I rise from my hiding place. The loose brush and sage drop away like a dead skin. “Stop right there, Henry Meek, or I will shoot you and your companion.” My voice is clear but soft; I don’t want to wake Jefferson or alert anyone else before I hear Henry’s explanation.

They turn to face me, and I’m the one who jumps in surprise.

With Henry is Hampton, the slave who belonged to Mr. Bledsoe from Arkansas.

“I thought you ran away,” I whisper.

“I’m still running away,” he whispers back.

Henry puts a finger to his lips and gestures for Hampton and me to follow. He grabs Widow Joyner’s bread loaf and leads us away.

I follow warily, past the Soda Springs and down an incline. Once we’re out of sight, we huddle in a small grove of birch trees. The stolen blanket is wrapped around Hampton’s shoulders.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “And talk fast before I decide to rouse the camp.”

Henry offers a chunk of bread to Hampton, who grabs it and shoves it into his mouth. He gulps it down without chewing. After a long sigh, he says, “I’m going to California to find gold, same as you.”

“But . . .” I close my mouth. I’m not exactly sure what my protestation is.

Hampton continues, “I’ll send every speck of it back to Arkansas. Buy my freedom, clear and legal. Maybe I can buy freedom for my wife too.”

Can’t blame him for that. If I still had folks back home, I’d do everything in my power to have them with me again.

“No man should have to pay for his freedom,” Henry says. “It’s a natural right—‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’ So we’ve been helping him as much as we can.” He tears off another piece and offers the loaf to me. “Go on,” he says. “Take a bite. In the spirit of true Christian communion.”

I’m not sure what makes me take it. The bread is still warm when I put it in my mouth. “I wish you fellows still had Athena. Some butter would make even Widow Joyner’s bread taste good.” But I feel wrong. I’m eating stolen bread.

Henry smiles at me. I don’t return his smile as I pass the loaf back to Hampton. “I guess the rest is yours.”

“I’m sorry we took from you,” Henry says. “But our rations are running low. We’ve been helping Wally since his leg came off. Frank Dilley ‘lost’ most of Wally’s supplies right after his leg was broken. We’ve used every persuasion at our disposal, but he remains unmoved.”

“But Widow Joyner’s eating for two, and . . .” Even in the dark, I can see how much thinner Hampton has become since he left us.