“Still, I wouldn’t have wanted them on my conscience.”

“Maybe your conscience is too sensitive for your own good. You ain’t never had to kill anybody, have you? Even an Indian?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Time you’ve done it to two or three that really need it, your conscience won’t weigh you down near as much.”

A movement to the south caught Rusty’s eye. He saw a horseman spurring a sweat-lathered horse toward the patrol. The captain and the two other rangers had already seen and had stopped to wait. The oncoming rider waved his hat. He tried to shout, but he was too hoarse for his voice to carry far.

Tanner said, “I’ve seen that gent before.”

Rusty recognized the man called Willingham, who had been with Caleb Dawkins the day the recuperating farmer visited the camp. The man reined his horse to a rough stop and stirred a small cloud of dust. He coughed, trying to coax his voice into use. “Damn but I’m glad to see you-all. Minutemen, ain’t you?”

The captain said, “We’re scoutin’ from Belknap. You look like you’re totin’ a load of trouble.”

“Trouble enough.” Willingham turned in the saddle and pointed in the direction from which he had come. “They raided the Dawkins farm last night. Set fire to a haystack and tried to burn the barn.”

“Kill anybody?”

“Not that we know of. Wasn’t because they didn’t try.”

“How many horses did they run off?”

“None that I know of. Ain’t had time to take a count.”

“Doesn’t sound like the Comanches I know. Or the Kiowas either.”

“Wasn’t Indians atall. White men they was. Colonel says they’re some of them conscript dodgers that skulk around in the timber out past the settlements. They was after the colonel personal. Searched the house lookin’ for him. Scared Miz Dawkins half to death.”

Rusty had a strong hunch. He pushed Alamo forward, facing Willingham. “Recognize anybody?”

“One of the boys said he thought he saw James Monahan among them. Colonel laid low and didn’t see nobody, but he’s dead certain it was Monahan led the raid.”

Rusty had heard reports of petty thievery, blamed on men of the brush who hid out to avoid conscription officers and self-appointed hangmen like Dawkins. He had never seriously considered that James would allow himself to become a thief. But if the raid was aimed specifically at Dawkins, it took on a new and interesting complexion.

The captain told Willingham, “You lead the way. We’ll borrow a fresh mount for you at the first farm we come to.”

Willingham reined his horse around. “I’ve heard Colonel say some hard things about you rangers, but he’ll be tickled to see you this time.”

Rusty had noted that some people who railed at the law’s interference in their own affairs were mightily pleased for it to show up when trouble arose.

The patrol spent much of the day in reaching the Dawkins farm. However strong the excitement had been the night before, the place looked calm enough now. Men were working in the fields and around the barn. Rusty saw a scorched area beside the wide barn door, and what had been a stack of hay was just windblown gray ashes.