“He was hit six times—once through the chest, twice in the leg—and got a rib smashed. The others don’t count. But the little runt is going to live!”
Two riders were sent to town for a doctor. With the first streak of dawn Allen was carried in a litter across the border, where, five hours later, the doctor confirmed Sam Hogg’s opinion. Allen had a chance.
Later that day, when the Mexican soldiers arrived, they found six men dangling from beams in the adobe house, and seven others laid in a row and covered with blankets. Anderson had been one of the unlucky ones to die at the end of a rope.
Tom Powers started a collection to pay a famous bonesetter to come from San Francisco and set Allen’s leg, but Sam Hogg insisted on bearing the expense himself.
“The little cuss aggravates yuh, ’cause he won’t tell what he’s doin’, but I’m tellin’ yuh he’s a seven-eyed wonder for guts, so I’m payin’ to have his leg fixed,” he explained.
Anderson’s power being broken, the judge’s dreams appeared destined to come true.
One night, six weeks after the battle, when the nurse entered Allen’s room, she found him gone.
He and his grays had started on their return trip home—home to that valley of his in the Painted Desert.