Reverend Lowrey immediately offers to pray for the boy.
“We will turn the whole camp outside in,” Mrs. Robichaud promises. “Where he is hiding, we go to find him.”
I close my eyes and stretch my gold sense out to its limits. The hidden treasure in the Hoffmans’ wagon shines like daylight, and Major Craven’s cuff buttons tickle the back of my throat. But the familiar tug of Mama’s locket is definitely nowhere near. “We need search parties,” I say, opening my eyes. “In case he wandered away. I’m going out with whoever wants to go with me.”
Frank shares a meaningful glance with another fellow. “We know where he is,” he says.
“Where?” cries Mrs. Joyner.
“The Indians were eyeing him and his pretty blond hair. They wanted that boy of yours. We find the Indians, we’ll find your son.”
“We don’t know that,” I say.
“Well, you look wherever you want,” Franks says. “We’ll be the ones to find him.” He and several others grab their powder horns and start loading.
The Indians didn’t take Andy. We passed them on our way back from hunting buffalo, and I didn’t sense the locket once. But there’s no way I’m saying so to Frank Dilley, a man who raised a shotgun to his own leader just for getting hurt. How much worse would it be for me if he found out I had witchy powers?
I grit my teeth as I watch the Missouri men ride out in a pointless pursuit. Jasper must stay behind and tend to Major Craven. That leaves me, Jefferson, Mr. Hoffman, Mr. Robichaud, Tom, and Henry to search. I ask Jefferson, “Think Nugget or Coney could track him?”
“With all the people and animals that have muddled through here, they’d be lucky to track him if they could see him.”
He’s right. “So we spread out and think like a little boy and try to figure out which way he went.”
“We need a signal,” Mr. Robichaud says. “If anyone finds him, fire two shots into the air.”
We all agree, and we split up and spread out from camp.
The land grows shadowed with dusk. Tiny bugs rise from the grass, fogging my path, while frogs chirrup endlessly. My throat is hoarse from shouting Andy’s name, but there has been no sign of the boy, not even the faintest tickle of gold sense.
A gunshot rings out from the direction of camp. In its echoing aftermath, I can’t tell if another shot follows. I turn Peony around and breeze her all the way back.
The campfires are burning bright when I arrive. I dismount and walk Peony between wagons into the circle. Everyone else is there—Frank and his men, Tom and Henry, Mr. Robichaud, Mr. Hoffman and his two oldest sons, Jefferson.
“Who found him?” I ask. “Where was he?”
Jefferson shakes his head. “No one found him.”
“I heard a gunshot.”
“Rattlesnake.”
“Is anyone bit?” My heart will burst if one more person gets hurt today.
Jefferson’s face is grave.
“Who? Who was it?”
“Athena. Jasper’s milk cow. Tom shot once to kill the snake and then once to put her down.”
Tears spill out of the corners of my eyes, and I scrub at them with the back of my hand. It’s too much. Everything that could go wrong since I woke up this morning has gone wrong. And now sweet Athena, with her soft brown eyes and fine lady lashes.
“Grab some dinner, Lee,” Jefferson says. “You’ll feel better after you get something to eat.”
“I’m going back out. I won’t let today end this way.”
“Lee—”
“I won’t.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Everyone is staring at me. “I’ll welcome anyone who wants to help,” I call out.
No one volunteers.
Frank says, “You go back out there in the dark, you’re asking to get yourself killed. The Indians’ll put an arrow through you. You won’t even hear it coming.”
I look him dead in the eye. “A brave man would offer to come with me.”
“I forbid it. You ain’t going out there.”
“Try to stop me.” I whirl and head toward Peony.
“If you’re not back in the morning, don’t bother!” he shouts after me. “We’ll leave without you.”
My hands are shaking and my eyes are blurry with tears that won’t fall. Footsteps pound after me. I brace myself, but it’s Jeff.
“Lee?”
“Don’t you start,” I snap. “And don’t you dare try to change my mind.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Oh.”
I unhitch Peony. She nips at my arm, but her teeth don’t touch me, so I know she’s not serious. I stroke her neck by way of apology, but her skin twitches under my palm. She needs a good rubdown. I’ve worked her hard all day.
“Thanks,” I say softly. To her and to Jefferson.
“You’re a McCauley, right? Lee McCauley. That makes us family.”
I choke out a laugh, and then the tears dribble down my cheeks and I’m rubbing my sleeve across my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jefferson Kingfisher.”
“I knew you’d throw that back at me,” he says.
“Too bad you can’t pick your family.” It’s what Daddy always said about his mother-in-law, my Boston grandma who refused to return my mama’s letters after she ran away to Georgia.
“Maybe you can.”
I stare at him, not sure what to say. I’d pick him for family, for sure and certain, if I could.
“I’ll get the sorrel mare and the dogs,” he says.
The contents of the Joyners’ wagon are stacked outside. I’m quiet as a mouse as I get some feed for Peony and refill my canteen. But the canvas flap whips open, revealing a red-eyed Mrs. Joyner.
“Just restocking,” I say. “Then Jeff and I are going back out.”
“Promise me you’ll bring him back,” she says.
My shoulders tense. Daddy taught me never to make promises I couldn’t keep. “We’ll look all night.”
She reaches out her arms and begs me to come close. When I do, she bends down and wraps her arms around my neck. “We’re lucky to have you with us, Lee McCauley. You’re a good man.”
I extricate myself awkwardly, duck my head, and tug my brim at her. My heart is in a tangle, and I don’t know what to say. I’ve lost everything—my parents, my home, my gold, my daddy’s Hawken rifle, his saddle. I even lost my name. Leah Westfall, the girl who took care of Lucky Westfall’s farm for him and panned for gold—she doesn’t exist anymore. But maybe Lee McCauley isn’t so bad after all. I stood up to Frank Dilley a few minutes ago, and now I’m going to go search for a little boy, because it’s what I want to do.