Cold drops of rain pelted his face. He opened his eyes. There were faces above him peering down. Then he heard voices.
“He’s come to,” somebody said.
“Billy! Billy Condo!” It was Joe Metcalf, kneeling beside him. “Can you hear me?”
Billy nodded, trying to keep from slipping back into the oblivion from which he’d just emerged. He heard himself ask, “Thad? What about Thad?”
He heard Joe Metcalf give a low chuckle. “Told you that old cuss was tough as a boot. He fared better’n you did. He’d been knocked out—had a knot on his noggin the size of a wagon hub. We laid him over a horse and drained the water out of him and he come to.”
Billy struggled to a sitting position.
“How you feelin’?” Joe asked.
“Kind of weak,” Billy admitted.
“You ought to, by God! You was so full of water I never
