After tightening the knot in the hobble securing her last mule, she stood and stroked the animal’s shoulder as she readjusted the pouch holding the necklace for Steps Right beneath her shirt. “Enjoy that grass. We’ll be back to water you before nightfall.”
She strode toward the camp, picking her way around the animals tearing at the rich grass that covered this valley. Grant had already gathered a pile of wood and now held the tinderbox, preparing to strike the flint and steel.
She moved to the food sack and reached down for it, but a flash of light jerked her gaze up.
Grant threw the tinderbox into the air just as a boom exploded in a puff of powder.
Shouts sounded from the others, and her heart surged into her throat. Was that a gunshot? Had Grant been hit?
He stood there, hands spread, staring at the tinderbox as it landed on the ground in shards.
“Are you hurt?” She moved to his side and touched his shoulder.
That contact seemed to push him into action. He stepped back, gripping her arm and pulling her with him. “Get away from it. I don’t know what happened.”
Parson came running, his breath heaving as he halted beside them. “What happened? Are you shot?”
Grant motioned toward the tinderbox, releasing her arm as he strode forward to pick it up. “Not shot. But this exploded when I lit a spark.”
“Let me see it.” Parson took the tinderbox from Grant’s hand and examined the mangled case. His mouth pinched tight as he looked up at Grant. “There’s residue from gunpowder in here.”
She blinked. “How did that get there?”
Grant jerked his head to her with a frown. Only then did she realize she’d forgotten to deepen her voice. Parson didn’t seem to notice, though.
The man looked around at the others who’d gathered. “Anyone know why there’d be gunpowder in the tinderbox?” He swung his gaze around them slowly, even eyeing her before turning to Grant himself.
“You think one of us put it there?” Grant raised his brows. “You think I’d blow my own hand off?”
Parson straightened. “I didn’t say what I think. I simply asked a question.”
Grant didn’t back down. “It’s my own personal tinderbox. I’d be the last one to tamper with it.”
Parson frowned. “It looks like the one I brought for the camp keepers to use.”
Grant shook his head. “It came from the supply wagonslike yours did, but this was a gift for my service on the journey out. You’ll find my initials carved on the underside.”
Parson flipped it over, his brows drawing lower before raising again. He looked up and turned to the others again. “I’ll say it again. Does anyone know who put gunpowder in Grant’s tinderbox?”
The knot in her middle pulled even tighter. Who would do such a thing? Was it a prank done by someone who thought it was the general lighter?
She couldn’t help a glance at Riggs. He seemed the only one young and reckless enough to do such a thing, but even he would know a trick like that would be dangerous.
But the shock and horror in his expression couldn’t be feigned, could it?
Willard was the first to speak, his voice a bit of a growl. “That’s a serious thing you’re accusin’ us of.” He glanced around at the others. “Any o’ you boys put gunpowder in the man’s tinderbox?”
The men responded with “No” and “’Course not.”
Willard turned back to Parson. “We didn’t do it. I ’spect you better look elsewhere for yer scoundrel.” He sent a glare past Parson to Grant. “Maybe he’s tryin’ to get notice for hisself. Make the rest of us look bad.”
She stiffened. Why would he think Grant would do such a dangerous thing to himself?
Grant’s eyes narrowed. “I have no reason to put gunpowder in my own tinderbox. Nor do I want to blame anyone for it unjustly.”
Parson raised a hand, his voice stern. “Enough. Maybe it’s not one of us. Or maybe it was an accident.” His gazeslipped back the way they’d come, probably searching for any sign of followers.
He turned back to the men and flapped his hand at them. “Go on an’ finish setting traps. I doubt we’ll stay here, but I wanna know if the trappin’ is good first.”
