The sergeant’s mouth dropped open. “With the Indians? But you’re white.”

“You’ve heard of the big Comanche raid on the Gulf Coast back in 1840? I was there. Just a little tyke, not much more than walkin’ good. Best anybody could figure, the Indians killed my folks and carried me off. Intended to raise me for a warrior, I guess. Later on, when volunteers hit the Indians at Plum Creek, Mike Shannon and a preacher named Webb found me on the battleground. Mike and Dora Shannon gave me a home.”

“Do you remember anything about your real folks?”

“Just a foggy picture, is all. Never could even remember their names. And nobody ever found out who they were.”

“Tough, being left an orphan at that age.”

“The worst of it is not knowin’ who I am. By raisin’, I’m a Shannon. By blood, I have no idea. I see strangers and wonder if they might be kin. I might have kinfolks livin’ right down the road from me and I wouldn’t know it. Sometimes I wonder if I’m kin to anybody. It’s like there’s a piece of me missin’, and I’ll never find it.”

“Everybody needs family. Without family, a man is like a leaf loose on the wind.”

“My real folks couldn’t have done better by me than the Shannons did. They treated me like I was their own. But if it hadn’t been for the fight at Plum Creek, chances are I’d’ve been raised Comanche. Or I’d be dead.”

“So you feel a kinship to the Indians.”

“Don’t know as I’d call it kinship, exactly. After all, they must’ve killed my real folks, and they’ve killed lots of other good people. But I could’ve become a Comanche myself if it hadn’t been for luck.”

“Maybe it wasn’t luck. Maybe the Almighty had other plans for you.”

“I don’t think He planned for me to go back East and shoot at Union soldiers.”

“I’ve suspected all along that you’re not much in sympathy with the Confederacy.”

“When Daddy Mike came home from the Mexican War, he hung an American flag on the wall where we’d look at it every day. He never wanted to forget what him and others like him went through to get Texas into the Union. Even after Texas seceded, he never backed away from that.”

“So now the Shannons are gone and you’ve got nobody.”

“There’s a young woman down on the Colorado River. If this war ever gets over with … “

“Good for you. When a man spends his life alone it seems like he shrivels up inside. We all need somebody.”

Rusty grimaced. “Nobody knows that better than me.”

At last the visible remnants of the Comanche raiding party reached the Red River. Rusty was reasonably sure the rest would come along soon, or perhaps had already crossed at some other point. Once the Indians reached the far side, the rangers rode up to the river to water their horses. Rusty was careful where he let his mount step. The Red was notorious for quicksand. The riverbed was wide, but the river itself looked deceptively narrow.