Page 36 of The Heart’s Charge

Maybe. The maneuver would be much more complicated when tangled with a grown man who didn’t want to lose his prize.

Jonah tipped his head toward the boy’s midsection. “Hard to control a knife while bein’ jostled by a horse.”

“Weren’t the horse.” Rawley turned sideways and spat at the ground. “Once I got it out of my pocket, the snatcher spotted it. Tried to knock it out of my hand. I didn’t feel like letting go.”

Even when the blade sliced into his own side.

“Danglin’ over his lap, I didn’t have much choice. I could stab the snatcher’s calf or the horse’s flank. One gave me a better chance of escapin’, so I took that ’un.” The toughness faded from Rawley’s eyes for a brief moment, and a tinge of uncertainty slipped through. “You don’t think I hurt him too much, do ya? The horse?”

“I doubt you caused him any permanent damage.” Pain, yes. But the kid already knew that. No need to pour salt in the wound. As much as Jonah hated the idea of anyone doing intentional harm to a horse, if it meant saving human life—a child’s life—it was justified.

Jonah turned his attention to Sam. “Why don’t you see if you can find Rawley’s knife? The snatcher prob’ly dropped it when I took that first shot.”

The younger boy pressed his lips together and met Jonah’s gaze. Reading the question in his eyes, Jonah nodded. Yes, he’d take care of Rawley.

Once the assurance had been given, Sam scurried away to search the path and surrounding brush for the missing pocketknife.

“Thanks,” Rawley murmured. “I didn’t want him to see.” He slowly lifted his arm away from his side and hissed in a breath. “Sam reminds me of my kid brother. Jack never did have a stomach for blood.”

Taking care to keep his movements methodical and deliberate, Jonah raised the boy’s shirt and got his first look at the wound. Not too deep, thankfully. Might need a few stitches, though. For the second time in as many days, he wished Dr. Jo had come on this trip. Captain Hanger’s wife would have the boy fixed up in a heartbeat. ’Course, she probably woulda fussed all over him too. Rawley would hate that. Or at least he would pretend to. Deep down, Jonah was pretty sure this tough guy hungered for kindness, love, family. What man didn’t?

“I’m gonna fetch my canteen and pour some water over that wound,” Jonah said as he pushed to his feet. “Then we’ll wrap it.”

Rawley gave a tight nod, already bracing himself for the discomfort to come.

After fetching the water, Jonah hunkered back down into position. “What happened to your brother?” he asked as he unscrewed the canteen lid. “Jack.”

“Rosemary took him back to Houston with her after Pops died. She weren’t my real ma. Just took up with Pops after my ma passed. Jack was her boy, so he went with her.”

And left Rawley to fend for himself. Jonah’s jaw ticked.

“Lean to the side,” Jonah said, hardening his heart against the ache throbbing for this boy who’d been so callously abandoned. Rawley wouldn’t want his sympathy. Not that Jonah was the sympathetic type, anyway. Emotions clouded a man’s judgment, hampered rationality. Better to lock them away and focus on the problem in front of him. He tipped the canteen. “This might hurt.” Not as much as whiskey would have, but it still wasn’t gonna be comfortable.

Rawley braced one arm against the ground and used the other to hold his dusty shirt out of the way. “I’m ready.”

Jonah poured.

Rawley flinched but didn’t cry out. A muffled groan was all the sound he made. Had he been a few years older, Jonah would’ve recommended him to the Army. The kid would make a great soldier.

Once he’d flushed the wound, Jonah pressed a clean handkerchief to the site of the injury. It was only about an inch long and maybe a half-inch deep. It looked to be more of a glancing slice than a stabbing penetration.

“Hold this,” Jonah ordered, waiting for Rawley to comply before he released his hold on the dressing. “Push tight. It’ll help stop the bleeding.”

Now he just needed something to use as a bandage. All his spare clothes were back at the roomin’ house. That left him with what he was wearing. He glanced at his coat and trousers. Not exactly the cleanest duds to work with. Although . . .

Jonah stripped out of his coat, then unsheathed the hunting knife at his waist. Holding his left arm out like a chicken wing, he slid the tip of the knife into the shoulder seam of his shirt, then yanked it through. Holding the knife blade with his teeth, he grabbed his left sleeve and jerked downward until the sleeve tore free of the shirt’s torso. He repeated the action on the other sleeve, then pulled his coat back on.

The kid was skinny enough that one sleeve ought to do the trick, but Jonah wanted to double up the protection. Hopefully it would cut the chance of infection in half.

He’d just finished tying off the second bandage when Sam ran up to them, a triumphant grin on his face. “I found it!”

“Good work, Sam.” Jonah squeezed his shoulder and took the small knife from his hand. “Let me clean it off.”

He took the canteen and stepped a few feet away before pouring water over the small blade encrusted with blood and dirt. He rubbed it clean with his fingers, rinsed it with another splash of water, then wiped it dry on his trouser leg.

“You gotta tell ’im.” The boys’ whispers became distinguishable words as Sam’s volume rose. “He was a Buffalo Soldier. He can help.”

Jonah closed the pocketknife blade and walked back to where the boys sat huddled together. Rawley was shooting daggers at Sam.