Rusty grimaced. “The war back east has got to end one of these days, but I’m afraid the one out here may take a lot longer. Don’t let some Comanche raise your hair.”

He watched James disappear into the timber, then shifted his attention to the York cabin. “Guess we’d better see what’s goin’ on.”

Captain Whitfield stood with his hands on his hips as Rusty dismounted, his shoulder stiff. “I don’t see your prisoner.”

Rusty grimaced. “Neither do I, sir. Things got kind of mixed up out there for a little bit.”

“Caleb Dawkins will be upset if he finds out you had him, then lost him again.”

“Somehow, what Caleb Dawkins thinks doesn’t mean a damn thing to me right now.” Rusty rubbed his aching shoulder. He decided it was not broken, but it would probably turn black as a bucket of coal. “Anyway, he’s got other troubles on his mind. And deserves them every one.”

“There’s no reason he has to know, unless somebody has the poor judgment to tell him. I don’t know anybody in this company that short of good sense.”

“Truth is, Captain, if it hadn’t been for James Monahan, I’d be layin’ out yonder with my head stove in. It’s a lucky thing he was there.”

Preacher Webb stood at the door. “Just luck, you think? Likely it was Providence that James was close by when you needed him.”

Rusty shook the minister’s hand. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“And it was the Lord brought you and the minutemen here in time. We were might near out of ammunition.”

“I’m glad we got here, for your sake. As for Isaac York, I wouldn’t care if the Indians plowed him under.”

Webb stared critically at Rusty, then motioned him over to the side of the cabin away from the others. “It’s time you know the truth. Tom and me, we tried for a long time to tell you we weren’t sure Isaac shot your Daddy Mike. Now we know he didn’t.”

Rusty swallowed hard. “What do you mean, he didn’t?”

“When word came about Fowler Gaskin’s boys bein’ killed, I went over to try and comfort the old man. He let the truth slip. Eph and Luke did it. They were afraid to sneak up close, so they mistook Mike for you. It was you they meant to kill.”

“Me?”

“You’d just had a fight with them, and you whipped up on them pretty good.”

Rusty leaned against the cabin wall. He felt that otherwise he might fall down. Remorse burned like a long drink of bad whiskey. “I came awful close once to killin’ Isaac York.”

“Hate is a heavy load to carry. Especially when it’s for nothin’.”

“Is Isaac inside the cabin?”

“He took an arrow. Shanty and Tom are doin’ what they can for him.”

Rusty dreaded going in. But it had to be done. He owed Isaac York for a wrong he was not sure he could ever set aright.

Blessing and Shanty leaned over York, stretched out on a cot, groaning. A bloody arrow lay on the dirt floor. Blessing was washing a chest wound with a whiskey-soaked cloth. Shanty was murmuring, “Don’t you go and die on me, Mr. Isaac. You take a tight grip and hang on. You hear me, Mr. Isaac? I don’t want to belong to somebody else.” Shanty’s voice broke.