The tent camp looked the same as the last time Rusty had seen it. The driver halted the wagon and motioned for Mose to help Rusty to the ground. “This is as far as I dast take you without gettin’ me in bad with some of the boys in town.”

“I’m much obliged.” The leg hurt as Rusty climbed down, using the left front wheel as a ladder of sorts. It almost buckled when he reached the ground. Mose’s strong hands steadied him. The black man untied Alamo from the rear of the wagon and handed the reins to Rusty. He also gave him his pistol.

The driver said, “If you see us in town, just act like we’re strangers.”

They just about were. Rusty never had learned the driver’s name, and all he knew about Mose was his name and that he was a free black. He knew also that some of the crates contained whiskey, not illegal in Texas but a violation of union law in Indian Territory. Liquor smuggling was of interest to Texans when it encouraged Indian raids south of the river. Under present conditions of war, neither union nor Confederacy was in a position to make a strong effort against the whiskey trade.

Rusty watched the wagon pull away, then limped toward the corrals, leading Alamo. He wished he had not thrown away the cane. He would whittle a new one to use until the leg was stronger.

Tanner was at the corral, brushing a horse. Surprised at seeing Rusty, he strode out on his long, lanky legs to open the gate. “Looks to me like you rushed things a little. Leg’s still botherin’ you, ain’t it?”

“Got tired of sittin’ around doin’ nothin’.” Rusty unbuckled the girth and slid the saddle to the ground.

Tanner said, “You ain’t missed anything here. We’ve rode a million miles since you been gone, and we ain’t seen an Indian, hardly. Things sure been quiet.”

“Been dull where I was, too.” He did not feel like getting into a long discussion. He would save that for the captain.

“A few of the boys got tired of the routine and joined up with the army. Conscripters’ve been here, too. So far they’re leavin’ us alone long as we stay on guard with the company. The minute we leave, they’ll be lookin’ for us to go fight Old Abe.”

“I’ve got no intention of leavin’.” However, much depended upon the captain’s reaction when Rusty told him about the shooting of Caleb Dawkins and James’s escape from his custody. Losing a prisoner was serious business.

“Looks like the folks you stayed with fed you pretty good. Things got so bad on scout awhile back that I had to skin and eat a prairie dog.”

“How was it?”

“You don’t want any.”

Rusty saw to it that Alamo had a little grain in a pen by himself where the other horses could not contest him for it. He squared his shoulders. “I’d better go and report in.”