“If we ever see their families,” Ronnie adds.

I make myself breathe slow and easy, or else I’d scream and run. These men aren’t just robbers, they’re killers. Freebooters, just like Colonel Plug’s boat-wreckers down the Ohio River or Mason’s gang at Cave-In-Rock.

Emmett grabs the jug from Ronnie and tilts it to his lips. Peony is tugging at her hitch, which shakes the branches of the small birch she’s tied to. She doesn’t like the smell of this either.

“I have to admit that northern folks are unjustly suspicious of me and my brothers, on account of their deep and hypocritical prejudices,” Emmett says. “But you? You look as innocent as a sacrificial lamb with those big, wide girlie eyes. We might be able to use that.”

They’re starting to relax. I can see it in their shoulders. In the easy way they tip back their heads for a swig. Just a few more drinks, boys.

“On the other hand, if you don’t want to join us as our long-lost cousin Tackett from Ellijay, no hard feelings. We’ll just take what we need and leave you here in the woods.”

Leave me dead in the woods, he means. Zeke’s hand is too near the big knife on his belt. Ronnie seems to be gazing off the other way, but Emmett still aims the Hawken at me. My belly squirms to think that after everything, I might get killed by Daddy’s own gun.

Emmett holds out the jug, offering me a drink. “So what’s it going to be?”

I’m supposed to beg them to take me along. If I do, they’ll have a laugh at my expense, then murder me anyway. If I don’t, they’ll use it as an excuse to be extra mean.

The jug hangs in the air, along with Emmett’s question. I figure I’m dead no matter what I answer. So I pull a trick I learned watching Jefferson deal with his father: I change the subject.

“My horse. Sounds like she got snarled up.”

At my voice, Peony whinnies and struggles harder. I say a silent blessing to her.

I add, “She spooks easy. If she doesn’t get unsnarled, she could hurt herself. And then she’s no good—can’t ride her, can’t sell her.”

Ronnie frowns. Emmett shuffles closer to the fire, trying to get a better look at me. His hand inches toward the triggers. Staring me down eye-to-eye, he says, “Zeke, go untangle the horse.”

“Why me?”

“Because I told you to.”

Zeke stomps over to Peony, spewing a string of curse words. He draws his knife and cuts her hitch.

“There, you satisfied?” he says.

Peony thanks him by biting his cheek.

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.

More scuffling and dislodged mud. Someone slides down the embankment. “Too dark to see,” Zeke says, his voice so close I could probably reach out and touch him.

“We’ve got his gold,” Emmett says. “Let’s head back to Dalton, find a doc to look at my arm.”

“You mean my face!”

“That too.”

Boots stomp within inches of my nose. If he steps on me, I’m done for. Or maybe, if I’m quick, I can wrench him down by the leg and put my own boot in his face before he can say howdy.

I hold my breath, sure it’s a trick, but the boots step away, and the underbrush thrashes as Zeke scrambles up the slope. I’m quiet as a rabbit in a burrow with a fox nearby, and I stay that way long after their footsteps fade, listening desperately to the silence.

I feel more than hear the soft swoop of wings as a screech owl shadows down from the trees and lands in front of my face. His head twists as he calls out, like a crying baby. His eyes are huge and wide and golden, just like mine.

After a moment, the owl’s silhouette launches back into the sky, and I’m a little sad to see him go, like I’ve lost the night’s one beautiful thing.

He never would have left his tree if the brothers were still around. Still, I don’t move from my pile of leaves until morning quickens with the rising sun.

Chapter Twelve

I crawl out from under my leaf pile and creep back up the hill, where I pause at the camp’s edge. The brothers could be watching this very spot, waiting for me. But everything I owned in the world was here, and I have to see if anything can be salvaged.

I glance around for Peony, as if the brothers wouldn’t take such a perfect, beautiful mare. Tears prick at my eyes. She saved my life with her cantankerous ways. I don’t know how I’ll carry on without her.

If Mama were here, she’d remind me that things could always be worse, and she’d be right. The night was freezing cold, and I was afraid, so I left all my clothes on, including my coat and Daddy’s boots. I’ve got a full outfit, even if it’s filthy from hiding under rotting leaves. I still have Mama’s locket around my neck and nearly ten dollars in my pocket, so I won’t starve for a while yet.