She bristles. “Better that than being captured! I’d rather risk trampling than allow myself or my children to abandon civilization and become savages.”

Andy and Olive stare wide-eyed at their mother.

“I don’t know about that,” Major Craven says. “They seem more interested in cattle and horses and anything else that’s not nailed down.”

“Oh. Well, I find that reassuring,” Mrs. Joyner says.

He smiles and tips his hat. “I’m glad, ma’am. Sir.”

“It’s utter rubbish,” Mr. Joyner says when Craven is out of earshot.

“What’s that, darling?”

“The part about not taking women or children. He only said it to make you feel better. Those savages would steal a comely lady like you in a heartbeat and make your life a misery of servitude. And they’ll grab the children fast as a Gypsy.” He makes a grabbing motion at the children. Olive squeals and shrinks away, then dashes back to her father and squirrels into the safety of his arms. “That’s what they are,” Mr. Joyner adds. “Gypsies. Gypsies on the plains. The best thing to do would be to exterminate the whole race.”

Jefferson freezes beside me, a spoonful of beans halfway to his mouth.

“Unless they turn from their savage ways,” Mrs. Joyner amends, and her voice has a note of discomfort in it.

“Of course,” Mr. Joyner agrees quickly.

I lean over to Jefferson and whisper, “Are you all right?”

“The Joyners know nothing,” he snaps, turning away.

Jefferson refuses to help clean up after dinner, and I don’t try to make him. As the campfires burn low, the animals are all herded inside the circle for the night. The weather’s nice enough that Jefferson and I take our blankets and find a spot in the grass just outside.

He’s silent the whole time. I search for something to say that will get him to talk to me. I settle for: “Mr. Joyner is a fool. God forgive me for saying so, but it’s true.”

“It’s not just him,” Jefferson mumbles. “I mean, he’s one of the worst. But everyone talks about the Indians that way. At least a little.”

It’s a warm, clear night. The stars burn overhead like sparks from a fire, and the grass around us smells fresh and alive. “Hey, look,” I say. “It’s the Seven Boys.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I add, “You know, I think the stars are even brighter out here. No trees, no lanterns, sometimes not even clouds.”

“I’m not the eighth brother anymore,” he says softly.

“Huh?”

“I didn’t stay behind.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a good thing, right?”

“I guess,” he says, and he rolls over, pulling his blanket up to his shoulder.