Andy and Peety’s appetites have returned. We spend the evening feeding them bits of turkey stew. Peety nods gratefully when I brush the crumbs off the front of his shirt with a rag. He likes to keep a neat table.
I sop a piece of skillet bread in soup and reflect on my Snake luck. Unlucky that I fell into the Platte River, but lucky I survived. Unlucky that the Broken Hand Gang found us, but lucky West wasn’t killed. Unlucky about the cholera, but somehow, the people I care about are still breaking bread together. I suppose as long as everyone keeps surviving, I am up on my luck.
Cay, still queasy, just sips blackberry tea. “Now ain’t you glad I took that wrong turn?” he asks in a weak but still playful voice. “Gave you a little vacation up here.”
West doesn’t mention the visit from the Broken Hand Gang, and I follow his lead.
After a few bites of his dinner, Cay falls back on his bedroll and asks me to pull his earlobes again, so I oblige. Peety rises unsteadily to his feet, then gives every horse a kiss and a back-scratch. After licking her spoon, Andy joins him. West tidies the campsite. He moves slower than usual and yawns every minute, but he won’t go to bed until the last cup is wiped.
Finally, Peety turns in, followed by West, who drops onto his bedroll without even taking off his boots. Cay, his head in my lap, has finally fallen asleep—along with my legs. Andy beckons me over to her bedroll. I unhook my legs and rub feeling back into them.
Andy’s face has the bright sheen of someone with fever, but her head is cool. “I feel grimy.”
“Come on, I’ll give you a bath.” She bats away my proffered hand and gets up on her own. I find our soap and rag and lead her upstream. The night is warm, and the dirt on my own skin feels like an extra shirt.
We stop at a shallow part of the stream where the water pools, and toss our hats onto an overhanging branch.
Andy strips off her clothes and wades into the water, arms held out to the sides. I wash her frock coat. She can cover herself with a horse blanket tonight and by morning, the coat should be dry.
She carefully sits on a rock, and splashes water on her face and over her shoulders. “Feels good to get clean again. Thought the next time I got wet I’d be in the River Jordan.” The six dots on her arm glow in the moonlight. She catches me looking.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, remembering the way she’s been rubbing it the last few days.
“Itches now and then. But I think I figured out why God allowed Mr. Yorkshire to stick me with this nasty die.”
“Die?”
“He loved his dice. Six was his lucky number, though it always set him back seven.”
I stare at the square, wondering why I didn’t realize it was a die before, especially considering how a single die figured so significantly in my own history.
“But I think six is my lucky number. Five of us, plus Isaac. I have a good feeling I’m gonna find him soon.”
“I hope you’re right.” I plunk down next to her, hoping no fish bite my bottom. “You talked about your brothers a lot.” I lather her hair with the soap and scrub.
“That’s ’cause I was dreaming about them.”
“What about?”
She smiles. “I was dreaming about the year before they split us up. Tommy was seven, He and Isaac used to play a game called Follow. Isaac would blindfold Tommy, and call, ‘Follow,’ and Tommy would have to trust that Isaac wouldn’t trip him, or lead him into the mud. Tommy was a good follower, never even stumbled.”
She churns the water with her hand. “But one day, Tommy asked to be the leader. He made Isaac wear the blindfold. Isaac only went two paces before he fell, though of course, there was nothing blocking his path but his own scaredyness.” She chuckles.
“Did you ever play the game?”
She stares hard at the space in front of her, like someone’s there, though all I see is the river. Finally, she answers, “I’m still playing the game.”
As I puzzle out what she means, she says, “You and West took good care of us.”
“You gave us a good scare.”
“Serves you right for nearly drowning in the Platte. I guess we’s even now.”
She disappears under the water. When she surfaces, she blows a stream from her mouth. Her skin is sleek and glassy, like an exotic river dolphin. “If anything had happened to me, you’d have told the boys about you, right?”
“No.”
“Why? They’d help you get to Mr. Trask.”
“They’ve done enough for me. Besides, I think I can find my own way now.” I start in on my own scalp, scrubbing hard.
Water drops off her thick lashes when she squints at me. “Maybe you could. But would you want to?”
I don’t answer.
Her gaze drifts away, and I worry again that she’s thinking about separating. I decide to tell her about our visit from the Broken Hand Gang. She listens, wide-eyed and motionless.
I finish my story. “We’ll have to be careful. They may not mean us harm, but whoever shot Jeremiah might still be out there.”
“Yeah, you’s right. We gotta be careful.”
? ? ?
Andy settles into her bedroll between Peety and Cay. We didn’t move their bedrolls back in case they start feeling sick again. I heat our stew pot and turn it upside down to half-dry Andy’s coat, then hang it on a branch to finish air-drying. By the time I fall on my own bedroll, I am utterly dragged out.
When I open my eyes next, night still wraps the land tight as a bud, unwilling to allow sunlight in just yet. I start to unfurl, when I realize West’s arm is draped around my waist, and his face is buried somewhere in my neck. Is he awake? His arm feels too heavy, and his breathing too even. Each exhale kisses me.
My heart starts frisking about in my chest. If he awoke, would he be horrified that he’s cuddling a boy? Or has he seen through my disguise at last?
The thought sends alternating cold and warm tingles down my back. Is that why Cay called me a filly? I stiffen, causing West’s hold to loosen. He flops onto his back, releasing me, and I don’t dare breathe. I turn around and my eyes trace down the dark feathers of West’s eyebrows to the straight line of his nose, and then to his mouth, parted and inviting. His chest rises, then his breath huhs softly out. Still sleeping. Slowly, I exhale.
Cowboys ain’t meddlers, Cay said. They must have been waiting for us to tell them. I bet they figured out we were wanted criminals as soon as they knew we were girls. Yet they stuck with us.
I bite my lip as a wave of gratitude blurs my vision.
West’s breathing becomes shallower as if he senses me watching him. Slowly, I roll onto my back. I wish I could talk to Andy right now, though of course she’ll be sleeping. Maybe I’ll just check on the patients anyway.
Quietly, I get to my feet. When I pass by the tree where I hung Andy’s coat, I stop short. The coat is missing. I know I put it on that branch. Maybe a wild animal got it, or—
I sprint to the river and my heart collapses in my chest. Between Peety’s bulky silhouette and Cay’s sprawling limbs, I find an empty space.