Sonny woke to the sound of deep male voices. He opened his eyes and looked around; he was surrounded by three tall men with bandannas covering their faces, only their eyes showing. As Sonny tried to sit up, one of the men forced him back down with the barrel of his rifle.

      "What's yer name boy?" One deep voice coming from Sonny's left asked.

      Sonny didn't answer right away, unable to catch his bearings. "He said 'what is yer name, boy?' Answer us!" Shouted another man who kicked Sonny's knee with the heel his boot.

        Staying calm, Sonny replied with all the strength his aching body could muster, "Sonny."

        "Louder!" Demanded another voice. Sonny got kicked hard in the side, right near where his cut was.

        Clenching his jaw at the kick, but refusing to show these men outwardly that he was in pain, Sonny cleared his throat quietly, then replied louder. "Name's Sonny." He refused eye contact, his head throbbing.

        "Alright, Sonny. See, now we are gettin' somewhere. That wasn't so hard now, was it?" One of the bandits chuckled, his band of other riders joining in. Turning his attention back to Sonny, he asked, "You married?"

         Sonny looked into the cold, hateful, evil eyes of the man who looked to be the leader of the bandits. He was the only one whose whole face was revealed and the only one who was still situated atop a horse, everyone else was standing on the ground, their horses behind them, ready to beat Sonny if he did something wrong. Sonny knew that he couldn't tell the complete truth to these bandits because if he did, he would be risking the life of his family and the life of his ranch. He couldn't handle to lose any part of the two things he loved most.

         Sonny sighed quietly. "No, sir." He lied. "God please forgive me." Sonny prayed silently in his head.

       The head guy looked down at Sonny, and then looked to one of the men who had been hitting and kicking Sonny. "Take off his glove." He demanded, pointing to Sonny's left hand.

        Sonny made a fist with his left hand. He could not let these men find out the truth about him. Since he had a wedding band on his left ring finger, the men would then know he was married if they got his glove off.

       The man bent down and leaned close to Sonny, "We'll see if you're lyin' to us boy. You better not be." The man picked up Sonny's left hand and started to try to get Sonny's glove off. 

        With lack of common sense, but without hesitation, Sonny made a fist with his right hand and swung it across his body to punch the man who was holding Sonny's left hand. Sonny's flying wrist was caught in midair. Glaring at the man who caught his hand, Sonny jerked his wrist free.

          "You ain't too smart are you son?" Someone punched Sonny hard in the face. The pain made Sonny un-clench his left hand. His glove easily slipped off with the help of another one of the bandits.

        Chuckling an eerie growl of a chortle, the man scoffed. "He's married, Butch." The bandit stood up and faced his boss, Butch. He threw Sonny's glove back to Sonny as if it was a piece of crumpled paper that was fit for the garbage.

         Butch was, without a doubt, the leader of this group and the one with the most evil eyes. "Oh, so you're lyin' to us, kid?" His husky voice clearly said that he had smoked many too many cigarettes in his life.

         Sonny knew he couldn't tell the truth,thought it was against his nature to lie. With a tight jaw, he said, "I'm a widow, sir." Sonny had never lied in his life, except for maybe when he was a kid.

          Butch laughed. "A boy as young as you? What are you? 22, 23?"

        "I'm 25, sir." Sonny told the truth.

        "Lookin' young for yer age, boy. How long you been married?" Butch pulled back harshly on the reins when his horse started getting impatient. That was the first time that Sonny realized his horse was missing. To be frank, that was the least of his worries right now.

         "I told you, I'm widowed, sir. My wife died in childbirth, and so did my son." Sonny hated having to lie. As he told Butch about his fake, deceased wife he thought about his actual living wife, Jeweldean. She was eight months pregnant with their third child. What Sonny had just told Butch made Sonny want to get home even more, and see Jeweldean and his two young'uns.

         Ignoring Sonny's comment, Butch kept asking Sonny questions. "Where you livin'?"

        Did these men really think that he would give up that information? "Got me a little shack over yonder." Sonny nodded his head in the opposite direction of where he thought he came from. His sense of direction was all out of wack, so whatever direction his ranch really was, he couldn't be sure.

        "How'd you wind up here, then?" Butch jerked up hard on the reins when his horse stomped hard to get the flies off his legs. 

        Sonny cringed at how rough Butch was treating his horse, but unfortunately, coming from evil men like this, it didn't surprise Sonny. "One of my steers got lose so I was chasin' after him when my horse threw me and took off. I got dragged for a while then fell unconscious here. That's when y'all showed up." Sonny told the truth. He wanted to ask why these men insisted on asking him so many questions, but he knew better.

        "Sumthin' ain't right here boss." Shouted a voice coming from behind Butch. Sonny saw two more men riding up on horses. They did not have bandannas covering their faces, rather their bandannas were around their necks. Then, Sonny spotted his horse, Bronco, walking beside the man who just spoke. Sonny made eye contact with both of the men. The man who spoke had a mean look in his eyes, matching that of the other men. However, on the contrary, the other man looked young, but somewhat friendly; he looked almost uncomfortable, like he didn't want to be here.

      Butch shifted in his saddle to face the two riders. At that moment, Sonny looked around at all of the men again. All of them were wearing certain articles of clothing that were nicer than should be expected. For example, Butch's boots were accessorized with shiny, flashy spurs with massive, harsh rowels. Some of the other bandits, closer to Sonny had nice gun holsters, chaps, hats, or shirts, etc. Sonny knew for sure that the men didn't buy a single one of their accessories; they were all stolen. Part of Sonny wondered what of his clothing would be stolen and worn by one of these men; the only nice thing he was wearing was his boots, and all the men were dressed with boots much nicer than Sonny's. "What are you talkin' 'bout, Fulton?" Butch's harsh voice asked the man who just spoke.

        "We found this horse over yonder," Fulton pointed his gloved thumb behind him toward the direction of where these two men came. "He was grazin' on some real good grass. I think he belongs to him." Fulton nodded at Sonny.

       "This your horse, boy?" Butch asked Sonny, turning back around in his saddle.

    Sonny clenched his jaw. He hesitated; because Bronco was still saddled, it was pretty clear whose horse it was so Sonny knew he couldn't lie. Boom! A hard punch came from one of the men, landing hard on the left side of Sonny's face. Then another, and another.

         "You better answer, boy." Butch growled.

         Sonny spit out some blood that was a result of the hard blows when the punches momentarily subsided. "Yea, he's my horse." He replied after being punched three times.

        Butch gave a half grin and chuckled. "Fulton, tie 'im up." Butch said then turned his horse around. He motioned for two other men to mount and head out with him.

         "Here, hold these horses, Tucker." Fulton gave the reins of the two horses to Tucker, swinging down off his mount. With his right hand clenched, Fulton walked over to Sonny. Sonny prepared himself for another punch. And sure enough, the punch came.

        "Why ain't you fightin' back boy?" Fulton asked, grabbing Sonny's shirt collar, picking him up off the ground slightly. Sonny didn't respond, instead he took another punch. Sonny got the impression that Fulton and these men actually enjoyed beating Sonny.

          "That's enough, Fulton!" The stern voice came from Tucker.

           Fulton stopped punching Sonny momentarily, and looked at Tucker. Sonny spit out more blood, wiping his mouth on his shoulder.

         "What'd you say to me?" Fulton growled to Tucker, who was clearly his underdog.

            "I said that's enough. Stop hittin' him." Tucker shifted slightly in his saddle, almost as if standing up to Fulton was difficult. He held the reins of all three horses in his hand: his horse, Fulton's horse, and Sonny's beloved Bronco.

           "Who are you to tell me what to do? You better stop it boy or else yer gonna git a punch yourself." Fulton threatened Tucker. Tucker ignored Fulton's mean remark with the roll of his eyes.

            "Let's just...tie 'im up like Butch said and we can get on back to camp." Tucker swung down from his horse, and rested the other two horse's reins over their heads, so the horses could graze.

          "Give me that rope on your saddle." Fulton commanded as he harshly pulled Sonny's hands behind his back. Sonny willingly let him tug and pull on him, mainly because Sonny wasn't a fighter, but he also knew if he did try resisting, he would get beaten worse, and he was certain his body couldn't take any more of that.

       Fulton let go of Sonny's hands to grab Sonny's right bicep, as Tucker grabbed Sonny's left arm, hoisting him to his feet. Fulton grabbed Sonny's right wrist, the one with the deep rope burn, the pain returning when he squeezed it. The men, still holding onto Sonny, walked a few feet to a big tree. Sonny felt dizzy and could barely walk from all the punches and cuts he had gotten; this resulted in Sonny practically being dragged backwards to the tree, no matter how hard he tried catching footing. 

        Fulton pushed Sonny's back against the small tree and wrapped his arms around it. As Fulton tightened the rope around Sonny's wrists, he winced; the rope was cutting deep into the cut Sonny already had from his own accident. Fulton just chuckled, enjoying Sonny's pain.

         "I'll stay here with him, if you go on back to camp, and tell boss we got 'im." Tucker said to Fulton.

         Fulton sighed. "Alright. I'll get the horses." Fulton began walking towards his horse then turned and pointed at Sonny, but said to Tucker, "And don't let him go. If he tries to escape, you know what to do, rookie."

       Tucker looked from Sonny to Fulton. "Yes, sir. Tell Butch I got this handled. I'll return to camp tomorrow once I receive news tellin' me what Butch wants done with him." Fulton nodded.

        Tucker followed Fulton to their horses. After Tucker returned with his horse, and Bronco, he ground tied both of them, then walked up next to Sonny. Bending down, Tucker pulled his knife out of his boot. Once Fulton had ridden out of sight, Tucker bent down and did the unexpected. Sonny thought he was fixing to get cut with this knife. Sonny leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes and prayed. Sonny waited for the pain to come, but no pain came. After a few seconds, Sonny realized that Tucker was cutting the ropes off of Sonny's hands. Once his hands were cut free, Sonny looked up into Tucker's face. Tucker looked to be younger than Sonny. He was by far the youngest of all the other men. His face, however, looked worn as if he had endured a lot of the same abuse from Butch and his bandits that Sonny had received; Tucker's face held a fixed sad expression that made anyone wonder what he had seen and been through. 

        "I'm not like the rest of them. I'm sorry that they hurt you. You gonna be alright?" Tucker said, much to Sonny's surprise.

        Sonny wasn't sure whether he should trust Tucker or not. Right now he did not have the strength to fight against Tucker, or ask questions. Tucker had already proven that he really was not like the other men from the minute that he rode up with Fulton.

        Sonny tried to stand up, but he felt no strength in his legs or arms. As he began to fall back down to the ground, Tucker reached out and grabbed Sonny under his arms and helped him stand.

        "Put your arm around my shoulders." Tucker told Sonny. He did as he was told. The two men began walking towards their horses. Once they got there, Tucker let go of Sonny and looked around.

       "I'm gonna get you outta here and to a safe place, but you gotta trust me." Tucker looked at Sonny. Something in Sonny could tell that Tucker was telling the truth, so Sonny nodded and began to mount his horse. With the pain that came from his wounds, mainly the open cut that trailed along his side, Sonny could not mount his horse; he fell downward, against Bronco. Seeing Sonny struggle, Tucker dismounted from his horse and came over and gave Sonny a leg up. Once on the back of his trusted horse, Sonny patted his neck, thankful to be back with his buddy. 

        "Follow me." Tucker said, after he remounted on his horse, and turned into the deeper part of the woods. "You got a gun on you?" Tucker turned his head to the side to ask Sonny, who was riding slightly behind him. Sonny reached down and felt his holster belt around his waist; no gun there. He checked his boot, his knife was missing as well.

          "No, them men musta stole mine." Sonny replied from Tucker's right side.

          Tucker leaned down and pulled a small revolver from his right boot. He checked to make sure six bullets filled the chamber. Then, he stopped his horse and turned to face Sonny. "Just in case you need it." Tucker said as he handed the gun to Sonny the proper, and trustworthy way, holding the barrel as he handed it handle first to Sonny.

        "Thanks." Sonny replied, holstering the gun. Unsure if he should still trust Tucker, Sonny prayed hard as Tucker led him in the opposite direction of where he wanted to be which was at home with Jeweldean and his children.

       As they rode, Sonny tried to remember how he got to sleeping in pure daylight. Sonny hadn't moved from the rock that he landed on after he fell since his accident, so his legs were very numb. He was very dehydrated and famished, from lack of food and water. Sonny just realized that it must've been close to two days since his accident. He was a living miracle. With the lack of nutrients his body needs, especially after having wounds as bad as he did, Sonny should not be alive right now, but he knew that God had a reason for keeping him alive.