“My daddy was strong for stayin’ in the union. A lot of good friends are for pullin’ out. If I could vote, I don’t know which way I’d swing.”

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to sit on the fence. They’re apt to tear it down, and you’ll be forced to take a stand.”

“Then I’ll stand with Texas. Not the union, not the confederacy, but Texas.”

Whitfield’s mouth was grim. “That suits me, but there’s lots of people it won’t. You may be in for hell.”

Rusty thought back to the pursuit of the Comanches, to the finding of the butchered woman. He thought back to the murder of Daddy Mike. He said, “I’ve already had a taste of hell.”

Good news travels afoot. Bad news rides a fast horse. The election results were quick to reach the frontier, and they held no surprises. By a strong majority, Texas voters had supported secession. The report brought cheers in Fort Belknap but found a mixed reception in the ranger camp. Though a rumor had spread quickly among the men, Captain Burmeister called them into formation to make the announcement official.

His face was solemn, his voice so subdued that Rusty could barely hear it. “Men, the news is come. The vote was as we have thought, for secession. Very soon the Texas legislature will meet. No longer will we stand under the flag of the United States.”

The men waited in silence, contemplating their individual futures, until Tanner asked, “If we ain’t Americans anymore, what are we?”

Burmeister stared at the ground. Rusty thought he saw tears in the captain’s eyes. “That, you must each decide. Almost thirty years now, I have been an American. An American I will remain.”

He turned and walked back to his tent without dismissing the formation. Sergeant Whitfield gravely watched him go. “All right,” he said finally, “dismissed.”

The following morning Burmeister called the company into formation and turned the command over to Whitfield. “Until they send someone, you will be in charge. Perhaps they will send no one. Then the company is yours if you want it.”

Uncertainty creased Whitfield’s face. His heavy moustache seemed to droop. “The whole country’s fixin’ to turn upside down. They may not want any rangers at all. Where’ll you go, Dutch?”

“Across the river. I will offer myself to the federal army. If they do not want me . . . perhaps to Colorado. Texas under a different flag cannot be my home.”

“It won’t be the same without you.”

“With or without me, it will not be the same again.” Burmeister shook Whitfield’s hand, then turned to the men who stood in loose formation. “May God be with us all.”