Captain Whitfield gave the men time for a quick breakfast before announcing, “I’ll leave a few men here to help guard this place. The rest of us will move east and see if we can intercept the hostiles.” He sought out Rusty. “I’ll take you with me, Shannon. And your prisoner, too.” He nodded toward James. “I want to keep him in sight.”

“My prisoner?”

“You lost him once. He’s your responsibility.”

James did not change expression. He spoke softly, so that only Rusty could hear him. “You goin’ to shoot me if I take and run?”

“I guess I’ll have to decide about that when the time comes.”

“My sister wouldn’t take it kindly.”

Rusty suspected James was trying to determine the depth of his feelings for Geneva. If he took a notion to run, he would have to count on their being strong. In a sense James was using his sister. That irritated Rusty. “I wouldn’t take too much for granted, was I you.”

James said, “If we run into Indians, I won’t be much help without a gun.”

The captain overheard. “If that happens, I’ll give you your gun back. But not before.” He looked around. “Everybody ready?” He motioned with his hand and led the way, setting his favorite dun horse into an easy trot. The rangers’ mounts had received only a short rest after two hard days of travel. Whitfield was being careful not to overtax them without cause.

Rusty counted eight riders paralleling the river. That seemed the most likely route for the Indians’ return.

James said, “There’s twice as many Indians as there is of us.”

“Daddy Mike used to tell about the big fight on Plum Creek. He said the rangers were outnumbered four or five to one, but they whipped the Comanches anyway.”

“Took them by surprise, I guess.”

“No, the Indians knew they were there. They just thought their numbers made them safe. They didn’t expect the volunteers to hit them so fast and hard. It threw them off balance, and they never got back on their feet.”

They rode by the Gaskin place. The roof had been patched, after a fashion, but it was the sort of slapdash job Rusty would have expected of Fowler. He managed to muster some sympathy for the old man in the loss of his sons despite years of grievances at Gaskin hands.

James knew little about the Gaskin family. He said, “It would be a mercy if the Indians burned that place down. Maybe the neighbors would get together and build a better one.”

“They would for sure, if they could build it fifty miles away.”

Farther downriver lay the Isaac York place. Rusty would rather have passed it by, for the thought of seeing York brought a bitter taste rising up from his stomach. He hoped York would not be there. Perhaps he had heeded Preacher Webb’s warning and had gone to the settlement.

Captain Whitfield raised his hand in a signal for a halt. “Quiet!” he ordered. “Listen.”