They all had a rifle now, even Florence. Despite being so sickly, she managed a grateful smile as she rolled over onto her side, hugging the Winchester close as if it were her favourite stuffed toy-bear.
Ritter, leaning over the tailgate of the wagon to watch her, turned to talk to Grace. “Will she make it?”
Grace shrugged, took the bounty hunter by the elbow and led him out of Florence"s earshot. “I think it could be scarlet fever. I seen the symptoms before. She has a sore throat, a rash and she is burning up.” She brought a small rectangle of white cotton from her sleeve and dabbed at her top lip. “Some of the girls caught it back in the days before I met Father Merry. I seen it five or six times, and three of them girls died from it.”
Ritter couldn"t keep the shock from his voice. “
