Zeke screams. Peony rears, and Emmett and Ronnie leap after her because she’s worth even more than the coins. The rifle is no longer pointed at my head.

I launch to my feet and kick the fire. Glowing coals fly up and hit Emmett and Ronnie in the back. Emmett drops the jug. Liquid spills and whooshes into flame.

I turn and flee. The Hawken rifle cracks the air; the shot splinters a tree beside me. I can’t see where I’m going, and I don’t care. I trip, falling to my knees, but I scramble up and keep going.

My instinct is to run for the shadows where the moon can’t touch, so I skid downhill. I’m probably leaving muddy marks in the hillside, but I can’t worry about that now. I trip again—a big, fat log this time—which sends me flying. I hit the ground hard, and pain shoots from my shoulder and up into my neck. I roll down the hill, faster and faster, and come to a soft and sudden thunk in a collection of damp leaves.

I lie gasping, detritus filling my mouth. How long since the shot was fired? Thirty seconds? Forty? Any man worth his salt would have that rifle reloaded by now.

Their voices echo through the trees, but I dare to hope they’re moving farther away. I glimpse the fire’s orange glow on the slope above, flickering between swaying branches, but I kicked it good, and its light fades.

It’s too dark to sneak away; I’m as likely to run right into the brothers. Best to stay in one place. Being hunted is like being a hunter, really. Either way, you have to be as silent and still as death.

Mold pricks my nose as I scrape leaves to cover myself, until their weight feels like a blanket over my body. Now I’ve nothing to do but wait silently, my mind spinning. I should hide here at least until morning. Poor Peony. I hope she got away. If not, they might hurt her just for spite.

“He came down this way.”

I startle at Ronnie’s whisper, causing the leaves around me to rustle.

“I heard crashing and mucking about. See that spot there, where he slipped?”

Be patient. Be a ghost.

“I hope he hit his head on a rock and killed hisself,” Zeke says. “He should pay for what that horse did.”

“It’s your own fault, you fool,” Emmett says. There’s pain in his voice too; I hope the fire burned him good. “Why’d you go and cut it loose for?”

“You said untangle, and I untangled.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Ronnie says. “I heard something.”

Footsteps shuffle through underbrush on the hillside just above. Someone steps on a log, which creaks hollowly and sends dirt and leaves pattering down on top of me.

“It was right down here,” Ronnie insists.