The wood is damp, and it smokes something awful, so I keep the fire small and hope it doesn’t show much against the sky, which is a bit too moonlit for comfort. I load Daddy’s Hawken rifle and lay it out at my side. I hate letting it rest on wet ground, but I’m not sure what else to do. The fire, small already, burns low even before I drift off.

Peony’s nicker wakes me.

Branches crunch under heavy boots.

I reach for my rifle, but it’s gone.

Before I can jump up, the cold end of a gun barrel presses against my scalp. I don’t have to look at it to know it’s the Hawken, and it’s loaded.

“You should have gone back to Dalton for the night,” Emmett says.

“Heck,” says Ronnie. He’s a looming shadow on my left, hemming me in so I can’t escape. “You should’ve stayed in Ellijay.”

Chapter Eleven

I’m in big trouble if these brothers were hired by my uncle to bring me home. But I’m in bigger trouble if they weren’t.

Mama warned me about men like these. She knew a few when the Georgia gold rush was young, when times were rough and she was one of the only women in Dahlonega. So I know they’ll rob me blind, at least. If they’re not working for my uncle, they’ll do worse.

“Zeke,” Emmett says. “The fire’s gone out. Fetch us some wood, will you?”

“Make him do it,” Zeke says, indicating me.

Him. They’re not working for Hiram.

“Shut your trap and do what I tell you,” Emmett says. As his brother sulks off, he says, “You, sit up.”

I do as he asks, slowly, keeping an eye on the Hawken.

“And give me that blanket,” Ronnie says, yanking it from my shoulders. He wraps it around his own and steps back again, keeping me trapped between him and Emmett.

“How’d you find me?” I ask to stall more than anything.

“Smelled your campfire,” Emmett says. “Ronnie here spotted the place where you left the road. He’s a dab at tracking, my brother.”

I left tracks, and I made camp upwind of the road.

Zeke returns. “Why’re we wasting time here?” he says, dumping a few branches beside the fire.

“Ain’t no rush,” Emmett tells him. “Might as well pass the night.”

Emmett squats beside my fire pit, the Hawken across his knees. He keeps the barrel aimed my way, one hand resting on the stock within easy reach of the triggers. With his free hand, he stirs the coals and stokes the flames. “You got that bottle on you, Ronnie?”