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.