Page 42 of The Heart’s Charge

Sticking his head out of the hay door, he eyed the hook used for loading hay into the loft. Lassoing a rope to the hook should work. He’d keep the rope coiled inside the loft. If the need arose for a quick exit, he could toss the coil out the opening, climb down, cross the yard, and be in the house in thirty seconds. Maybe less. Jonah frowned. It might be a good idea to do a few practice runs just to ensure there’d be no surprises.

He stashed his rifle in the rafters, out of the reach of any curious young’uns. Boys were attracted to guns like mosquitoes to a swamp. Even with the loft declared off-limits, Jonah knew better than to assume those limits would be accepted without challenge. Rawley and his bunch were masters at skirting the law and doing as they pleased. Jonah wouldn’t underestimate their cageyness.

After descending the loft ladder, Jonah crossed to the tack room and sorted through the lengths of rope available. The ladies didn’t keep much on hand, and what they did have was old and frayed. He tossed aside a length that failed to hold together when he wrapped it around his hand and shook his head in disgust. This stuff probably came with the house. Who knew how many years it had been sitting out here deteriorating? He didn’t trust any of it to hold his weight. Better to use his own. He strode over to where he and Mark had stowed their gear and unbuckled the rope strap on his saddle. He had just slid the coil free of its mooring when Augustus nickered in his stall.

Jonah stepped into the barn’s aisle and watched his horse’s ears prick and his head turn toward the north.

Someone approached.

Hanging the rope on a protruding nail with one hand, Jonah reached for his pistol with his other and eased the weapon from its holster. Moving silently down the aisle, Jonah positioned himself behind the partially open rear barn door. Back pressed to the wall, he inched toward the opening and peered into the twilight of early evening. The rapidly dimming light made it hard to distinguish shadow from reality, but he caught movement to the east.

Movement too low to the ground for a man. About right for a kid, though.

Jonah holstered his gun and stepped through the cracked doorway, keeping his right hand hovering near his hip. After a moment or two, the blob of shadow moving toward Harmony House separated into six distinguishable shapes. A few minutes later, he could make out general features. Sam led, while the others traipsed along in his wake. One fellow lagged behind. Smaller than the rest. Head darting side to side as if nervous, feet tripping over themselves.

Jonah strained to make out more of the smaller kid’s features. There was something familiar about him. It nagged at his brain.

Stepping out of the shadow of the barn, Jonah lifted a hand in greeting. “Howdy, Sam.”

The little fellow at the end of the group jumped at the unexpected sound, and wide, startled eyes flashed Jonah’s way. Recognition hit him. The kid from the livery. The one Wart had been trying to hide. If anyone knew what had happened to the missing stable boy, it would be this kid.

Too bad he looked as skittish as a cockroach in a lamp factory. He’d run if too much attention was shone on him too quickly.

“Mr. Brooks!” Sam waved a greeting and jogged over. “I found ’em.”

Jonah pushed his hat back on his forehead. “You sure did. Why don’t you run inside and tell Rawley his crew is here? Then I’ll see you home.”

“On Augustus?” The boy’s eyes lit with excitement.

Jonah chuckled. “Yep.”

“Yes, sir!”

Sam sprinted to the back porch, leaving Jonah with a handful of wary-eyed strangers. The wariest being the tyke at the back.

Jonah met each gaze but said nothing. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he had no idea what to say.

Where was Wallace? He needed his friend’s glib tongue.

The boys said nothing either. Their attention darted from him to the house to the road as if weighing all options. Some challenged him with defiant glares and jutting chins. Others avoided eye contact altogether, choosing to stare at the ground and kick at the dirt. But when the kid at the back with the freckles finally found the courage to look Jonah in the face, the pleading in his blue eyes kicked Jonah in the gut.

Doggone it. He couldn’t just ignore him.

Moving slowly down the line, Jonah came to the end and crouched down in front of the sandy-haired kid with the big eyes. “I heard about Wart. He a friend o’ yours?”

The boy gave a tiny shake of his head. “Brother.”

Ouch. Hard enough to lose a buddy, but a brother? The tighter the connection, the more it hurt when severed.

Jonah held the lad’s gaze. “Me and my partner are going to do everything we can to find him and get him back.” He leaned back on his heels and tipped his hat a little farther back on his forehead. “Ever heard of Hanger’s Horsemen?”

The young’un nodded, and the rest of the crew started crowding around, suddenly very interested in the conversation.

“Well, me and my partner ride with Matthew Hanger. We’re Horsemen, and we ain’t about to let a kid go missing without hunting down the one who did it.”

Quiet murmuring broke out among the older boys. Elbows nudged neighbors, and heads bobbed in some kind of coded communication.

Until a whistle pierced the air.