luck -- connie's lucky pocket knife

“You sure you want to leave him like that?”

Constance swung up onto Rollins' horse.  “I left my knife in his pocket," Connie said. She might be stealing his horse after leaving him unconscious (again), but she wasn't heartless.

Ruthy paused in the act of stealing from Rollins' pack horse and stared at her. “You left him your knife? Your LUCKY knife?”

Uh. Connie blinked and stared back. Uh.

“Mama’s knife?" Ruth insisted. "Mama's LUCKY knife," she pounded out. "You left it for him?”

Oh shit. Uh. “I, uh—”

“Wow.”

Ruth shook her head and finished plundering Rollins' goods and turned toward Constance and raised her arm.

“What does that mean?” Connie demanded as she reached down to help Ruth up.

“Oh, I think you know what it means.” Ruth laughed as she settled behind Connie on the horse.

Constance wanted to say more, to defend her actions as logical and rational, but she couldn't, so she took the higher road by kicking the horse into motion and telling Ruthy, "shut up."

Ruthy, of course, did not. She laughed. Loudly and in Connie's ear for a good duration of the very long ride back home.