Summary: A missing scene from Emily. Joe finds an ambushed money transport with a dead and injured man lying next to it. He fires three shots to call for help, but he gets shot in the back. Hoss and Candy arrive at the scene shortly after Deputy Wade.

Rating: PG   Word Count: 1600

The Shot

Even before the three shots I’d fired had faded away, a fourth rang out. I had no time to wonder. A heavy blow jolted me forward, as if someone had smashed a fist between my shoulders.

I found my cheek pressed to the sandy ground, my gaze taking in the wilted leaves rustling and whispering inches before me. Blinking, I tried to make sense of what had happened.

Darkness rushed in. Was the sun already setting? The edges of my vision turned to a menacing dark gray, the color of heavy, rain-soaked storm clouds in the fall. Then my sight narrowed to a tiny dot—and then nothing. Calm, peaceful blackness, soft as velvet, enveloped me, and with a deep sigh, I let go.

A gunshot tore me out of my pleasant absence. I heard people yelling and arguing. Footsteps stomped toward me and stopped dead. Boot leather creaked, sand gnashed, and dry foliage crunched. The people seemed rushed, their voices sounding worried and urgent. I could make out the words “alive,” “doctor,” and “hurry.” It made no sense to me. Why was everybody in such a hurry?

Someone lifted my head, and a warm hand was placed on my back. A blaze of pain tore through me. “Don’t!” I wanted to say, but only a tiny, soft noise, like that of a feeble puppy, escaped me. Leave me alone, I thought as I was rolled onto my side. Why couldn’t I just lie here and go back to sleep?

“Watch his shoulder, Candy!” someone said.

I knew that voice. It was my brother Hoss. He sounded troubled, which was odd. Nothing scared Hoss.

“We’d better be quick. He’s bleedin’ a lot!”

Strong hands grabbed hold of my legs and arms. The world swayed dizzyingly as they lifted and carried me. And oh, the pain!

They placed me on a hard wooden surface. I wanted to pry my eyes open, take a look around, but I couldn’t move a lid or even a finger. Was I paralyzed? I’d heard of folks trapped in their own bodies, only able to blink for words, but I couldn’t even do that.

When we started moving—it must have been a buckboard because I heard the leather reins snapping, shouts to spur on the horses, and the clatter of hooves—my head rolled from side to side, and I couldn’t stop it. The pain, once just a flickering spark, roared to life. It felt like a red-hot blade driven into my right shoulder. The agony intensified with every bump, shake, and jolt of the wagon, adding to an unbearable fiery blaze.

“You’re gonna kill him, Candy, if you keep drivin’ like the devil,” Hoss yelled close beside me. His large hands cradled my cheeks, steadying my bouncing head.

Thanks, Hoss!

“I’m more likely to kill him if we go slowly. His jacket’s soaked with blood!” Candy hollered back.

Bad time to argue.

The wagon jolted over another rut, and I gave myself to the darkness, letting it grab me into sweet oblivion.

The next time I awoke, things had changed. The smells and the sounds were familiar, even comforting. My head no longer rolled with every movement, and my cheek rested not on crackling leaves and dry sand but on a soft, down-filled pillow. My senses—hearing, tasting, feeling—worked, but my muscles still wouldn’t obey. I ached to spit the grit from my mouth, to ask what was going on, and to beg for something to drink. I was dying of thirst. My tongue was thick and heavy, glued to the roof of my mouth.

A soft breeze caressed my back, raising goosebumps. Bare skin? Where the heck was my shirt? And the pain—it was still there, nagging and piercing and sharp.

A hand raked through my hair. I heard the metallic clang of tools and the splashing of water, loud in the room. Someone stepped on the creaky floorboard before my desk, the one I always avoided when sneaking out.

My sluggish mind struggled to make sense of the sounds. Was I in my bed, hurt? If so, Pa and maybe a doctor would be with me. What in blazes had happened?

“I will give the boy just a whiff of ether, Ben. He’s so out of it that I’m afraid he’ll stop breathing if I go too deep with the anesthetic. That bullet has to come out, but he’ll hardly feel anything.”

Oh yeah. That voice—I knew it. Doc Lewis.

The room was thick with tension. I could hear a couple of heavy breaths from Pa. “All right, Doc. You do what you think is best.”

“I’d hate for you to see this, Ben. Maybe you’d better send Hop Sing—”

“I’ll stay here with my boy. You tell me what you want me to do.”

That tone—I knew when Pa spoke like that, he wouldn’t back down.

“Well.” Lewis heaved a sigh. “Whatever you say. You can wipe off the blood and hand me instruments.”

Blood? Instruments? “I’m awake,” I tried to say. The doctor wouldn’t—?

Something soft, maybe cotton soaked in a pungent-smelling liquid, was pressed to my face. The stench, sharp and sickly sweet, invaded my nostrils. I tried to shove my face into the pillow—did my head move a little? A big warm hand touched the cool skin on my shoulder. I could feel the rough calluses from countless hours of hard ranch work. Pa’s breath tickled my ear.

“Don’t fight it. Breathe deep, Joseph. Everything will be fine. Just let go.”

I was used to doing what Pa told me. “Yes, sir,” I tried to say, but my limbs grew heavy, and deep weariness spread from my middle to every finger and toe. I drifted into the black.

A sharp sting in my shoulder made me gasp in agony. That red-hot blade was back, driving into my flesh, scraping at my bones, tearing my muscles.

“Doc, he’s waking up!” Pa shouted right beside my ear.

Thank God. Pa’s here. He would take care of things. He always did.

Lewis sounded not impressed. “Administer three or four more drops of ether. Then pull his arm up like I told you. That slug came from below. I can’t reach it. It’s stuck right under the bone.”

Pa wrapped his hands around my arm, upper arm, and wrist. When he started pulling, I tried to fight it. It hurt like hell! My shoulder blade shifted, grudging and crunching, and I kept my mind on the ether burning in my nose, not on the doc and his scalpel. He prodded and probed, cold metal sinking into my flesh. The pain shot through my, and I held my breath. My heart hammered, and a fine film of sweat formed on my skin. Moisture seeped from under my lids—one drop oozed into the pillowcase, another slid down the bridge of my nose.

“Lewis, he’s still conscious!” Pa’s voice was frantic and upset, but the doctor stayed calm and steady.

“Just a moment. Keep him like that. I’ll have the bullet in a second!”

My arm shook, or maybe it was Pa’s hands who trembled?

Lewis let out a satisfied grunt. “Got it!”

A clang rang out, and I pictured a bloodied, deformed bullet tossed into an oval metal bowl.

“Thank God!” Pa said with a sigh of relief.

“Press this tight on the wound, Ben. The bleeding needs to ease before I can do the stitches.”

“Doc, he’s not breathing anymore! Joe! Joseph? Come on, breathe, boy!”

Pa’s fingers dug into my flesh as he shook me.

“Don’t! It hurts,” I wanted to shout.

Fingers touched my wrist, then hunted for a pulse at my neck. “His pulse is weak but steady. It’s a bit fast, but that’s to be expected. Look, Ben, his chest is rising. You can barely see it, but he’s breathing. I’ll stitch the wound, then wrap it up.”

The mattress dipped, and the bed creaked as Pa eased down. My eyelids fluttered, and I almost got them open, letting Pa know I was all right. The burning in my back had subsided to a dull, rolling throb down my right side, radiating into my arm, but that was fine. The bullet was out. I’d be all right.

Pa’s hand raked through my hair and dabbed the tears and sweat from my eyes with a cloth, distracting me from the sting and tug of needle and thread. “Nearly done, Joseph.”

I was freezing by now, the damp rag swabbing blood from my back making it only worse, the chill crawling over my bare skin like a spider’s legs. The covers only reached my waist, and I wished I could pull them up, snuggle in, and doze for a while. Instead, gentle hands rolled me back and forth. A tight bandage was wrapped around my chest and aching shoulder.

After that, they gave me some peace. With my face and arms buried deep in my soft pillow, I drifted off.

The last thing I heard was the doctor jabbering about shock, blood loss, and coffee, but it all sounded like rambling nonsense. The bedspread was pulled to my neck, and a cozy, pleasant, heavy warmth wrapped me, carrying my battered body into a healing sleep.

The End

Author’s notes:

February 2024, edited September 2025

Episodes referenced: Emily, written by Preston Wood, Elliot Gilbert

Tags: SJS