“You don’t have a rifle?” Mr. Joyner says, blinking against the afternoon sun. Major Craven has called an early halt today on account of us already making sixteen miles and coming to a spot rich with grass.

“No, sir,” I say, thinking longingly of Daddy’s Hawken.

“Lee’s the best shot in Lumpkin County back home,” Jefferson says as he lifts a chair from the wagon.

Mr. Joyner snorts, as if hearing a tall tale. “Well, the Missouri boys say this is buffalo country. I’ll lend you my rifle until I’m back in fighting form. You and Jefferson head out, try to find one of the beasts. If you do, shoot it and bring it back.”

His rifle is a beautiful Springfield with a single trigger, made of shining chestnut wood, or at least stained to look just like it. The barrel is nearly three feet long. I’ve never shot one before, but I like its easy weight and elegant balance.

Jefferson is as thrilled as I am to get away from camp chores for a bit. We ride out, rifles in hand, into rolling wild pasture.

“What you said a few nights ago,” Jefferson says once we’re out of earshot.

“What did I say? ‘Shut up and sleep’?”

“No, about not having to lie to anyone. You don’t have to lie to me. You know that, right?”

“It’s not lying with words,” I explain. “Everything I do is a lie. My clothes, my name, who people think I am.”

“Yeah, but it’s great, isn’t it?”

“Great?” I peer closer, trying to figure him.

“This is the best we’ve ever had it.” At my expression, he quickly adds, “It’s the best I’ve ever had it in my life. Plenty of food. The work is easier than mining and farming.”

“Oh. Yeah, great.” Jefferson doesn’t feel the same sense of loss that I do. My mama and daddy are a constant ache in me, even months later. But Jefferson is glad to be rid of his da, and I don’t blame him. Therese looks at him in a way none of the girls back home did. He’s stronger than he’s ever been.

“I mean, no one likes me,” he amends. “Or trusts me much. But that’s no different from back home.”

“Therese likes you.”

His face turns thoughtful. “She does. And maybe I’m winning some of the others over too. Don’t you think?”

I stare down at Peony’s mane. “I think you could win over anyone in the world, if you wanted.”

We plod on, keeping an eye out for game. Bees flit around the wildflowers, and sleepy crickets leap through the grass to avoid our horses.

“You’re not lying to me about anything, are you, Lee?” he says, and his voice has a strange quality to it.