“No!” I shout, but my voice is drowned out by the ragged volley. Not a single animal falls, but they all spring away.

I lift Jefferson’s rifle, and though it isn’t nearly as sound as Mr. Joyner’s, its heft is familiar. I’ve shot it plenty of times, and I know just how it handles. I sight the last animal in the herd. It struggles to keep up; probably the one Tom winged. I aim just ahead, in the direction of its flight, note the westward breeze. It’s getting too far, too fast.

I am patient. I am a ghost.

Rear trigger, soft breath, hair trigger, crack! Smoke puffs up as the butt kicks into my shoulder. Almost two hundred yards away, the poor animal’s rear legs fly out sideways, and it goes down in a cloud of dust.

Jefferson whistles as I hand the gun back to him.

“Not bad for a girl,” says Jonas Waters.

“It’s not bad for anyone,” Jefferson snaps.

“I slowed it down for you,” Tom says, but he’s grinning.

“Don’t worry, we’ll share it.” I realize, belatedly, that this isn’t my promise to make. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Joyner?”

But he’s already heading back to camp alone. The hollow pit in my stomach has nothing to do with hunger.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A week later, the pitiful lowing of thirsty oxen echoes through the camp. Mr. Joyner is scouting ahead for water with the other men while Mrs. Joyner prepares breakfast. Everyone else in camp makes do with items that are dusty, broken, and makeshift. But come hell or high water, she has that dining table set up with the tablecloth over it. The wind ruffles it, and she rushes to smooth it flat and square all the china.

I lick my cracked lips and say, “Mrs. Joyner, ma’am, good morning.”

The furtive glance she casts my way is toward my clothes, not my face. My chest is wrapped beneath my shirt again, though for comfort rather than disguise, and not nearly as tightly as before. I wear trousers today, which I got from Tom in exchange for two sage hens I bagged with my five-shooter. I love the skirt Lucie gave me, but it needs laundering already, and I’ve a strange notion to preserve it as much as possible.

“Good morning, Leah.”

“I’m ready to go back to work,” I tell her. “My leg is much better. Jasper says it’s fine for me to do some lifting.”

“That’s Mr. Joyner’s decision. You’ll need to speak to him.” She turns her back and crouches beside the cook fire. Batter sizzles and pops as she pours it on the griddle.