Lizzie felt sick with fear.

Dobbs turned to his companion for support. “Ain’t it her, now?”

The other man shrugged. “I never saw Burgo’s convict more than a time or two, and one little girl looks much the same as another,” he said dubiously.

Baz said: “She fits the description in the Virginia Gazette, though.” He reached under the counter and came up with a musket.

Lizzie’s fear went away and she felt angry. “I hope you aren’t thinking of threatening me, Barney Tobold,” she said, and her voice surprised her by its strength.

He replied: “Maybe you should all stay around while we get a message to the sheriff in Staunton. He feels bad about not catching Burgo’s murderer. I know he’ll want to check your story.”

“I’m not going to wait around while you find out you’re mistaken.”

He leveled the gun at her. “I think you’re going to have to.”

“Let me explain something to you. I’m walking out of here with this child, and there’s only one thing you need to know: if you shoot the wife of a wealthy Virginian gentleman, no excuse on earth is going to keep you from the gallows.” She put her hands on Peg’s shoulders, stepped between her and the gun, and pushed her forward.

Baz cocked the flintlock with a deafening click.

Peg twitched under Lizzie’s hands, and Lizzie tightened her grip, sensing the girl wanted to break into a run.

It was three yards to the door but they seemed to take an hour to get there.

No shot rang out.

Lizzie felt sunshine on her face.

She could contain herself no longer. Shoving Peg forward she began to run.

Mack was already in the saddle. Peg jumped up on the seat of the wagon and Lizzie followed.

“What happened?” Mack said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Let’s get out of here!” Lizzie said, snapping the reins. “That one-eyed fellow recognized Peg!” She turned the wagon to the east. If they headed for Staunton they would first have to ford the river, which would take too long, and then they would be riding into the sheriff’s arms. They had to go back the way they had come.

Looking over her shoulder she saw the three men in the tavern doorway, Baz still holding the musket. She whipped the horses into a trot.

Baz did not shoot.

A few seconds later they were out of range.

“By God,” Lizzie said gratefully. “That was a nasty moment.”

The road turned a corner into the woods and they passed out of sight of the tavern. After a while Lizzie slowed the horses to a walk. Mack brought his horse alongside. “We forgot to buy oats,” he said.

Mack was relieved to escape but he regretted Lizzie’s decision to turn back. They should have forded the river and gone on. Staunton was obviously where Burgo Marler’s farm was, but they could have found a side trail around the town, or slipped through at night. However, he did not criticize her, for she had been forced to make an instant decision.

They stopped where they had made camp the night before, at the place where Three Notch Trail was crossed by a side trail. They drove the wagon off the main road and concealed it in the woods: they were now fugitives from justice.

Mack looked at his map and decided they would have to go back to Charlottesville and take the Seminole Trail south. They could turn west again after a day or two without coming within fifty miles of Staunton.

However, in the morning it occurred to Mack that Dobbs might be heading for Charlottesville. He could have passed by their hidden campsite after dark and reached the town ahead of them. He told Lizzie of his worry, and proposed riding into Charlottesville alone to check that the coast was clear. She agreed.

He rode hard and reached the town before sunrise. He slowed his horse to a walk as he approached the first house. The place was quiet: nothing was moving but an old dog scratching itself in the middle of the road. The door of the Swan tavern was open, and smoke came from its chimney. Mack dismounted and tied his horse to a bush, then cautiously approached the tavern.

There was no one in the bar.

Perhaps Dobbs and his sidekick had been heading the other way, toward Staunton.

A mouthwatering smell was coming from somewhere. He went around to the back and saw a middle-aged woman frying bacon. “I need to buy oats,” he said.

Without looking up from her work she said, “There’s a store opposite the courthouse.”

“Thanks. Have you seen Deadeye Dobbs?”

“Who the hell is he?”

“Never mind.”

“Would you like some breakfast before you go?”

“No thanks—I wish I had time.”

Leaving his horse, he went up the hill to the wooden courthouse. Across the square was a smaller building with a roughly painted sign saying “Seed Merchant.” It was locked up, but in an outhouse at the back he found a half-dressed man shaving. “I need to buy oats,” he said again.

“And I need a shave.”

“I’m not going to wait. Sell me two sacks of oats now or I’ll get them at the South River ford.”

Grumbling, the man wiped his face and led Mack into the store.

“Any strangers in town?” Mack asked him.

“You,” he replied.

It seemed Dobbs had not come here last night.

Mack paid with Lizzie’s money and took the two big sacks on his back. When he went outside he heard hooves and looked up to see three horsemen riding in from the east, going fast.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Friends of yours?” said the seed merchant.

“No.”

He hurried down the hill. The riders pulled up at the Swan. Mack slowed his pace as he approached and tipped his hat down over his eyes. As they dismounted he studied their faces.

One of them was Jay Jamisson.

Mack cursed under his breath. Jay had almost caught up, thanks to yesterday’s trouble at South River.

Luckily Mack had been cautious, and as a result he was forewarned. Now he had to reach his horse and get away without being seen.

Suddenly he realized that “his” horse had been stolen from Jay, and it was roped to a bush not three yards away from where Jay now stood.

Jay loved his horses. If he gave this one a glance he would recognize it as his own. And he would know in a flash that the runaways were nearby.

Mack stepped over a broken fence into an overgrown lot and watched through a screen of bushes. Lennox was with Jay, and there was another man he did not recognize. Lennox tied up his mount next to Mack’s, partly masking the stolen horse from Jay’s view. Lennox had no love of horses and would not recognize the beast. Jay tied up next to Lennox. Go inside, go inside! Mack shouted in his head, but Jay turned and said something to Lennox. Lennox replied, and the other man laughed coarsely. A drop of sweat rolled down Mack’s forehead and into his eye, and he blinked it away. When his vision cleared the three were walking into the Swan.

He breathed a sigh of relief. But it was not over yet.

He came out of the bushes, still bent under the weight of two sacks of oats, and walked quickly across the road to the tavern. He transferred the sacks to the horse.

He heard someone behind him.

He did not dare to look around. He put one foot in the stirrup, then a voice said: “Hey—you!”

Slowly, Mack turned. The speaker was the stranger. He took a deep breath and said: “What?”

“We want breakfast.”

“See the woman out back.” Mack mounted his horse.

“Hey.”

“What now?”

“Has a four-horse wagon passed through here with a woman, a girl and a man?”

Mack pretended to think. “Not lately,” he said. He kicked his horse and rode off.

He did not dare to look back.

A minute later he had left the town behind.

He was anxious to get back to Lizzie and Peg, but he was forced to go more slowly because of the weight of the oats, and the sun was warm by the time he reached the crossing. He turned off the road and down the side trail to the hidden campsite. “Jay is in Charlottesville,” he said as soon as he saw Lizzie.