I’m about to go up on my toes to close the distance between us, to kiss him the way I want to, but he suddenly steps back, leaving me cold and off-balance. “I’ll wake you when it’s your turn to keep watch,” he says, and the look he gives me is so smug I could spit.
True to his word, Jefferson shakes me awake in the dead of night, and I blink rapidly to clear the sleep from my mind. He’s let the campfire burn low, which is why chill has worked its way into my hands and feet. A breeze rustles the branches around us, and something dark and winged swoops low overhead.
I throw off my blanket and reach for my revolver. After a good yawn and stretch, I grab my five-shooter and check for moisture.
“There’s some pine-needle tea for you by the fire,” Jefferson whispers. “Still hot.”
“Thanks. Seen or heard anything?”
“Maybe. I’m staying up with you.”
A little thrill snakes through me. Maybe it’s just an excuse to kiss me again. But common sense prevails, and I shake my head. “You need your rest as much as anyone.”
Nearby, Tom rolls over in his sleep, mumbling something I can’t parse.
“I’m not going to sleep anyway, after hearing all that racket.”
“Something big, huh? Maybe a deer.”
“Maybe a catamount,” he says. “There’s at least one in the area. I’ve seen tracks.”
“A catamount won’t come near the fire,” I say. But I decide to grab my rifle as well. She’s not as easy to fire quickly, but one well-placed shot will take down anything.
“I hope you’re right.”
I hear what he’s not saying. Something big could be worse than a catamount. It could be a person.
I shove my revolver into its holster and heft my rifle. “Going to make a quick circuit,” I tell him. “Maybe I’ll scare off whatever’s out there.”
He starts to protest but changes his mind. He knows better. “Stay within sight,” he orders.
“Yes, sir!” I give him a mock salute and head into the trees.
As promised, I keep the silhouettes of our camp in sight as I work my way around. Pine needles and oak leaves crunch beneath my feet. The air is damp, but the sky is clear, the moon high and half full. It feels like a storm is coming, but with that sky so clear, it might not be here for a while yet.
I pause where the horses are hobbled, sleeping peacefully. Except Peony, who raises her head and gives it a tiny toss of greeting. She nuzzles into my shirt, looking for a treat.
“What are you doing awake, girl?” I whisper, stroking her warm neck.
A branch snaps behind me.
I whirl, bringing up my rifle.
A figure stands there, dark, tall and unidentifiable. Firelight glints off the barrel of a shiny Colt revolver, pointed right at my head. I’m furious at myself. I was worried about Tom not keeping a good watch, or Jefferson not taking it seriously enough, and I’m the one who got caught.
“Jefferson!” I holler. “We got company!”
“Don’t make no difference, girl,” says a familiar voice. “We got him, too.”
My heart tumbles into my toes. “And I got you, Frank Dilley,” I say. “Go ahead and shoot. I’ve got better aim than you, and you know it. Let’s see who’s left standing.”
Dilley just grins. “If my boys hear a gun go off, Bigler and Kingfisher are dead men.”
“How do I know they’re not dead already? You’re the kind of man who would knife someone in the back.”
He turns his face toward the campsite and hollers, “Bring ’em this way. Gotta show the little lady we mean business.”
The horses are awake now. Peony strains against her hobble, and I don’t blame her one bit. Sorry snorts, tail swishing as booted footsteps crunch through the underbrush toward us.
It’s Jefferson, all right, with a gun to his head, held by a rough-looking man I don’t recognize. Tom comes up right behind him, still in his long underwear. He winces as the gun to his own head digs into his scalp, forcing him on. Behind him is Jonas Waters, Dilley’s foreman.
Our meager fire provides a little bit of light, and the moon a little bit more, but it’s too dark for me to see what’s on Jefferson’s mind, whether he’s scared or angry or sorry or sad, and I want to go to him more than anything. Instead I say, “You boys are wasting your time. We’re headed to Sacramento, just like my uncle asked. There’s no need for any of this.”
Dilley laughs. “Your uncle’s not in Sacramento. Never has been.”
“What?”
“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll take you to him. But the whole bit about Sacramento was a fib. If you knew where he really was, there’d be no convincing you to leave your flock of girl-worshipping lackeys.”
“Then where is he?” Jefferson demands, and the man holding the gun knocks him in the temple so hard that Jefferson bends over, holding his head between his hands.
“If you hurt him again, I’ll kill you,” I say.
“Easy, Lee,” Tom says. His voice is soft, almost soothing. But I know him well enough now to understand that his mind is working this problem of ours, turning and turning like a mill on a creek. “We wanted to speak with Mr. Westfall, didn’t we? If these gentlemen are willing to escort us there, we’ll go willingly. Isn’t that right?”
He means to buy us some goodwill. With guns pointed at each of us, it’s the best plan we’ve got.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s right. If you’re taking us to my uncle, there’s no need for all this bossing around. We’re glad to go.”
If I can get them to lower their guns, lower their guard, we have a chance at escape.
But while Dilley might be a mean, conniving worm who deserves the bottom of my boot, he’s no fool. “Glad to hear we can expect your cooperation,” he says. “But just in case, I have a special treat for you.”
A fourth man comes toward me, melting from the forest like a ghost. He holds something bulky in his hand. Not a gun.
“You’re going to take two big swigs of that,” Dilley says.
“I’ll do no such thing! If you—”
“You must want your Indun lover to die,” Dilley says, and the man with Jefferson does something that makes Jeff grunt in pain.