The Heart's Charge

by Karen Witemeyer

  Slowly, senses other than his pain receptors started registering environmental details. Like the quiet. Jonah’s eyes popped open. The gunfire had quit.

  Wallace.

  Jonah fought the urge to lift his head and look up the mountain. Had Mark been shot? Did he escape? Was he lying injured or dead somewhere on the mountain? Jonah swallowed hard against the emotion clogging his throat. He couldn’t seek answers. He had to play dead. Convince their attackers he posed no threat.

  Their attackers. Who were they? How many? He’d been too distracted by trying not to die during his plummet down the mountain to accurately assess the enemy. Coulda been just one man, but he doubted it. There’d been too many shots fired too quickly for a single attacker. Even if Wallace had returned fire. All he knew for sure was that they had shot from uphill and from cover. He would have seen them otherwise. Wouldn’t he? True, his attention had been focused downward, on scouting the flatland below, but he would’ve caught movement from above if it had been there.

  Had he missed something? Something that might have gotten Wallace killed? Jonah groaned, his fist clenching at his side. No. He couldn’t let his mind go there. Couldn’t second-guess past choices. Had to focus on the present. On surviving. A dead man couldn’t go after his partner. Couldn’t fetch help.

  So he lay in the dirt. Unmoving. Playing ’possum until birds started singing again, signaling that the danger had passed. Still, he took no chances. He lay there longer. Waiting for the sun to dip farther west. He spotted a rock a yard away from his face and determined not to move until his shadow touched it. And as he waited, his mind ran through the possibilities.

  Had they accidentally stumbled across the snatchers here on the mountain? Or were the attackers just random outlaws protecting their territory? His gut rejected the outlaw theory. He and Wallace had not witnessed anything incriminating. Not even the men themselves. They would have no reason to attack when they could simply avoid their unwanted visitors. Why open fire and risk bringing the law down on their heads? Besides, those hadn’t been warning shots designed to scare folks off. They’d been shooting to kill. And had almost succeeded.

  The moment Wallace had shouted his warning, Jonah had kicked out of his stirrup and darted left to dismount. The bullet aimed at his back had only taken a chunk out of his shoulder, but the force and surprise of it had thrown him off-balance and sent him hurtling down the slope. Gravity and momentum had done the rest. Had he not dodged, the bullet would have hit vital territory, and he’d either be visiting the pearly gates right now or packin’ his bags for the trip.

  No, this attack had not been random. Not instigated by surprise. It had been stealthy. Almost as if the shooters had lain in wait. As if they’d been warned that he and Wallace were coming. But how could that be? He and Wallace hadn’t known themselves they were coming out here until last night. Had they tipped off an accomplice during their search with Deputy Bronson this morning? It was possible someone from one of the first homesteads they visited had made a run for the mountain after they’d left, putting the men on their guard. Yet none of the people they’d met had raised any suspicions.

  The throbbing in Jonah’s head worsened, making it difficult to keep a grip on his thoughts. He needed to rest. Just for a few minutes. Then he’d be able to think clearly.

  The next time his eyes opened, the sun’s shadow had fully engulfed his marker rock. He’d dozed too long. Gathering himself, he pushed up from the ground, every inch of his body protesting loudly. A lizard napping next to his knee startled and darted off to find more stable shelter. Jonah envied the reptile’s agility and speed. He felt like a half-dead armadillo mired in molasses. Probably looked like one too, all hunched over and wearing a layer of dirt thick enough to grow potatoes.

  His shoulder hurt the worst, so as soon as he got his feet under him, he craned his neck to take stock of the damage. Blood stained his dust-encrusted coat. Hearing Dr. Jo’s voice in his head, scolding about infection and keeping a wound clean, he hissed and moaned his way out of the coat, feeling decidedly light-headed as he battled the clinging garment. The shirt beneath carried less dirt but more blood—blood that was still oozing. Moving gingerly, he removed his riding gloves to expose hands that were somewhat clean. Next, he unbuttoned the placket on his shirt, then pulled his handkerchief from his trouser pocket. Lifting the shirt fabric away from the wound, he pressed the folded handkerchief against his right shoulder and pressed down hard for a count of fifty. Then, praying the makeshift dressing would stay in place, he eased his hand away and fit the shirt back over it. He tugged the shirt down tight and tucked it as deep into his trousers as he could manage. Then he turned to face the climb.

  Lord, save him. It had to be at least a quarter mile straight up. Well, not straight up. It wasn’t a cliff face, after all. Just a robust incline with gravel, grass, and gopher holes to make the climb interestin’. A climb he’d have no trouble accomplishing if he didn’t have a concussed head, shot shoulder, and battered everything else.

  Jonah scowled at the mountain. Good thing his daddy hadn’t raised no crybaby.

  Concentrating on one grueling step at a time, Jonah ascended. In the steepest sections, he used his hands as well as his feet. He sought out roots for traction, grabbed grasses as handholds, and did his best to avoid the slippery rocky patches. He reached the halfway point by sheer force of will, but not even his will could keep his knees from buckling when his muscles gave out. Rolling onto his backside, he propped his spine against the mountain and closed his eyes against the mallet pounding the inside of his skull and the daggers stabbing his shoulder.

  Then he heard a soft nicker.

  Jonah’s pain-filled grimace curved into a grin. Thank the Lord for stubborn horses.

  Eyes still closed, Jonah tried to work up enough spit to whistle. No easy task when dust coated everything, even his innards. After two failed attempts, he finally managed the signal. A second nicker sounded in answer.

  Augustus. Good old horse. The boys in the 10th used to give him a hard time about training his horse to refuse any rider other than him. In truth, there hadn’t been much training involved. Augustus had always been ornery. Wouldn’t allow himself to be led or ridden without first giving his consent. And he was terribly finicky. To this day, Jonah had no idea why the horse had chosen him, but when he’d stepped inside that military remuda four years ago to select a mount, Augustus had stepped forward to claim him, nipping at any other horse who tried to interfere. They’d been inseparable ever since. The only time he’d known the horse to allow himself to be taken by a stranger was when the Horsemen’s mounts had been stolen last year during the rescue of Dr. Jo’s brother. Taggart and his outlaw gang probably would’ve shot the gelding if he’d put up a fuss, so Jonah was glad Gus had submitted on that occasion. But bless his cantankerous hide for being less than accommodating today. His stubbornness just might save Jonah’s life.

  Jonah opened his eyes when he heard the steady clomp of Augustus’s hooves approaching on his left. Smart horse. Must’ve backtracked and come down a section where the incline was shallower.

  “Good boy,” he croaked as he struggled to rise.

  He winced against the pain throbbing in his head as he turned to brace himself on hands and knees. The late-afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon, making it clear there weren’t no time for lollygagging. Gritting his teeth, Jonah crawled to his horse, then pushed back onto his heels and lifted his torso.

  “Sorry, Gus.” He grabbed the stirrup and hoisted himself off the ground, climbing up the tack as if it were a rope until he finally found the saddle horn.

  He leaned his face on the seat of the saddle, and his eyes slid closed again as he focused on keeping his legs beneath him. He locked his knees and leaned his weight forward, but he knew he could crumple at any moment.

  And he still had to find a way to pull himself into the saddle.

  God had done bigger miracles than gettin’ a man on a horse. If he could bring
a host of dry bones to life, he could get one dusty soldier into the saddle.

  Focusing on the Almighty’s strength instead of his own frailty, Jonah clicked to Augustus and urged him to back up one step at a time. Jonah hobbled along with him until they stood flush against the steepest slope of the mountain.

  “Hold, Augustus.”

  Jonah gathered the dangling reins and lifted them over the horse’s head. Then he eyed the stirrup.

  You can do this. It ain’t that high.

  Even so, he backed himself up the slope a few inches, all while keeping a grip on the horn. Any shortening of the distance between his boot and the stirrup could only help.

  Hanging his head against his good arm, Jonah gathered himself for the attempt. “If you got a minute, Lord, I sure could use a leg up.”

  Then, before he could lose what little momentum he’d gained, Jonah lifted his left leg as high as possible and strained against the horn to dip the saddle toward him.

  Fire burned in his hip, but he pushed past the pain until the toe of his boot slid into the stirrup. Groaning aloud, Jonah pressed upward and swung his right leg over the saddle.

  God be praised.

  “Home, Augustus,” he murmured as he slumped forward over the saddle horn, too depleted to sit upright.

  As if he sensed his master’s condition, Augustus kept to a walk, making slow but steady progress down the mountain. Jonah floated in and out of consciousness, haunted by thoughts of Wallace. Was he alive? Dead?

  Jonah cursed his weakened condition. If only he were stronger. A Horseman never left a brother behind. But he’d do Wallace no good in his condition. The best chance for both of them was to fetch help. So he kept riding.

  Until consciousness abandoned him for too long a spell, and he slid out of the saddle.

  The collision with the ground woke him. They’d nearly made it to the base of Packsaddle Mountain, but they were still a long walk from the main road. He glanced up at Augustus and knew in his bones that he wouldn’t be able to mount again. Not without significant rest. Rest that would steal time Wallace didn’t have.

  Jonah reached out and patted his horse’s leg. “Run home, boy. Fast as you can.” He slapped the horse’s hock with the flat of his hand. “Yah!”

  Augustus took off like a thoroughbred on race day, and Jonah prayed the right person would find him.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  Katherine’s stomach had been uneasy all afternoon. She knew fretting served no purpose beyond making her ill, but a heaviness had settled over her that she hadn’t been able to shake. Hoping to distract herself with a change of scenery, she’d collected Alice and taken her to town to buy shoes. The battered, boy-style footwear the girl wore was at least one size too small and riddled with holes. They found a sturdy replacement pair in her size without much difficulty, which proved a blessing to Alice but a curse to Katherine. With her task now completed, her distraction dwindled, and Katherine’s belly became a bowl of knots once again.

  When they exited the mercantile, she couldn’t keep her gaze from traveling down the road leading out of town to the west. Where are you, Mark? He’d warned they might be late coming home. Cautioned her not to worry. Yet she was doing exactly that.

  She prayed for greater faith and less fear, but the knots remained. Even tightened.

  Alice tugged on her hand. “Can we stop by the depot, Miss Katherine? I want to see if Rawley is there. He might know something about Wart.”

  Surely the boy would have already reported any discoveries he had made on that front, but Katherine didn’t have the heart to turn the girl down. Rawley was like a second big brother to her, and she’d be comforted in seeing him, whether or not he had any news to share.

  “All right.” She squeezed Alice’s hand and forced a cheery smile to her face as she turned away from the road that led to Mark and, instead, marched toward the train station.

  Alice led her around to the rear of the depot, where empty freight cars waited on a sidetrack for loading. None of the boxcar boys were in residence, however, and Alice’s posture drooped like a flower with failing roots.

  Determined to bolster the girl and herself, Katherine led Alice toward the platform. “Let’s find Mr. Lopez. Maybe he’s seen Rawley.”

  Alice’s dragging feet quickened at the idea. She even beat Katherine up the steps and called out to the porter. “Mr. Lopez? Are ya here?”

  A man ducked out of the baggage room and grinned at the sight of the little girl. “Al! Is that you? I look for a boy and here is a lovely niña.”

  Alice blushed and ducked her head, but a smile curled the edges of her mouth.

  Mr. Lopez glanced at Katherine and winked. “And look what I happen to have in my pocket, eh? Candy! Would you like one? I have a few left over from yesterday.”

  Alice looked to Katherine. “Can I?”

  Katherine smiled and nodded. “Yes, you may.”

  Mr. Lopez pulled a brown paper packet from his coat pocket and offered it to Alice. She pinched a candy between her thumb and forefinger and drew it out, the distinctive red and white stripes giving the flavor away.

  Peppermint.

  Katherine’s abdomen went as hard as a rock. Hadn’t one of the snatchers smelled of peppermint? The one who’d tried to take Rawley? Yes, she was sure of it. Mark and Jonah had rehashed all the possible identifying traits of the kidnappers so many times, she could probably recite the list in her sleep.

  Katherine placed a hand on Alice’s shoulder and drew her back to her side. The girl turned her head, her eyes questioning.

  Doing her best to keep the alarm out of her voice, Katherine smiled at the porter. “Do you often eat peppermints, Mr. Lopez?” It seemed more of a child’s treat than something a grown man would keep on hand. One of the reasons it distinguished Rawley’s snatcher.

  His brows rose slightly, but his cheerful disposition never flagged. “No.” He chuckled softly as he put the packet back in his coat pocket. “Only when Señorita Gordon comes to see me. We started chatting after one of her trips to see her sick padre a couple months ago. I tried to lift her spirits. Her padre, I think, isn’t long for this world. She’s been coming to see me every week since then. Leaves candies with me after our chats.” He grinned. “She knows about my sweet tooth, eh?”

  “That’s nice.” Though something about it felt wrong. Althea Gordon had always seemed a very private sort of person. Eager enough to talk about her students and her love of history but rarely speaking of anything personal. The only reason Katherine knew about the teacher’s ill father was because Althea had asked the church to pray for him. Katherine didn’t even know where he resided, only that it was someplace near enough for Althea to make weekend visits by train.

  “Sí. She treats me like one of her students,” Mr. Lopez said, drawing Katherine back to the conversation. “Rewarding me for a job well done.”

  Katherine’s heart pounded in her chest. “What job are you doing for her?”

  Mr. Lopez shrugged. “Just chatting. You know how teachers are. They think boys should be in school, not roaming the streets. She comes by the depot to ask me about the boys who ride the rails. Have I seen them? Do I know where she might find them in the evenings? Where do they sleep? Can she take them food or blankets? She worries for their safety. Wants to get them in school. The candies are payment for the information I share.” He winked. “If she ever catches up with Rawley, she’ll need an entire jarful to bribe that wild one into a classroom.” His face grew more serious. “But it’s not good for him and the others to roam the rails like they do. They need schooling. And homes.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” About the schooling and homes, anyway. The rest made her chest ache.

  Had Althea Gordon rewarded another man for a job well done? A job involving snatching young boys? Surely the peppermints were a coincidence. Althea couldn’t possibly be involved with the abductions. She was a teacher. A protector of children. Mark had trusted her a
nd included her in their investigation.

  Yet who else would be in a better position to know precisely which children in town had no families who would miss them? What if Althea’s visits to Harmony House had not been a matter of professional curiosity, but as a way to take inventory of the children there? She was an expert on local history and geography. Those field trips she’d taken to Packsaddle Mountain to teach about the Moss brothers battling the Apache proved she knew the area. Would know where boys could be hidden. But for what purpose?

  She must talk to Eliza. Get another opinion.

  “We need to be getting back,” she said, smiling at the porter even as she steered Alice toward the steps. “Have a lovely evening.”

  He waved. “You too, Señorita Palmer.”

  “Thank you for the candy, Mr. Lopez,” Alice said around the peppermint in her mouth.

  He pointed at her and winked. “You come see ol’ Señor Lopez anytime, niña. You never know when he might have candy, eh?”

  His warm chuckle should have soothed Katherine’s anxiety, but it didn’t.

  “I wish we had found Rawley.” Alice slurped at the candy in her mouth as she descended from the platform into the train yard.

  Katherine should probably instruct her on not speaking with food in her mouth, but her mind was too busy sifting through a heaping pile of disturbing notions to care much about etiquette. “Me too.”

  “Well, ya did.” Rawley popped out from behind a baggage car, startling a gasp out of Katherine.

  Her hand flew to her chest to steady her wildly thumping heart. “Good grief, Rawley. You nearly scared the life out of me.” She glanced down at Alice to make sure the girl hadn’t sucked her candy down the wrong pipe, but she just grinned up at him with delight, completely unaffected by the suddenness of his appearance. Disgruntled, Katherine turned her attention back to Rawley. “Why didn’t you make yourself known while we were talking to Mr. Lopez?”