“I didn’t hardly even see him. I was tryin’ to shoot another one, but my horse kept dodgin’.”

“I don’t know that we killed any of them. We bloodied them a bit and got back a part of the horses they stole. The price was a little high, though. We’ve got two wounded besides you. Your leg is the worst.”

The leg throbbed and burned as if a fire blazed inside it. Rusty felt as if it were about to fall off. He had a bad moment as he mulled over the thought of losing it. “How bad do you reckon it is?”

Whitfield’s face creased. “Bad enough. We need to get you someplace where people can take proper care of you.”

Tanner suggested, “The Monahan farm is down yonder a ways. I’ll bet they’d put him up.”

Rusty asked, “Monahan? Is that Lon Monahan?”

Tanner nodded. “You know him?”

“Met him on my way up to Fort Belknap, is all. Can’t say I know him real well.”

“They’re a hotbed of unionists, him and his family, but otherwise they’re good folks.”

Whitfield growled. “Look around you, Tanner. This company itself is a hotbed of unionists. Most who don’t favor the union have already left to join the Confederate army. You’re one of the few who haven’t.”

Rusty knew Tanner’s loyalty was to the Confederacy. He remained confused about his own. He could not in good conscience support last year’s secession, yet he understood Texans’ frustrations with the union. “I wouldn’t want to cause the Monahan family any trouble.”

Whitfield said, “You wouldn’t add a speck to the trouble they’ve already got. You might even be a help to them.”

“The shape I’m in? I don’t see how.”

“There’s been agitation against the Monahans. Wouldn’t take much to stir the hotheads into somethin’ real mean. Havin’ a ranger stayin’ there might calm the waters.”

Rusty had heard ugly stories about mob violence against unionists farther east in the state. “If it came to trouble, I don’t know how much help I could be. This bad leg . . .”

“You represent the authority of the state of Texas. Most people will respect that. Those that don’t. . . well, you might have to shoot one or two of them.” His eyes narrowed. “Speakin’ of which, are you real sure you were tryin’ to kill that Indian? There’s some who flinch when it comes to actually pullin’ the trigger.”

The thought startled Rusty. He had not considered that his own reluctance might have caused him to miss. The Indian had been pinned down, helpless, an easy target.

Too easy, perhaps. That might have been the trouble.