Billings came forward and rode beside him awhile. Rusty suspected the lieutenant was watching him to be sure he did not seize an opportunity to slip away and avoid Confederate service. The officer seemed to have banked the coals of his anger, though he would probably fan them back to life when the mission was over.

Rusty said, “This ain’t the healthiest place for you to be.”

Billings growled, “As long as I am here, I want to get the first shot at the Indians.”

“Like as not, they’ll fire the first shot. And if they hit anybody, it’ll be whoever is up front.”

Billings contemplated that possibility and dropped back to rejoin the others. Sergeant Forrest caught up to Rusty awhile later. He rode with his peg leg secured by a leather loop tied above the stirrup. “What did you say that threw a booger into the lieutenant?”

“Just told him the man out in front is usually the first one shot.”

Forrest looked back with distaste. “I wouldn’t mind if he did get shot. Just a little bit, not enough to kill him. He would be a better educated man.”

“Somebody like him has got no business carryin’ authority over anybody. How come he’s never gone back East to fight the Yankees, since he seems to hate them so bad?”

“The same family connections that got him his commission. He claims he’s more valuable here, hunting down conscription dodgers. I’ll have to admit that he’s a human ferret.”

“Every man to the job he’s best at.” Rusty stared ahead a minute, searching the horizon for any sign of movement. “Can he really get you court-martialed?”

“I’ve got connections of my own, and he knows it.” Forrest frowned. “But you’d best watch him. He’s got a special grudge against you. You might not make it all the way to Austin.”

“Not if I get a chance to slip away.”

“I’ll help you if I can. But first we’ve got this job to see after.” Billings shifted his weight. Rusty suspected that riding with the wooden leg presented some problems in balance.

Rusty had never been to Austin. He could only imagine what it was like. He asked, “What’s goin’ on back yonder in the settled country?”

“Did you ever see an old quilt coming to pieces at the seams, scattering threads and cotton everywhere? That’s Texas. The whole Confederacy too, I would suspect. Money’s not worth anything. People barter whatever they’ve got to get whatever they need, if they can find it at all. Local governments are falling apart. There’d be riots in the streets, only there isn’t much left to riot for.”

Rusty had surmised as much from rumors and from bits and pieces of news that had drifted into camp. “High time the war was over.”

“Pretty soon now, I think.”

Forrest watched while Rusty dismounted to study a set of tracks. Rusty soon determined that they were made by a shod horse headed west. Probably a fugitive from conscription, not the Indians they sought.