Page 76 of The Heart’s Charge

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