He rolls the leg to the side. Water flows over the wound, washing away the dust and blood and even bits of skin. The Major kicks out with his good leg; his boot heel catches me in the thigh, and pain explodes through my leg. But I refuse to let go.

“Tom, Henry,” Jasper says. “Can you grab . . . ?” Both men have fled.

“I’m sorry,” the Major gasps at me. Tears pool in his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” I say, though my leg throbs something fierce.

“How are you doing so far, Major?” Jasper asks.

“Ready to start walking,” the Major says, and we laugh, because it’s unexpected, but then he laughs, and the effort sends pain like a cloud across his face.

“And you?” Jasper says to me in a low voice.

I’m going to be bruised, no question. “What next?”

“Run to my wagon,” Jasper says. “There are splints and clean bandages in the medical chest. It’s the small one, up front, right behind the seat.”

We’ve loaded and unloaded the wagons enough times by now that I know just the one, so I take off running. Neither Tom nor Henry is at the wagon to help. Still, Jasper will be wanting medicines next, so I lift the whole heavy chest. It bangs hard against my bruised thigh as I climb out of the wagon and run all the way back to Major Craven.

A crowd has gathered. Mr. Joyner stands with the Missouri men. Henry hangs back by Reverend Lowrey’s side. Jefferson and Mr. Hoffman are crouched at the Major’s feet. I catch Jefferson’s eyes. He gives me a quick relieved smile; he’s as glad to see me as I am to see him.

“The sorrel mare?” I ask Jeff, plopping the chest down beside Jasper.

“Fine. Nugget and Coney too. The Missouri men lost a few cattle; they got trampled when they broke out of the circle. One horse ran off.”

Jasper has wrestled off the Major’s boot. The leg is already swollen and misshapen. Another minute more, and we would have had to cut away the boot.

“Thanks, Lee,” Jasper says, flipping open the lid. It’s jam-packed with bandages and tinctures and things I don’t care to think of as medical equipment, like saws and knives.

“So much!” And I thought the Joyner chest was well stocked.

“I was studying to be a doctor,” Jasper says. He grabs some shears and snips along the leg of Major Craven’s trousers. “Sorry about your pants there, Major.”

“Judas pants . . . tripped me . . . when I was running.” His words come in short bursts, between pained breaths.

“What about Tom and Henry?” I ask, mostly to distract myself from the sight of a mangled leg.

“Huh?” Jasper says. “No, Tom wants to be a lawyer. Henry’s a poet.”

“I mean, they should be the ones helping you.”

“You’re doing fine. Just do what I tell you.”