“You goin’ to tell him?”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut unless he asks me. But I won’t lie to him.” Rusty had not forgotten that James once contemplated killing him. “You took a big chance comin’ here.”

“Wasn’t no choice. Preacher Webb knows how to find my family and warn them. I don’t know where your farm is.”

Rusty jerked his head, motioning for James to follow him to his tent. “We’ll pick up some grub. It’ll be a long, hard ride.”

James explained, “Me and Preacher Webb been keepin’ pretty close touch. He was on his way out to see me when he come upon that fresh Indian trail.”

Rusty put some jerky, cold bread, and coffee beans into a cloth sack. “If it hadn’t been for worryin’ about your family, would you have come and told us about the Indians?”

“I don’t know, I’d’ve had to think about it awhile.”

That at least was an honest answer.

Rusty counted ten rangers, including himself, plus James, mounted and ready to ride. On Whitfield’s command they set out in a trot. The temptation was strong to run the horses, but the animals would tire out and break down long before they reached the Colorado. At best it would be a hard two days’ ride. The captain’s strategy was to travel straight south. If James’s theory was correct, that the Indians would turn eastward at some point, the rangers should intersect their trail without wasting extra miles.

Rusty suggested, “Captain, I can point you to my farm down there. Not many people live to the west of it.”

“Then do so, if you please.”

Much later they stopped in a stream to water the horses. The captain pulled up beside James. “I don’t believe I heard your name.”

“I don’t see where that matters.”

“I’ve been rememberin’ a description I heard. Do you know a man named Caleb Dawkins?”

James flashed Rusty a look of resignation. “I do.”

“I believe you are the James Monahan who attempted to kill him. Would I be guessin’ close?”

James shrugged. “Close enough.”

“I can’t say that I criticize your motive. I do criticize your marksmanship.”

“I was a little excited. Next time I’ll try to keep my head.”

“It’s my job to see that there is no next time. Consider yourself under arrest.”

“You’re not sendin’ me back now, are you?”

“I can’t spare the men. Do you give me your word that you’ll stay with us?”

“ ‘I’ll we see about my folks and them Indians. After that, I ain’t promisin’ you nothin’.”

“Fair enough. But understand this: afterward, if you try to run it’ll be my job to stop you. Even if it takes a bullet in the back.”

“Looks to me like we understand one another.” James looked at Rusty. “Is that your feelin’, too?”

Rusty had let him go once, though he had little choice. “Like I told you last time, I follow orders.”

They rode in silence, trotting awhile, picking up into an easy lope for short stretches, then trotting again. The pace put miles behind them quickly, but not quickly enough to ease the persistent burning sensation where Rusty’s rump met the saddle. He could not put aside a fear that they might be too late.