Tanner stood with narrow shoulders slumped and watched the wagon pull away. Rusty felt a tug of regret at the parting. He had been with the company more than a year now, patrolling the line, watching for Indian sign, and seldom finding any. Yesterday’s engagement was the closest he had come to being in a real fight where he could see the color of the enemy’s eyes. But he had enjoyed the life despite its lack of comforts, despite its sometimes monotonous routine, despite the slowness of pay scanty by any standard and irregular in arrival. He had enjoyed the bond that had grown among members of the company, riding together, camping together day after day, playing cards, occasionally racing horses.

Jim and Johnny Morris had shown him how close brothers could be, though they argued about trivial matters from time to time. Rusty had grown to regard Tanner as a substitute for the brother he never had. But Tanner had family back in the East Texas blacklands and had taken leave a couple of times to visit them. He wrote and received letters at fairly regular intervals. Rusty had received no letters except an occasional brief message from Preacher Webb, nor had he anyone else to write a letter to. When other men talked of their families, he was achingly aware that he had none.

The Monahans did not make a lot of unnecessary talk on the way south to the farm. They knew the rough ground caused Rusty considerable pain, and they did not bother him with useless conversation. The elder Monahan held the reins. He was careful to seek out the most benign terrain he could find, though much of the time he had little choice. One way was as rugged as another. Rusty managed to doze for short periods when the going smoothed out, though he remained always conscious of the throbbing in his leg.

‘The Monahan women met the wagon in their front yard. Geneva Monahan said nothing but pressed the palm of her hand against her mouth, her stricken eyes telling Rusty what she was thinking.

Clemmie anxiously looked over the sideboard. “My land, he looks more dead than alive. I hope you-all stopped along the way now and again to let him rest.”

“Couldn’t afford to,” Lon replied. “If dark had caught us we’d’ve had to camp a second night. Wanted to get him here to your tender mercies the fastest we could.”

“Let’s carry him into the house. Preacher Webb ain’t showed up yet. Lord knows how far Papa has to ride to find him.”

By that, Rusty assumed that Clemmie’s father had gone to search for Webb. He realized he had not seen Geneva’s older brother or heard him mentioned. He asked, “Where’s James?”

Lon and Clemmie Monahan glanced at each other before Lon answered, “We ain’t sure, exactly. It’s best that we don’t know.”