H. Bedford-Jones

“ For a little Sam Fisher could only cling to his pommel, faint with pain, his head swirling. When he came to himself he found himself riding beside the still senseless Steve Arnold. Buck rode in front, their reins fastened to his saddle, his rifle across the pommel. He glanced back and glinted a hard smile at the sheriff of Pecos.
"You're luckier that most, Fisher. Yes, sir, you sure are. If it'd been anybody else you'd be dead this minute."
Sam Fisher tried to smile. "I don't see, Buck, why in thunder you didn't finish the job. It isn't like you to weaken at killing a man." ”

“ Into one saddle they lifted the unconscious Arnold, and then lashed him firmly in place. With an effort, Sam Fisher gained his feet, his right hand dangling in its bandage. The ghost of his old whimsical smile touched his lips.
"Put me up, gents, and I guess I can ride," he said quietly. "And I still got one good hand for the reins——"
"The reins ain't goin' to trouble you none," intervened Buck. "Ready, Sandy!"
Once he was placed in the saddle, Fisher clung to the pommel, his face livid; the pain of the operation was intense. However, he would be able to ride fairly well. ”