Tanner said, “I’ll bet you’re thinkin’ about that Geneva girl.”

Rusty had been struggling with bitter memories of Colonel Caleb Dawkins and his son Pete, but he did not feel like arguing with Tanner over technicalities. “Didn’t know it showed.”

Len suggested, “We could swing by the old Monahan farm, maybe spend the night there.”

Rusty dreaded the feelings such a visit would inevitably stir up. “It’d add some miles, maybe cost us an extra day. Wouldn’t likely be much left there anyway. Dawkins and his bunch left a lot of it in ashes.”

“Been a right long while since we heard anything about Caleb Dawkins.” Tanner smiled hopefully. “You don’t reckon somethin’ awful might’ve happened to him?”

“I doubt it. But he may not be gettin’ much sleep.”

“On account of the Federals comin’ in?”

“On account of James Monahan. Now that the war is over he’s free to come and go wherever he wants to. If it was me that hanged his daddy and brother, I’d have a crick in my neck from watchin’ over my shoulder.”

“The captain said there won’t be much law for a while. James could dice old Dawkins up into little bitty chunks, and nobody could do a damned thing to him.”

“There’s always his son Pete and the rest of the Dawkins people. Once a thing like that gets started, it’s hard to stop ‘I’ll everybody’s sick of it. . . or everybody’s dead.”

Tanner pondered that proposition in unaccustomed silence awhile. “If I was you, the first thing I’d do when we get to your farm would be to unsaddle my horse. The second thing would be to ask that girl to marry me. Come to think of it, I might leave the horse saddled.”

“It’s been more than a year since I saw her. Me and her have got a lot to talk about first.”

“You’ve got the rest of your lives to talk.”

“A thing like marryin’, you’ve got to work up to it. You don’t just ride in after a year and say, ‘Howdy, girl, let’s go find Preacher Webb.’ “

“If it was me, I would. I’d carry her off someplace where nobody could find us, and I wouldn’t turn her a-loose ‘I’ll we both had to come up for air. I don’t know as I’d even wait for the preacher.”

“A man would if he had any respect for the girl. Or for himself.” Rusty would not admit to anyone that at times he entertained such fantasies about Geneva, with or without marriage. Usually he tried halfheartedly to suppress the images, then gave up the attempt and took pleasure in letting them run free. It was guilty pleasure, but pleasure just the same.

No, he would wait for Preacher Webb. But the preacher had better not be long in coming.

Rusty and Len Tanner rode a little ahead of the wagon that carried Captain Whitfield and Oscar Pickett. The captain hunkered down on the wagon seat, enduring his pain without complaint though it showed in his pinched face, his half-closed eyes. Rusty called back to him, “Hang on, Captain. We don’t have far to go.”