“You can tell me you were wrong, but not her?” I says.
He shrugs and plucks the smoke from his mouth, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Guess I’d rather’ve told you ’bout my ma and my prejudices myself. When I were ready to share it.”
“So tell me something else,” I says, knowing I ain’t gonna win this battle and get him to apologize to Lil tonight. “Something true, like I did back in that shanty.”
Jesse raises an eyebrow. “I ain’t never told you a lie.”
“You ain’t shared much neither. Yer awful good at judging everyone, Jesse, and dishing out advice, but you don’t say heaps ’bout yerself. Hell, the only things I know I heard from Will, or picked up while at yer ranch. So tell me something. Tell me something you ain’t told no one else.”
In the growing darkness, his squinty eyes are gleaming like a coyote’s. They flick over my features—nose, lips, neck, back up to meet my eyes.
“I think yer something,” he says.
I’m hot again, skittish. “What’s that mean?”
“Ain’t sure. Still trying to figure it out myself.”
“Then it don’t count. Tell me something you got an understanding of.”
He looks to the dying embers of our fire. Opens his mouth, closes it, takes a long drag on the smoke.
“I ain’t the best reader,” he says finally. “I know how just fine—I’s written correspondences, can read the letters Clara sends to Wickenburg or the notices posted outside the sheriff’s—but I ain’t never gotten through a whole book. Hell, I don’t think I’s ever read more than a couple pages.”
“That ain’t nothing to be ashamed ’bout,” I says. “Who’s got time for reading when there’s crops to tend and herds to drive? It’s a luxury, Jesse. It ain’t nothing worthwhile.”
“Yeah, but you went on and on the other night ’bout that novel . . .”
“Little Women?”
“Yeah. It were so obvious those words got inside you, and I thought, By God, there’s a girl with more determination than I’ll ever have. ’Cus I don’t think I could do it, Kate. I don’t think I could finish something that thick without dying of boredom.”
“Then you ain’t found the right book yet,” I says. “There’s something for everyone. My pa had this thing for poetry—most flowery, ridiculous nonsense I’s ever heard in my life, but he loved it. If novels are a luxury, poetry’s another thing entirely. Folks who got the time for it have something wrong upstairs if you ask me.”
Jesse takes one last drag on his cigarette and puts it out in the dust between us. “Figures you’d think that.”
“Why?”
“I’s gonna say that’s the only type of reading I ever had any patience for. Sarah has a book of poems she reads to Jake sometimes. It’s like a song, that stuff. Like an escape.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“You did, but that’s fine. People don’t gotta like the same stuff. If they did, life would be pretty boring.”
His gaze drifts over toward Lil, and I wonder if this is his way of telling me he won’t ever approve of her or apologize to her face. That we’re just not going to agree on this point.
“I don’t think you got something off upstairs,” I says. “That were an exaggeration. I mean, my pa were one of the smartest men I know.”
Jesse just smiles and shoves to his feet. He takes a step toward his bedroll, then pauses and turns back to me. “Kate,” he says. “That short for Katherine?”
I nod. “I don’t go by nothing but Kate, though.”
“It suits you. See you in the morning, Kate.” He winks, and something flutters in my gut. Then, without another word, Jesse walks ’cross camp to where his bedroll’s laid out near Will’s. I lean back and turn onto my side like I gotta hide my smile from the sky. I catch Lil grinning knowingly from where she’s settled in for the night.
He likes you.
I flop in the other direction and tug my blanket tighter beneath my chin. One blasted wink and I got knots in my stomach? A wink from eyes that ain’t never open properly to begin with! Maybe it were a twitch, a squinty flinch or something. Maybe a bug flew in his eye.
I think up more theories as I try to find sleep, ’cus I ain’t fond of it. I talked with Morris plenty in Prescott and never felt like my stomach were in my boots. Something’s wrong with me. I gotta drink more water tomorrow, watch how much sun I get. This rough land’s doing something to my head.
For once, Silver ain’t fixing to move come dawn. I think she fancied this camp, what with its plentiful water and vegetation. When she were grazing last night, I swear I heard her whinnying all playful with the Coltons’ horses. Or maybe she’s getting on well with Lil’s pony. Something ’bout the creature’s stooped form and worn coat reminds me of Libby. Poor horse.
Silver nickers at me when I cinch her saddle in place, then nips in my general direction as I secure my bedroll and gear to her back.
“If’n yer grumpy already, it’s gonna be a long day,” I says to her.
She hmphs like she understands my words, but quits being a pest. Sometimes I wonder how keen her ears are when it comes to picking up my tone.
Once we get camp broke down and fill our canteens, we’re back to riding. The brothers lead—or rather, Mutt does—while I bring up the rear with Lil. As the land gets rougher we’re forced to slow our pace and take to guiding our horses into the Salt, where she’s already done the work cutting a path through the heaving land.
Early in the morning, the Salt begins to widen a little. It’s a beauty of a sight, vibrant blue ’gainst the dust and rock shades we been used to. Mutt charges into the water, jumping in all limb-spread like he thinks he can fly. We pause to refill our canteens and splash our faces clean of sweat, but then we’re moving again. There’s several miles to cover before we reach Waltz’s, and I’m anxious to get there. It sounds like he’s settled near Boulder Canyon, the route I reckon we should take as we head for the mine. Least that’s what the maps suggest.
The Salt’s getting all sorts of crooked as the day wears on, weaving and turning nonstop. I find myself wishing for dry plains again, just so I can cut a straight line to my destination. But we got rugged mountains cropping up every which way now, and where there ain’t mountains there’s hills large enough to be a nuisance. I can’t see over ’em, and I don’t want to have Silver climb ’em only to realize the land on the other side ain’t the way we need to trek. So we stick to the river, guiding the horses through the shallows when the land gives us nowhere else to walk.