The fabric makes a sticky sound as Jasper peels it away. I hold the Major’s leg down while Jasper uses the last of the water to rinse the wound again. The skin has a jagged tear, pushed apart by the snapped ends of bone. Beside it is a deep gash. Someone whistles, high and sharp. Frank Dilley. He holds a shotgun.

“Wally,” Frank says in a low voice.

“I know how bad it looks,” the Major says between gasps for breath.

“We’re out here in the middle of nowhere,” Frank says. “You can’t stay here; the savages’ll get you. And you can’t keep going.”

“I’ll be right as rain,” he says.

“We’ll make it work,” Jasper says.

“Maybe,” Frank says. “But you’d be better off if you’d left with the rest of Bledsoe’s men.”

“Little late for that now,” the Major says. I’m glad to hear the fight in his voice.

“Guess so,” Frank says. “But if you decide you want me to put you down, keep you from being a burden, and end your misery . . .” He holds up his shotgun.

“Get out of here,” Jasper snaps.

“Ain’t no crime to say the truth,” Frank says. “When that leg goes gangrene, you come find me.”

“I’ll walk over, get you myself,” the Major says. I haven’t cared for him much, not since he stood by and let Mr. Joyner put diseased blankets in Mr. Bledsoe’s grave. But maybe I haven’t given him enough of a chance. I like him a fair sight better than Frank Dilley, that’s for sure.

“See you then,” Frank says. He and the other Missouri men turn and walk away.

Reverend Lowrey steps forward to kneel by the Major’s side. “If you take my hand, we’ll pray together,” he says. “Or maybe there’s something you’d like to say to your loved ones back east?”

“Pray somewhere else,” Jasper says, waving dismissively with his hand. “At least five to ten feet away.”

The preacher stares wide-eyed, as if wounded, and he opens his mouth to protest, but Jasper cuts him off.

“You’re blocking my light,” Jasper says. “I need to see what I’m doing.”

The preacher doesn’t move.

“Give him the light!” Jefferson snaps, and Lowrey jumps back. Jasper shoots Jeff a grateful look.

“This next part’s gonna hurt the worst,” Jasper says.

The Major looks faint, with sweat beaded on his forehead and the pulse in his leg pounding as fast as a steam engine. “Pretty sure the part that hurt the worst . . . when . . . the buffalo stomped me . . .”

Jasper grins. “I’m going to align the bones now.”

A sudden jerk. The bones scrape. The Major’s eyes roll back, and he goes limp.

I gasp. “Jasper—I think he’s dead!”

“He just passed out, which is a mercy. See? His chest is still moving. Brace him now.”