ALWAYS

Legion snorted, jerking his head to the side. Maximus had been on one of his inspection rides around his property, had taken his time crossing this particular field so he could think about what he might want to plant there come next spring. "Ho!" he said, stoking the white horse's neck. "What has you upset, boy?"

Alert lest it was a snake, his eyes combed through the tall grasses. His breath sucked in when just where the land flattened near the treeline, he saw a man lying face down. Dismounting, he walked toward the form, his head cocked, his muscles tensely ready. The man lay sprawled and motionless, so Maximus squatted beside him, placing a hand on his neck to feel for life. His touch was greeted by a muffled moan, so he gently turned the man.

Looking up through half-lidded, glazed eyes, the man mumbled, "Wa...water."

Maximus quickly fetched a canteen from Legion, kneeling and holding it to the cracked lips. "Slow," he said, "take it nice and slow," as the man gulped at the liquid.

He'd slid one arm under the man's shoulders, lifting him enough so he wouldn't choke as he drank. "How did you get here? Did your horse throw you?"

The man looked at him blankly. "H...horse?"

"Yes. Were you riding?"

The man seemed to think about that. Riding a horse. That seemed vaguely familiar, but he knew he'd been afoot all day. "N...no. No...horse."

"Are you injured? Can you stand?"

The man thought about that, too, not exactly sure if he were injured or if he could stand. "D..don't know," he managed.

"Shall we try?" Maximus offered, mostly lifting the man to his feet. The man swayed dangerously.

"T...tired," he whispered. "So...tired."

"Here, let me help you. We can both ride my horse."  With some difficulty, Maximus got the man mounted in front of himself and, holding one arm firmly around his waist to keep him from falling, rode toward his house. The man's chin sagged down to his chest, his hair falling forward, and the two men rode in silence. Maximus was not even sure if the man were conscious.

At the gate closest to his house, Maximus found two of his ranch hands repairing a rail. "What'cha got there, Boss," Paul asked, hooking the claw of his hammer over a board.

"I found him in the fallow field, near the stream. Help me get him off Legion then we can carry him into the house."

Mac took Legion to the barn to turn him over into East's care while Maximus and Paul carried the stranger through the gate and down the path to the main house. Joimus, in her garden, saw them coming and hurried over, thinking one of their hands had been injured. "Who is it?" she called.

"I do not know," Maximus replied, pausing at her approach. "He was in one of the fields. I want to get him inside the house."

"I'll get the door," she said, running ahead to open it for them.

The two men carried the stranger to a small sitting room off the main living area, laying him on a long couch. His eyes were slightly open, but he seemed unaware of what was going on around him. Joimus went to the kitchen to get a basin of cool water and some cloths. Kneeling beside the couch, she began to wipe the man's face and neck. His eyes opened more, green eyes, very like Maximus'. "Thirs...thirsty," he mumbled, his voice cracking from
the dryness.

"I'll fetch him some, Mum," Paul said, heading for the kitchen.

Maximus slid a pillow behind him, propping him enough to drink. The man held the glass between two shaking hands, gulping at it, water dribbling down his chin. "Here, let me help," Joimus said gently, putting her hands over his to steady them.

The man lay back, his head against the arm of the couch, and she wiped his face some more. "Feels good," he murmured.

Joimus tipped her face, looking up at Maximus. "Is he injured. Do you know?"

"He does not appear to be injured, no. I think he is mostly tired and in need of water." Again he tried, "How did you get to that field?"

"Always," the man replied, closing his eyes. "Was always in field...always."

"What in heaven's name does he mean?" Joimus asked.

"What is he wearing?" Maximus asked Joimus, having no answer to his wife's query.

Her eyes took in the worn brown frock coat, the tattered pants, terribly scuffed shoes, coming to rest on the dirty white collar around his neck. "I think I should call Alistair," she said quietly.