Sam sighed. “Would your mother mind if I let you help me?”
“Oh, no,” the boy said instantly. He began inching out on the limb, closer into Sam’s yard.
“Whoa, there.” Sam set aside his rifle and went to stand underneath the boy in case he fell. “What about your tutor?”
Daniel craned his neck, looking back into his own garden. “He’s sitting on the bench under the rose arbor. He always falls asleep there when we take our walk.” He inched forward again.
“Hold it there,” Sam said.
The boy froze, his eyes wide.
“The branch won’t bear your weight if you go much farther out. Swing your legs down and I’ll help you.”
Daniel grinned in relief and let both legs dangle off one side of the branch, holding on by his arms. Sam caught the boy by the waist and lowered him to the ground.
Immediately, Daniel ran to the gun. Sam watched carefully, but the boy didn’t touch the weapon; he merely examined it.
Daniel whistled through his teeth. “’Pon my word, that’s the longest gun I ever did see.”
Sam smiled and hunkered down next to the boy. “It’s a Kentucky rifle. Settlers use it on the frontiers of Pennsylvania in the Colonies.”
Daniel glanced sideways at Sam. “Why’s it so long? Don’t that make it hard to carry?”
“Not much. It’s not that heavy.” Sam picked up the gun and sighted down the barrel again. “Aim’s better. Shot’s better. Here, take a look.”
Daniel eagerly stood beside him as Sam held the gun. “Zounds!” the boy whispered. He squinted down the barrel, one eye shut, breathing through his mouth. “Can I shoot it?”
“Not here,” Sam replied. He lowered the gun. “Hop on the bench and you can help me.”
The boy scrambled to stand on the bench.
“Take this.” Sam handed him a thick rag. “Now hold the gun steady and don’t drop it. The water’s hot. Ready?”
The boy grasped the barrel of the rifle in both hands, the rag underneath to keep his hands from burning. His brow creased with concentration. “Ready.”
Sam picked up a steaming kettle of water from the ground and carefully poured a thin stream of boiling water down the barrel. Dirty black water bubbled out of the touchhole.
“Zounds,” Daniel breathed.
Sam glanced at him and smiled. “Hold it there a minute.” He set down the kettle and picked up the ramrod, wrapping a bit of rag around the end. He inserted the ramrod into the barrel and shoved it halfway down. “Want to do it?”
“Coo! Would I?” The boy grinned at him, and Sam saw that although his coloring must come from his father, his smile was all his mother’s.
“Then go ahead.”
Sam held the barrel while the boy worked the ramrod.
“Good. Push it up and down. We need to get every bit of powder out of there.”
“Why?” The boy frowned as he labored to shove the ramrod.
“A dirty gun isn’t safe.” Sam watched, but Daniel was doing a good job. “Might not fire. Might misfire and take the shooter’s nose off. A man should always keep his gun clean.”
“Huh,” the boy grunted. “What do you hunt with it? Eagles?”
“No, it’s too big for birds, even one as large as an eagle. The woodsmen hunt game—deer, mostly—but it comes in handy if a man comes across a bear or a catamount.”
“Have you ever come across a catamount?”
“Only once. I walked around a bend in a trail and there stood one, big as you please, in the middle of my path.”
Daniel stopped his ramming motion. “What did you do? Shoot it?”
Sam shook his head. “Didn’t have the chance. That big cat took one look at me and ran the other way.”
“Huh.” Daniel seemed a little disappointed at his answer.
“That’s good,” Sam said, indicating the rifle. “Now let’s pour in more water.”
Daniel nodded, eyes intent and serious on the gun.
Sam withdrew the ramrod with the rag, now black, and picked up the kettle of water again. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
This time the water bubbled out gray.
“How many times must we do the water?” Daniel asked.
“Until it runs clear.” Sam handed the boy the ramrod with a new rag on the end. “Remember to always use boiling water, too, so that the barrel dries well and doesn’t rust.”
Daniel nodded as he drove the ramrod into the barrel of the gun.
Sam nearly smiled. What for him was an easy chore took quite a bit of effort on the boy’s part, but Daniel never complained. He simply put his back into working the ramrod up and down. Sam became aware of a rustling over the wall. The scent of lemon balm drifted in the air. He didn’t look up, but his entire body was suddenly on the alert, anticipating when the woman would make herself known.
“How much more?” Daniel asked.
“That should do it.” Sam helped him withdraw the ramrod.
Daniel watched him handle the metal rod. “Did you fight in a war?”
Sam hesitated for a moment and then continued unwrapping the dirty rag from the ramrod. “Yes. I fought the French in the Colonies. Ready?”
The boy nodded. “My uncle Reynaud fought in that war.”
“I know.” Sam was silent as he poured the steaming water into the barrel.
“Did you kill anyone in the war?”
Sam looked at the boy. He was watching the water stream from the touchhole. The question had probably been an idle one. “Yes.”
“The water’s clear.”
“Good.” Sam wrapped a dry rag around the ramrod and gave it to Daniel.
Daniel started working the ramrod. “Did you shoot them with this gun?”
The rustling on the other side of the wall had long since stopped. She might’ve wandered away again, but Sam didn’t think so. He had the feeling that Lady Emeline waited, breathless, just out of sight, for his answer.
He sighed. “Yes. At the battle of Quebec, when we seized the city. A French soldier ran at me. He had his bayonet fixed to the end of his rifle. It was already stained with blood.”
Daniel’s little body froze. He looked at Sam.
Sam held his gaze. “So I shot him dead.”
“Oh,” the boy whispered.
“Take the ramrod out and we’ll oil the barrel.”
Lady Emeline’s voice floated from over the wall. “Daniel.”