Jefferson clenches his jaw, then he opens his mouth to snap back, but Hampton says, “I’ve seen ’em. They watch me from that big stand of oak trees sometimes, when I’m tending the oxen and horses.” At Becky’s gasp, he hastily adds, “They’re not threatening at all. Just curious, I think.”

“They’re nomads,” Becky says. “Here today, gone tomorrow.”

“Calling them nomads,” Jefferson says, “is just a fancy way of saying it’s okay to squat on their land.”

Becky is about to protest, but Henry interrupts. “I suspect they don’t want trouble any more than we do,” he says.

Hampton adds, “I went over to talk to them, but they’d disappeared. They left behind the most beautiful baskets, full of acorns.” His gaze grows distant. “I’ve never seen anything as pretty as that weaving.”

“What’d you do with them?” I ask.

“The baskets? I left them there. Weren’t mine. That was somebody else’s labor, and somebody else’s meal.”

“That was good of you,” Jefferson says.

“A day later, the baskets were gone,” Hampton says. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about from them, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Doesn’t mean we have nothing to worry about from others,” I point out. “So far, the only people who’ve tried to hurt us or take our stuff is other Christians. Like those claim jumpers.”

“I’ll dig a cellar for our cabin,” Martin says. “I’ll be all day about it, if need be. We can hide our supplies there.”

“Don’t bother,” says the Major. “Ground’s too hard. Solid granite and shale, most of it.”

“There’s a soft, grassy spot up the creek a ways,” Tom says. “Past the rapids, out of sight.”

“I can pull up the sod,” Martin says. “Jefferson and me’ll dig it out. We’ll cache some dry goods there, things the rodents won’t care about.” He and Jeff exchange a quick nod.

“Speaking of rodents,” Tom says, “we could use a cat or two.”

Olive looks up from her practice stitches. “I’ll take care of her. I’ll feed her and pet her all the time so she wants to stay with us.”

Tom nods solemnly. “I’m sure you would do a great job at that. There probably won’t be any kittens until spring, but I’ll keep an eye out.”

“I’m going to practice with my five-shooter, starting tomorrow,” I say. “So don’t be alarmed when you hear my gun going off.”

“I’ll join you,” Jefferson says.

“Me too,” Martin and Jasper chorus.

“I hate guns,” says Henry.

The Major uses his crutch to stand. “If any of Mrs. Joyner’s customers ask about our goods, I’m going to say we traded with things we brought from back east. No sense letting people know how much gold we’ve found.”

We all exchange glances around the fire. It’s a bold-faced lie and a sin, but no one protests.

“Heirloom jewelry,” Becky offers softly. “We’ll say I brought heirloom jewelry from my father’s plantation in Tennessee. Traded it in Sacramento.”

“Well, that was mighty generous of you!” the Major says, grinning.

Becky smiles back. She’s had an awful lot of smiles for the Major lately.

It puts me in mind of Jefferson, and I look across the fire and catch him staring at me. Again.

“Lee and I will take the first watch,” he says firmly.

“I’ve got my eye out for trouble,” I mumble as I stand, but I’m not sure which way I should be looking.

Chapter Five

Our wagon train was hardly a week out of Independence before we realized that standing watch was near useless. Even on the flat prairie, there were too many dips and gullies, too many cattle, too many tents and wagons, to keep an eye on everything, especially in the dark. The Major, who was never more than a sergeant in the Missouri militia, taught us to walk the perimeter to keep attackers guessing and cover more ground. After the Major was wounded in the buffalo stampede, Frank Dilley took over leadership of the wagons. Frank was a terrible person, but a decent enough leader and guide, and he kept right on assigning perimeter watches.

So Jefferson and I make a wide, silent circuit of our camp in the dark, rifles loaded, coats buttoned tight against the night chill. Moonlight ripples across the water of our beaver pond. As we skirt the shore, a great smack! sounds, and we whip up our guns in reflex. Then we share a quick laugh. Just a beaver, slapping the water in warning at our approach.

We continue in silence. Being with Jefferson used to be as easy as breathing. I think of his pathetic marriage proposal, back when we were first thinking on taking to the trail west. I thought the proposal was just for show, to make traveling together easier. I didn’t realize at the time that he was sweet on me.

Now everything is different. Now, being with Jefferson is both familiar and strange. Like a brand-new pair of boots from the same cobbler. Shinier, newer, maybe even nicer, but they don’t fit the same until you’ve walked in them a spell.

“I heard about Old Tug,” Jefferson says.

“He’s a rascal,” I say.

“You like him?”

“Not particularly.”

“Good.”

The smugness in his voice pleases me, for some reason. “He didn’t really want to marry me. He said I was ugly and manly. Just wanted to make his friends jealous that he had a wife.”

“You’re not ugly.”

I smile into the dark.

“And you’re not manly,” he adds.

“I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”

We walk on, giving the lean-tos and tents wide berth so as not to wake the others. In the distance, one of the horses whinnies. Just Sorry, I’d wager, bellyaching as usual.

“Olive says you don’t want to get married at all.”

“That girl needs to mind her own business.”

“Is it true?”

My sigh is lost in the night breeze. I’m not sure what to tell him.

“Lee?”

“I don’t know,” I say truthfully.

“What do you mean? What’s so bad about getting married?”