Preacher Webb had promised to look in on the farm once in a while to be sure the roof had not fallen. Perhaps he was there now. Rusty motioned to Geneva, who drove the lead wagon, her mother sitting beside her. “That’s the place. Just pull up to the dog run so we can unload.”

He rode beside the wagon until Geneva stopped the team, then dismounted and reached to help Clemmie down from the high seat. Setting her feet on the ground, she fell against him, weary and barely able to stand. Days of slow travel had put deep lines in her face and dark circles under her eyes. The trip had aggravated the wound in her side. It was good that she would finally be able to get some rest.

He watched her survey the cabin and tried to read what was in her eyes. He realized this was not an adequate substitute for the home she had lost. She said, “The place is goin’ to need a right smart of cleanin’ up.”

Trash had accumulated and weeds had grown around the cabin, something Mother Dora would not have tolerated. The woodpile out back was too small for winter. Maybe he could talk the two schoolboys into staying an extra few days to replenish it.

He apologized. “It won’t be what you’ve been used to, but the roof doesn’t leak. At least, it didn’t when I left. Come on in. Let’s see who’s here.”

He stopped in mid-stride as a man slouched out of the kitchen and onto the dog run.

Fowler Gaskin!

Surprise left Rusty momentarily speechless. Gaskin looked as if he might have stolen his clothes from a scarecrow in a field. His dirty underwear showed through holes in the elbows of his shirt. A piece of twine served in lieu of a belt to hold his ragged trousers in place. His face had not felt a razor in ages, and his beard was stained with tobacco.

Rusty got over his surprise enough to ask, “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

“I been livin’ here.” Fowler’s questioning gaze roamed over Clemmie and Geneva and the youngsters. Rusty saw apprehension in the rheumy eyes.

“I never gave you leave . . .” Rusty broke off, for Gaskin knew very well that he was trespassing. It was useless to tell him so.

Gaskin said, “You wasn’t here, and I didn’t know but what you might never come back. Fightin’ Indians can get a man killed.”

“But you’ve got your own place.”

“We had a storm last spring. Taken off some of my roof. I had to have a place to live.”

“You could fix the roof, you and your boys.”

Eph and Luke were about as shiftless as their father, but at the least they ought to be able to repair a damaged roof and keep the rain off their heads, Rusty thought.

Gaskin said, “My boys are both gone off to the army. Fightin’ for Texas and the Confederacy.”