He ran downhill toward the creek that cut through the ravine, filled his plastic bottle, and hurried back. He lifted the stranger’s head carefully and helped him drink. Then he tore the hem of his own shirt and pressed the fabric against a bleeding wound on the man’s thigh.
The sun dipped lower. Shadows lengthened.
There was no cell service in those hills. No houses nearby. No cars would pass until morning.
Caleb looked toward home, where his mother would be waiting. He looked back at the injured man.
He thought about his father—how he had died alone at the worksite before anyone could reach him.
“No one should die out here,” Caleb whispered.
He herded the sheep into a rocky enclosure, securing them as best he could. Then, straining with all his strength, he pulled the man’s arm over his shoulders and lifted him.
The weight nearly buckled his knees.
Step by step, breath by breath, Caleb walked.
His muscles burned. Sweat stung his eyes. Several times he nearly stumbled, but he tightened his grip and kept going. The stars were out by the time the faint lights of town appeared in the distance.
It took hours.