I start to rise. “Then let’s go!”

He yanks me back down. “We wait for Tom. We agreed to meet here if things went bad.”

“What if he’s . . .” I can’t finish my own question.

“We’ll give him a chance.”

“And the rest of the plan?”

“Gunpowder is already in place outside the barracks, near the shanty where they stash the rotgut. Someone will set it off. We didn’t get as much powder from you as we wanted, so once it got dark, Muskrat grabbed a couple of the lamps that were lying around for tonight’s meeting and doused the back wall of the barracks with oil. For days, Tom and I have been gradually stacking firewood and blankets and such—anything that catches fire—against the back wall on the inside. Should burn long and hot now.”

“Our guns are in the barracks!”

“Yep. In a chest near the door. We hoped to retrieve a few in the confusion. Might not be able to, if the fire gets out of hand. Either way, I expect Mary will scream her head off about the Indians trying to burn the camp. She’ll convince everyone she saw a whole bunch heading toward the tents with more gunpowder.”

Everything is so much clearer, so much less impossible, when Jefferson is here. “And that will give us time to get to the stockade.”

“Yes.”

“It will be guarded.”

“That’s our biggest problem. Mary was going to take them some moonshine tomorrow, laced with laudanum. Tell them it was on Dilley’s orders, being the thanksgiving day and all, and just because they drew the watch shift didn’t mean they shouldn’t celebrate. It wouldn’t have been enough to knock them out, but it would have made them sleepy and slow.”

Slow enough that they couldn’t aim their guns, especially in the dark.

“It was a good plan,” I say.

“It was Muskrat’s plan,” Jefferson says. “That man is one of the smartest people I’ve had the pleasure to know.” High praise, coming from Jefferson. “But now I don’t know how we’ll get the stockade open,” he adds.

“We’ll think of something. But . . . Jeff? You could have told me everything.”

The bitterness must be plain in my voice because his “How?” comes out sharp and angry.

“I don’t know. Somehow. Mary sees me every morning.”

“Do you have any idea how closely your cabin is watched?”

“I . . . No, I guess not.”

“In order for me to visit your window, we had to count watch shifts, make several bribes, and Mary had to—”

“I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Footsteps sound at the tent’s entrance, and a shadow blocks the night sky. I freeze in Jefferson’s arms, which tighten around me.

Then a voice comes. “Jeff?”

“Tom!” I whisper, launching to my feet and barreling toward him.

He hugs me right back, but only for a second. “We have to reach that stockade and then get out of here.”

“But what do we do about the guards?” I ask.

“Maybe we ask the guards for help?” Jefferson suggests. “Tell them a riot is happening, and Westfall has ordered every able-bodied man to the fight?”

“That might work,” I say.

Tom rubs at his jaw. “Maybe. Especially if it comes from you. Everybody knows you’ve got special status around here. Hiram calls you his lady.”

The thought makes me see red. But if it helps us out now, then I’m glad for it.

“If we’re escaping tonight, we could use our guns. Also, my pack. I have some gold hidden in my mattress. It could pay for our journey back.”

“No time,” Tom says.

“I don’t mind saying good-bye to the gold,” I say, “but my guns . . .”

“We do need that gold,” Jefferson says. “We’re days from home. Maybe weeks. We’ll need supplies on the way, and we’ve got nothing to trade.”

“I won’t be able to stop long enough to find gold along the way,” I add. “Not if we’re pursued.”

The three of us stare at each other.

“We split up,” I say at last.

“No!” Jefferson says. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. Never ag—”

“I can get the guards to leave the stockade. I’m Miss Westfall, right?” I say it bitterly. “They’ll take orders from me. But not if I have you and Tom in tow.”

“She’s right,” Tom says. “Jefferson, you hurry back to the barracks and fetch our guns. Unless it’s too dangerous; use your own judgment there. Meet us at the corral. Lee, you run to the stockade and tell them they’re needed at the mine. Sound a little panicked if you can. Tell them to hurry.”

“What will you do?” Jefferson asks.

“I guess it’s up to me to sneak into the cabin and get Lee’s gold.”

“Absolutely not,” I say. “That cabin is too near the camp meeting. You’ll be seen.”

“Not if Mary has done her job,” he says. “Everyone will be racing to the mine soon enough.”

I hate this idea. I don’t want to let either one out of my sight, but I’m not sure there’s any help for it.

“All right,” I say with no small amount of reluctance. “Tom, the gold is hidden in my mattress. Lift it to find the hole underneath. My bedroom is the one with the quilt hanging in the doorway, along the east side of the cabin. There’s a pack in the chest at the foot of my bed. I’d dearly love it, but it’s not as important as that gold.”

“Got it,” Tom says.

“Both of you, promise me that if you can’t get inside quick and easy, you’ll let it go and head to the corral. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“Agreed,” Tom says.

“Agreed,” Jefferson says. “But I don’t want you to lose that five-shooter.”

“Better it than you,” I say in a wavery voice. I’d rather lose a dozen guns than lose Jeff.

An explosion shakes the earth, rattling my very bones.

“That’s our signal,” Tom says. “It’s a fair bet that barracks is on fire now.”

Even though I can hardly see a thing, my gold sense prickles all over, as though the air is filled with sparkling dust. Then comes yelling. Beating footsteps. A female voice screaming—Mary, no doubt.