Rusty put the brush into a wooden box and squinted. Something about the rider looked vaguely familiar. “I do believe that’s James Monahan. He wouldn’t come out of hidin’ without there’s a strong reason for it.”

Tanner stopped abruptly. “Monahan? Ain’t he the one who . . .”

“That’s him.”

Rusty tied Alamo to a tree and sprinted toward the camp headquarters. “Captain Whitfield. Somebody comin’.”

Whitfield stepped out of the open-fronted tent as James slid his horse to a stop and hit the ground trying to run, stumbling in fatigue. James’s anxious gaze fell immediately upon the captain. “You the man in charge?”

“I am, sir. What is your business?”

“Indians. A sizable bunch of them, a good ways west of here and on their way south.”

“You saw them yourself?”

“Sure as hell did, me and a preacher. He found their trail, real fresh, and we both followed it a ways ‘I’ll we almost ran up on them from behind.”

“How many?”

“Twenty or so. Enough to do a right smart of mischief.”

The captain appeared convinced, yet suspicious. “You say they were a long way west of here. There’s very few people to the west of this place. What were you doin’ out there?”

For the first time James spotted Rusty. He made a tiny nod of acknowledgment. “Tryin’ to stay out of sight.”

Rusty realized that Whitfield had not seen James before and had no reason to recognize him. He wished now he had not said anything to Tanner. Though the lanky ranger was a talkative sort, he could hold his silence when necessary. Rusty intended to tell him it was necessary.

The captain said, “Why would Indians ride so far west if they are on the warpath? There are no people out there for them to raid except maybe a few camps of deserters and renegades.” His narrowed eyes made the implication clear.

“Me and the preacher, we figured they were tryin’ to travel without bein’ seen. They’d go south, maybe down as far as the Colorado, then cut east and hit the lower settlements.”

“And where is this preacher?”

“He figured to circle around and get ahead of them, then warn the folks livin’ in their way. I come to fetch you and your company.”

Whitfield gave the order for most of the company to be ready to ride in twenty minutes, leaving only a skeleton guard. He told James, “We’ll furnish you a fresh horse. You intend to come with us, don’t you?”

“Damn betcha. I got folks somewhere down yonder.”

Rusty threw his saddle on Alamo. Whitfield pointed out a horse for James, and Rusty caught him. As he transferred his saddle, James said quietly, “You could’ve given me away. How come you didn’t?”

“Looks to me like he’s pretty well figured you out as it is. He’s got you pegged for a fugitive from the conscript, and maybe one of them renegade horse thieves in the brush to boot. The only thing he doesn’t know is that you’re the man who tried to kill Caleb Dawkins.”