His heart beats thickly. He is suddenly afraid. A soundless prayer escapes his lips.
"Not her, too! O Holy Mother, not her! Not her!"
CHAPTER XV
The Odd Pieces Again
He was still gulping for air, but he had to move before the horses came around again. He felt a pair of strong hands grasping his upper arms, helping to lift him.
Feeling less hurt than humiliated, he pulled away. It was not his body that needed help. He made his knees bend one at a time, and he pushed himself up. And he got to his feet under his own power and as the horses whirled past, he went tottering alongside, clinging to the upright mattresses that lined the curve.
With his sleeve he wiped the sweat and a streak of blood from his face and he sucked air enough to walk head up. But the pain of remembered sounds and sights bore down on him—the sharp crack of the bullet, the instantaneous thud, the dribble of crimson, the crazed scream cut short. Then the whole world was a spinning blackness. What had happened afterward?