Clyde Oldham looked up, hatred in his eyes. “You think we’ll just let the two of you ride away?”

“That’s all we wanted in the first place. The rest of this was your own doin’.”

Tanner stepped between the men and the weapons they had tossed away. “You can come back later to fetch these.”

Rusty heard horses and looked up. Six or eight riders came loping out of the thicket toward them. His heart sagged, and for a moment he felt defeated. Then he recognized the man riding in the lead. Hope began a tentative revival.

Tanner raised his rifle. Rusty motioned for him to lower it. “James Monahan is with them.”

Tanner hesitated. “Last time you and him met, you didn’t part real friendly.”

“He’s the best hope we’ve got. We can’t fight our way past all that bunch.”

James brought his mount to a rough stop, raising a small cloud of dust. “We heard shootin’. What the hell happened here?”

Barlow jerked his head toward Rusty. “It was Buddy Oldham’s fault. He tried to shoot this ranger.”

James recognized Rusty. His reaction was less than cordial. “Damn it, Rusty Shannon, can’t you go anywhere without takin’ trouble with you?” James examined the wounded arm and looked up at Rusty, his eyes critical. “If you had to shoot him, couldn’t you just crease him a little?”

Rusty knew it would be poor politics to say he had aimed at the heart. “I didn’t want to shoot him at all. He gave me no choice.”

James turned on Clyde Oldham, his voice severe. “You’re his big brother. Looks like you could’ve kept him jugged and stoppered.”

“He’s always had a mind of his own.”

“Damned pity he never used it much.” James looked up at the men who had ridden with him. “Let’s get him to camp and see what more we can do. Mack, we’ll put him on your horse. You can ride behind the saddle and hold him on.” He faced Rusty again. “Did you have to shoot Buddy’s horse, too?”

“He did it himself.”

James nodded. “That don’t come as any big surprise.” He helped Clyde Oldham and Barlow lift the half-conscious boy into the saddle. The man named Mack sat behind the cantle, one arm holding Buddy in place. James jerked his head at Rusty and Tanner. “You-all come and go with us.”

Rusty saw no choice. “We’re keepin’ our guns.”

“Be careful whichaway you point them.”

Riding, Rusty studied Geneva’s brother. James had been forced to leave home early in the war and live by his wits in a wild area where the only people he encountered were Indians and fugitives like himself. The strain had put a haunted, desperate look in his eyes. Rusty knew him to be near his own age, mid- to late twenties, but James had the appearance of a man closer to his forties.

Rusty wanted to ask him a dozen questions, most having to do with Geneva, but this did not seem the time.