Jefferson guides our horses past the garden and to the back porch. He hands me the reins to the sorrel mare, puts a finger to his lips, and whispers, “I’ll check the house. Wait here.” He hefts his rifle and slips inside.

He’s in there a long time while the cold sun beats down on my head and the buzzards circle and the silent woods watch my back. The world feels empty and quiet. Too empty.

My breath catches. Our gold.

I do sense something—the tiniest spark of sweetness. Probably just the nugget I found yesterday, hiding wherever Daddy stashed it. But the usual, ever-present thrumming in my head whenever I’m near our bag of dust is completely gone.

Strange how you don’t notice things until they’re taken away.

Chapter Five

Finally, Jefferson peeks his head out the doorway and says, “I think it’s clear.”

I slide off Peony and loop the reins of both horses through the porch rail. “Let’s get this done,” I say, and my voice is heavy with the knowledge of what I won’t find.

Jefferson makes Nugget stay outside. She whines as the door shuts behind us, but I feel better knowing she’s out there keeping an eye on things.

“This way,” I say to Jefferson, and I lead him into the kitchen. The pine table I used last night to clean the Hawken rifle is askew, the braid rug beneath it wrinkled. One of the four chairs lies toppled on its side.

Jefferson helps me lift the table. I get down on my knees and peel back the rug to reveal two floorboards that almost-but-not-quite match the others.

“This isn’t a very good hiding place, Lee,” Jefferson says over my shoulder.

Tears are already streaming down my face. I push down on the boards just so, and the opposite ends pop up so I can grab them. “Guess we never figured on actually getting robbed.” I reach into the hole.

“Anything?”

“It’s gone,” I say in a dead voice. I pull out an empty flour sack, the one we were going to start filling next. It’s still folded into a neat square.

“What’s missing?”

“A three-pound flour bag.”

“Of gold?”

“Yes.”

“Like that one there? Except full?”

“I said yes.”

“Oh, heavens, Lee,” Jefferson says. “Three pounds of flour . . . That would be the same as . . .”

“Almost six pounds of gold.” I sit back on my heels, holding my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. “That bag was worth well over a thousand dollars.”

Enough to take a whole family to California, easy.

“Where did you find it all?” Jefferson’s voice is filled with breathless wonder, and maybe a little anger.

“Here and there,” I say, avoiding his gaze. The lie sets ugly in my heart. “We got lucky.”

“And now it’s gone.”