Free Flint (1960) by Louis L'amour

tucked into a draw he saw a clump of trees and he watched it for several minutes. Then he went down the mountain, across the trail and, rounding a boulder found himself in a hollow among the pines that offered a hidden camp where his fire would not show beyond its immediate area.
    He had scarcely stopped when the pains seized him and he doubled up, retching violently. He fell to his knees and stayed there, head hanging, for some time, fighting back the groans that came to his lips. When he finally got up he stripped packs and saddle from the mare. Then, putting a hackamore on her, he picketed her on the grass.
    He got a small fire going and heated a can of beans. He ate them from the can, and after awhile the pains were less. He thought of New York and his life there. It seemed a far-off thing, another world.
    They would be wondering what had become of him, for the two weeks of his planned absence were over. Lottie and her father would be pleased and would rush immediately to the bank. He was amused at the thought of their consternation when they discovered the true state of his affairs.
    He heard the horse for several seconds before he became consciously aware of the hoofbeats on the canyon trail. He grasped his rifle and slipped back into the darkness.
    Then he heard the approaching horse turn from the trail and come toward his camp. Suddenly it was there, ears pricked, just beyond the fire.
    Its rider was slumped over the saddlehorn, and Flint saw that his wrists were loosely tied to the pommel.

    Chapter 5
    Cutting the ropes, he lifted the man from the saddle and carried him to the firelight. Then he tied the horse and returned to the man.
    He was stocky, powerfully built, at least fifty, wearing a black broadcloth suit, quite dusty now, and dusty cow-country boots that had lately been polished. The inside of his coat and shirt were caked with dried blood from a wound that had bled and then bled again, but he was alive.
    He ripped away the bloody shirt. A bullet had gone through the man's side and from the look of it, could have punctured a lung. It was not until he began washing away the blood that he found a second and a third bullet hole.
    The second bullet had cut through the man's biceps and penetrated the top of his chest, emerging at the back. The third was lower down. All three wounds were on the left side.
    The wounded man muttered, but no words could be distinguished. Going through his pockets Flint found a letter addressed to Ed Flynn at the Kaybar Ranch. The Kaybar. That was the ranch where Gaddis worked.
    In each case the bullet had emerged at a point lower than the point of entry. Whoever had done the shooting had been above the rider, which indicated the marksman must have been lying in wait. Which might mean the marksman had been Buckdun.
    The wounded man's rifle was unfired, but his pistol had been fired four times.
    Flynn had tried. He had shot back at his attacker. From the appearance of the wounds he had been shot as much as a day and a night earlier, and tied his own wrists, hoping his horse would take him back to the Kaybar.
    Jim Flint removed some of the sticks from the fire, keeping only the coals to heat water. He bathed the wounds and bandaged them, then made some soup and managed to get the wounded man to take a few mouthfuls.
    Twice during the night Flint heard riders pass along the Horse Springs Trail. At daybreak he fed the wounded man a little more soup, and ate some himself.
    He was at least thirty miles from the Kaybar headquarters, judging by the map and, encumbered by a wounded man, the ride would take many hours. At any time he might encounter men he did not wish to see, yet he could not abandon the man. Flynn needed a kind of care and medical attention he was not equipped to give, and Flynn's life depended on Flint.
    He had gone only a few miles when he saw riders approaching. Far off there were three riders, and close by, four. And the four were the men he had seen at Horse