“You’re a long ways from home. How come you so far west?”

The other riders were unshaven, which added to their formidable appearance. None had a beard as black as the leader’s, however. Rusty sized them up as probable army deserters, conscription dodgers, or simply fugitives from the law for various and sundry crimes. “We didn’t come to cause trouble. We had no idea there was anybody around.”

One man spoke hopefully, “They got honest faces, Oldham. They don’t look like conscript officers.”

“Now, Barlow, you know you can’t tell what a conscript officer looks like. They don’t wear a uniform, most of them.” Oldham cut his sharp gaze back to Rusty. “Maybe you’re rangers.”

Another rider pulled a paint horse up beside the leader and gave Rusty and Tanner an accusing study. His eyes reminded Rusty of a wolf’s. He was a youth of eighteen or nineteen, his uneven whiskers patchy, soft, and light in color. “They are rangers, big brother. I seen both of them over at Fort Belknap.”

The paint had gotch ears, a sign it had probably belonged to Comanches at one time. Rusty could only guess how this youngster came by it.

Tanner admitted, “We was rangers. They was fixin’ to drag us into the army, so we taken French leave. Like most of you, I’d judge.”

“That don’t hold no water with me, Clyde,” the youth said to Oldham.

“Me neither, little brother.”

The one called Barlow said, “It could be the truth. Lately the army’s been grabbin’ everybody that ain’t missin’ an arm or a leg, right down to boys and old men.”

Clyde Oldham objected, “Then again, these could be spies, sent to find us and bring the army.”

The youngster declared, “Only safe thing is to shoot them.” He seemed eager to start.

Barlow pressed, “What if they ain’t spies?”

Oldham scowled. “Then we’ve made a mistake. Too bad, but I never heard nobody claim that war is fair. Half the time it’s the wrong people that get killed.”

Rusty saw agreement in the other men’s faces, all but Barlow’s. He leaned his rifle across the saddle and drew a bead on Oldham’s broad chest. He tried to keep his voice calm. “We’re liable to take more killin’ than you’ll want to do.”

Barlow raised a hand, his palm out. “Let’s don’t nobody do nothin’ hasty. If you say you ain’t rangers anymore, I say we ought to take your word . . . for now. How about you two comin’ along with us?”

“We’ve got plans of our own.”

The Oldhams and two others cautiously moved up a little, trying to form a semicircle that would prevent escape. Rusty pivoted the rifle barrel from Clyde Oldham to his younger brother. “You-all stop where you’re at.”