“You know it is, Emmett,” says a voice behind me, and the back of my neck prickles.

“Don’t think we’ve ever seen you around here before,” the first one—Emmett—says.

“I reckon not,” I say. “My family’s back in Ellijay.”

The fellow grins like a cat with a mouse, and I don’t know what I said wrong, but I immediately regret it. My thoughts spin fast, trying to figure out my options.

“Shoot, Ellijay’s not that far, is it, boys?”

“Never been there myself,” Ronnie says behind me.

“Neither have I,” says the one beside me. “But I hear it’s nice.”

“So, you fellows know the area pretty well?” I have a peculiar urgency to keep them talking.

“Nobody knows it better than us, from Dalton to the Mississippi,” Emmett says.

“Then maybe you can tell me something. Man at the train station said the next town is Tunnelsville, less than a day’s ride. Thought I’d reach it by now.”

“That’s fourteen, fifteen miles away,” Emmett says.

“At least,” Ronnie adds.

“Oh,” I say. “So I won’t get there tonight?”

“Not a chance.”

Without warning, I jerk Peony around. Ronnie’s horse whinnies as it sidesteps to avoid us, and I breeze right past. The men pull up their horses and turn to stare at me.

“You fellows saved me a lot of trouble,” I say. “But it puts a burr under my saddle for the fellow who misled me back at the station. Figure if I hurry, I can get back to Dalton in time for supper.”

Emmett frowns. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, you did me a kindness, and I’m grateful,” I say.

I kick Peony into a fast walk. I don’t hear their horses following behind, and I resist the urge to look over my shoulder to make sure. I’m halfway back to Dalton when I finally risk a glance, and when I don’t see them on the road behind me, my hands start shaking something fierce.

I slide from Peony’s back and lead her uphill into the woods. The ridge is thick with birch, a place where I can observe the road unnoticed. I sit down, knees to chest, and watch the winding track below me while Peony lips hungrily at bare branches.

Nobody shows before dark. I hope the brothers kept on going to wherever they were headed. If they stop for the night, I might encounter them again tomorrow. Maybe I can find other folks to ride with before I do.

I lead Peony deeper into the trees and find a sheltered spot beside a stream. Snow blankets the ground up here, and my breath frosts as the temperature drops. I crunch through a caul of ice with the heel of Daddy’s boot so Peony can drink. I hitch her to a tree instead of hobbling her so we can take off quickly if we need to.