince and a groan and obediently drank the water and ate the piece of jerky that Bret fed him, not saying much. Despite the sleep he'd gotten, he was still worn out and knew that resuming their flight would increase his pain.

It wasn't easy to get Bart on his horse, but they eventually succeeded and rode off, staying close to the mountain in case they had to hide in a hurry. The weather had been pleasantly warm for the last couple of days, but today was hotter, and Bret knew that there was a water hole nearby; he just wasn't sure how close they were to it.

Even though the heat wasn't extreme, it didn't agree with Bart, considering the physical stress that his body was already under. He kept his jacket off.

By the time noon came, Bret could see that Bart was desperate for water. He was sweating and breathing heavily. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked, as he handed over a canteen.

"Because I know we're running out," Bart asked, taking a drink.

Bret frowned at the little amount that he drank. "Keep going," he said.

Bart sighed and put the canteen down on his lap so he could raise his good arm to wipe his sleeve across his forehead. "There won't be much left for you."

"I don't care," said Bret. "You need it more."

Bart sighed, not surprised at his answer.

They kept going, with Bret making Bart keep the canteen, despite Bart's protests.

"You might as well drink it, because I'm not gonna," said Bret. He was thirsty, of course, but he wasn't the one currently suffering from a gunshot wound. "Besides, there's water close by."

Bart smiled slightly, hoping that it covered the wince that he was trying to hide. "How do you know for sure?"

"I can hear it," Bret joked, with a grin. "Can't you?"

Suddenly, they heard something else; a gunshot echoed through the air, and the bullet went right past Bart's face, making him gasp with surprise. Both Mavericks looked behind themselves for the threat, with Bret pulling out his gun. "Find somewhere to hide!" he shouted, spotting no one and looking up at the mountain instead.

With a smile, Mundy looked down at them, pointing his gun. Bret fired back, and Mundy ducked behind the rock.

Bart saw that there was nowhere for them to hide and he painfully swung down from his horse, awkwardly reaching around to grab his gun out of his holster with his left hand.

Bret dismounted too, but before he could do anything else, Mundy popped up again and fired his gun once more.

Bart gave a cry of shock and fell against the rock.

Mundy heard it and fired at Bret, just missing him. "Drop it or you die too!"

Bret nervously looked at his brother before dropping his gun. "What, you gonna come down here to see what you just did?" he exclaimed, with grief in his voice.

Mundy smiled again. "Of course. Hands in the air, Maverick, and back off."

"I won't leave him!" Bret exclaimed.

Mundy fired again and Bret jumped out of the way, landing on the ground where he sat, lowering his head.

Mundy climbed down and found Bart slumped against the side of the mountain, eyes closed. Before he had a chance to do anything, Bart suddenly came alive and shot him in the right arm, sending his gun flying. At the same time, Bret pounced on him and punched him in the face, knocking him out cold. He quickly tied Mundy's arms and legs before going back over to Bart, who was holding onto his right upper arm, the arm that already had the wounded shoulder.

"It's just a graze," Bart told him, wincing.

Bret sighed. "I can see that," he said, looking at the red stain on Bart's white shirt. "Why do you insist on leaving your blood everywhere we go, brother Bart? It belongs on the inside, not the outside."

Bart gave a painful chuckle, glad at least that both injuries were in the same arm.

Bret quickly hog-tied the unconscious Mundy and bandaged his brother's new wound, not wanting him to lose more blood than he already had. He located Mundy's horse, gave Mundy's gun to Bart, and dragged their enemy twenty feet away so Bart would have plenty of time to react if Mundy woke and tried something...not that he could while hog-tied with enough rope for three people. Bret then went in search of water, and found it less than a quarter of a mile away, which is what he'd thought. He filled all of the canteens and went back to his brother, finding him still sitting where he'd left him, guns in his lap. He looked very pale, but insisted that he was fine.

Mundy had woken and was glaring at them. Bret and Bart completely ignored him.

Bret went through Mundy's saddlebags and found, to his delight, food, which he gave to his brother before taking any for himself. Some color came back into Bart's face after eating, and after staying put for a few hours so he could rest, they resumed their journey; no longer a flight for their lives, they were now headed towards the next town to turn Mundy in and check into a hotel.

Bret tied a handkerchief around the gunshot wound in Mundy's arm—even though he really didn't want to—and kept the gag on him as they rode off again with Mundy tied to the saddle.

Bart and Bret stayed mostly quiet as they rode, and they came to the next town only a few miles later. They rode straight to the sheriff's office and handed Mundy over, before going to the hotel.

Bart sighed with relief when they arrived, and allowed Bret to help him get down from the horse. His legs felt wobbly and he was a little lightheaded—not surprising after being shot twice in 3 days—and he had to lean on Bret as they headed up the stairs. Once he was lying down, he couldn't stop another sigh from passing his lips.

Bret unwrapped the new bandage and found that the bullet graze had nearly stopped bleeding. Now that there wasn't as much blood, he could also see that it was a little deeper than they'd thought. He wrapped it back up before saying, "I'll be right back, Bart, I wanna make sure the sheriff locks Mundy up even though he doesn't have our statement yet."

"Give it to 'im," Bart mumbled sleepily, eyes closed. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

"That's right, you're not, for at least a week," Bret answered, relieved to be able to say that. "I'll be back," he repeated.

Bart didn't answer, asleep already.

Bret headed downstairs and told the desk clerk that he was sending the doctor to look at his brother and to let him into their room. After finding the doctor thankfully in, he sent him to the hotel and quickly headed for the sheriff's office. When he went inside and saw Mundy behind bars, he sighed with relief.

"Were you afraid that I wasn't gonna hold 'em?" the sheriff asked.

Bret shrugged. "The way life is, who ever knows anything for sure?"

The sheriff couldn't argue that, and listened to the events that had lead to having Mundy now residing in his prison. "Your brother is a lucky man, Mr. Maverick," he said once Bret was done. "To have escaped with his life after being shot at by this fella."

Bret nodded. "Well, we can't all be good shots," he said, deliberately looking at Mundy as he said it.

Mundy scowled. "Where's the doctor, sheriff?" he said. "I'm still bleedin' over here."

Bret answered him, as he stood. "He's better employed elsewhere, taking care of my brother, so don't expect to see him until after he's done...if I remember to tell him that you're waitin' for him, that is." With that, he walked out the door.

The doctor was still with Bart when Bret came back, and he watched as the doctor wrapped a bandage around the newly-stitched gash from the second bullet.

"I just can't win," Bart remarked.

"But you did win, brother Bart," said Bret. "You're alive."

That was true. Bart smiled, before it turned into a wince when the doctor jostled his arm.

"Sorry 'bout that," the doctor said.

"So how is he, doc?" Bret asked.

"He'll be fine," the doctor answered. "As long as he takes better care of himself. I don't like the looks of that one," he said, gesturing to the wound in Bart's shoulder. "Riding and getting hit by hailstones when he should be in bed!" He went *tsk tsk*

Bart rolled his eyes, making Bret chuckle.

"It ain't funny!" said the doctor. "That's how too many of you young fellers get yerselves killed, you know!"

"I'll make sure he stays in bed, doc," said Bret.

Bart threw him a betrayed expression, changing it into a contrite one when the doctor looked at him. "I'll behave, doc, I promise." The puppy-look stayed until the doctor looked away from him again, and Bart shot an irked look at Bret.

Bret pretended that he didn't notice. He patiently waited while the doctor rebandaged Bart's shoulder, inwardly chuckling when the doctor made Bart lie flat and forced him to submit to a wet towel on his forehead.

"But I don't have a fever," Bart protested.

"Somethin' you're lucky about," said the doctor, wagging his finger. "But that'll still make you feel better, you'll see. The cold will give you somethin' else besides the pain to focus on." He looked at Bret. "If he gets a real fever, you call me right away." With that, he got his fee from Bret and left.

Bart shifted his position with a wince, before closing his eyes and sighing. He'd planned to rip the wet cloth off as soon as the doctor left, but as he lay there, he found that the doctor was right; it felt good.

Bret sat in a chair next to the bed. "How you feelin'?" he asked.

Bart's answer was immediate. "Relieved."

Bret nodded, not that Bart could see him with his eyes closed. "Yeah, me too." Something suddenly occurred to him. "Hey, Bart?"

"What?"

"That whole town thought that I was Doc Holliday and you were Wyatt Earp..."

Bart opened his eyes and looked at his brother as if he thought him insane. "I thought we already knew that?"

"What I was gonna say," said Bret. "Is what if people left town before finding out that we aren't them and they spot us somewhere else someday? You think they'll still think we're Doc and Wyatt?"

Bart's expression changed to one of shock, and he closed his eyes and put a hand on his head. If that were true, then this was not the end of their current problem. "Bret?" he said.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

THE END