Ronnie retrieves a jug from his horse. Corn liquor, if I don’t miss my guess. He pulls the cork and takes a swig, then passes it to Emmett, who does the same before handing it off to Zeke.

My saddlebag lies on the ground beside me, where I was using it as a pillow. Ronnie grabs it and reaches inside.

“Stop that,” I holler before I think better of it.

Ronnie grins. Holding my gaze, he slowly and deliberately rummages around inside. He pulls out Free Jim’s bundle of shirts. “Hey, there’s a shirt in here for each one of— Holy . . .”

The gold eagles spill out, clanking as they fall, then roll silently into the dead leaves. Ronnie drops the shirts and scrambles for the coins. Zeke runs over to help. Emmett remains where he is, watching me like I’m a snake.

I’m worse than a snake. I am patient. I am a ghost.

“There must be sixty or seventy dollars here,” Zeke says.

“More!” Ronnie says.

“How much?” Emmett asks me.

“Didn’t stop to count.”

“You think this is Lucky Westfall’s gold?” Ronnie asks.

Emmett raises an eyebrow at me.

“What if it is?” I say, clenching my hands into fists to keep them from trembling. If everyone knows about Daddy’s murder, it’s only a matter of time before they hear tell of his missing daughter.

Zeke is down on his hands and knees, scattering leaves and branches. Ronnie upends my saddlebag and shakes out my few belongings. Peony’s grain spills everywhere. Thank the stars I got rid of my women’s clothes.

“Reminds you of the old days, don’t it?” Emmett says, still studying me.

“This kid don’t look anything like a Cherokee,” Ronnie says.

“But us, out in the woods at night, looking for someone stupid.” His chuckle is ugly and mean. “Remember that first fellow?”

“Didn’t have anything on him but a bearskin,” Zeke says.

“And that rifle, remember? You carried that rifle for three years.”

“Heck, I hated that gun. Never shot straight for me.”

“Because you hit too many Indians in the head with it,” Ronnie says.

“Maybe we should head west like everyone else,” Zeke says. “We won’t find a richer treasure trove of stupid than on the road to California.”

They’re pretending to ignore me, but I know better. I saw it a dozen times with Jefferson’s da, the way he’d coyly provoke Jeff into being heedless or clumsy, then use the excuse to yell at him. If no one was around, he’d do more than yell. So I’m watching them close and waiting for my chance to escape, but I’m not going to give them any excuse.