but the plane was by then up high enough that Rip could see farther.
Remarkably, the dog didn’t try to jump out, but its attention was riveted. Then, from the back cockpit, Rip noticed that the dog wasn’t looking along the way, its attention was ahead. They went quite a way, even flying. Then the dog’s head moved in little adjustments.
Way ahead, there was a tiny spiral of buzzards.
The dog barked.
It turned and barked again at Rip. But under the distant spiral of waiting buzzards, Rip had already seen the speck-sized, floundered horse with a person trapped underneath it. Rip throttled down and did a low, slow circle. The buzzards rose higher, and Rip had the room he needed to land.
The horse did not move. The trapped person raised a feeble hand. Well, hell. Whoever it was under that horse was still alive but probably damn near dead.
But the dog was smart enough not to jump out yet. He squeak-barked down at the still horse and the raised arm—and he stayed in the plane. But he squeak-barked back at Rip as if to tell him to land.
Rip gave the dog an enduring glance. He then turned the plane, easing it down slowly in a wide circle so as not to stir up too much dust in the low grasses.
As he turned, Rip called in to the ranch, telling exactly where he was and to call Tom Keeper. He was told he needed to release the guy from under the horse without hurting him worse. Rip said he’d see if he could do that while he waited for the other planes to get there. Yeah, he had extra water.
Rip’s disgruntled mind wondered why the hell that guy was out there in that empty area with only a horse and a dog. People are stupid. It only takes one stupid nut to tie up the whole area looking for him. Rip remembered that was how Jones had crashed, looking for some dumb pilgrim who didn’t know enough to pay attention to where he was. At that time, the storm was such that the flooding land pockets on the plain could drown a man.
After saving the damned pilgrim, Jones’s spirit had probably just trudged on off to heaven feeling he’d done his share. He would’ve had no hostility about stupidity like Rip Morris was grinding his teeth over, right then, for another pilgrim out—alone on a plain—and trapped under a dead horse.
If he’d had somebody with him, he wouldn’t have been this bad. On top of all that, he had invaded private land without permission.
With skill, Rip landed the plane downwind so that no dirt blew over the motionless horse or the man.
The dog was out of the cockpit first. It went to the man, sniffed and looked up at Rip urgently.
Rip got the water bag and went carefully to the man who was trying to speak. His tongue was swollen. His leg was trapped under the dead horse.
Rip took out a clean handkerchief and soaked it to lay it on the man’s mouth. Then he dribbled water onto it as he talked, soothing, telling the man that others would be there shortly.
And they were. Planes landed downwind. They avoided the buzzards and did as Rip had done. The men came with ropes and pulled the dead horse away with care. They talked to the man who was, by then, covered with blankets so that he wouldn’t chill further.
The injured, dehydrated man was put on a stretcher, carried to the cargo plane and put inside. The dog tried to get into the plane, but Rip held him.
The dog hoarsely tried to bark, not fighting or growling but lunging in Rip’s firm grip. It just showed that Rip knew animals. He talked gently the entire time, soothing, explaining.
Watching the rescue plane rising from the ground, the dog shivered and sat still. Rip tied a blanket around the dog. Then he carried the dog back to his own plane, leaving others to find where the horse had been, who the man could be and why the hell he’d been out there alone.
Rip got into the plane and flew back to the ranch. On the plane’s communication radio, he told Joe what all had taken place. Then he told about the dog. He was coming in with the dog. Rip asked Joe, “Could you see if one of the vets is available?”
So when Rip landed, there was an interesting number of people available. The dog shivered. They took the dog and put him on a stretcher and, still wrapped in the blanket, they carried him into the vet’s bailiwick.
People can be very kind to humans who are in distress, but they are doubly so with animals. Animals aren’t as informed nor is there the communication between the human and the animal.
In his house, Rip slept next to the dog that night. He wakened every couple of hours to give the dog water and made sure the dog was all right. This man was a loner. He had no real use for the rest of the population.
Well, he had gone out to help find a lost person more than that one time. But he never had much compassion for any of them. They’d been stupid. If they’d paid attention to just the basics of logical thinking, they would have never gotten in the binds in which they’d managed to trap themselves.
Rip called the hospital the next morning and said, “Tell what’s his name, that the Keepers’ crew found out on the plain, that his dog’s doing fine.”
And the snippy nurse asked, “Is this Rip Morris?”
“Yeah.”
“The person’s name is Andrew Parsons. He is doing as well as can be expected. He’s still rather fragile right now—”
“Just tell ’im his dog’s okay.”
“—and his sister’s here. She’s really grateful to you for finding him. She wants to thank you.”
“Tell her she’s welcome to the damned fool. The dog is smarter and worth more than the dumb nut you’ve got to save.”
The nurse sassed, “You tend to be somewhat prejudiced and opinionated.”
“Knowing that, saves you.”
And the snippy nurse said in a very prissy manner, “If we could get through the quagmire of lurid magazines and reach what is left of the core of your altered brain, we might make some headway in civilizing you.”
“I don’t read something as mild as that.”
“You need help.”
“Naw. Tell the pilgrim his dog’s okay. That’ll give him something to think about. Don’t mention the horse is dead as yet. He killed it, taking it out there. It looked like a good horse, too. The dumb bastard.”
And the snippy nurse retorted, “You need therapy.”
“What kind?”
“Not what you’re thinking.” And she hung up.
That didn’t bother Rip one bit. He was used to women hanging up on him...after they’d called him all sweet and honey. But he didn’t want a female who was all sweetness and honey. He wanted a woman. He wanted a woman who was different from what he’d known. He wanted a partner.
He hated gigglers. He hated tart and snippy women. Why couldn’t women be more like men? Not that he could be lured by any man. He just wanted a female who had the logic and straightforwardness of the male thinking. A woman who could handle
