They’re not the only ones with a bit of gold. I don’t go near the Hoffmans’ wagons often, but I still get a strong sense from them, and for the life of me I can’t figure out what they’re carrying. A treasure chest of coins, maybe. Or a hundred lockets like the one I wear. If they park too close to the Joyner wagon, it’s like a beacon burning all night long. One night, I take my blanket and move farther off just so I can sleep.

Major Craven has some too. Gold pricks at me every time he stops by for a chat. Finally, I spy the pair of gold buttons at the cuffs of his shirt.

Mr. Joyner, on the other hand, makes quite a big deal about the gold cuff buttons and shirt studs he wears every day. They are shiny and pearl-studded, and while I can’t speak to the authenticity of the pearls, that “gold” is barely more than a moth brushing up against my skin in the dark. He doesn’t even have a decent stash of coins. I sure hope he has a plan for paying Jefferson and me when we finally part ways.

I suspect he’s not rich at all, not on his own merits, anyway. More and more, I gather that his father funded this expedition for him. Maybe Mr. Joyner is pretending to be something he’s not. Pretending he’s wealthy, when he has no money to his name. Pretending he knows what he’s doing, when he couldn’t find the end of his own nose out here on the open plain.

Pretending is exhausting. I know it better than anyone. But I hope I never go so far as to pretend to myself, like Mr. Joyner does.

One night, after a record-setting nineteen-mile day, Major Craven stops by Mrs. Joyner’s dining table, which is laid out with its usual tablecloth and china. Tonight she’s even put out a vase full of black-eyed Susans, plucked while she walked during the day. She and her family sit around the table. Jefferson and I eat on the wagon bench.

She offers the Major a plate of pork and beans, and the quickest look of panic flits across his face before he gently changes the subject. “Be alert,” he says. “If the alarm sounds, the men must grab their guns and set up a defense.”

Mr. Joyner pats his rifle. “Ready, willing, and able.”

“And the women and children should stay low in the wagons until danger has passed. Can you do that for me?”

Andrew and Olive nod solemnly, but Mrs. Joyner says, “Is that wise? The wagon circle is so exposed. The women and children should run to the middle, where we’ll be safe.”

Major Craven shakes his head. “If the horses and cattle get stirred up, you’ll be trampled. Best if you stay put.”