James stood in front of Rusty’s horse. “You’d just as well get down. I’ll see that nobody does anything to you.”

Though hostility was strong in the faces Rusty saw uplifted toward him, the men seemed willing to accept James’s leadership. James extended his hand. “Just for safety, maybe you’d better give me your pistol.”

Rusty grasped it stubbornly. “I believe I’ll keep it.”

He expected an argument, but James made what in other circumstances might be regarded as a faint smile. To the men around him he said, “Leave him hold on to it. He knows better than to try and do anything.” To Rusty he added, “I’ll give you ranger boys credit for guts, even if not good sense.”

Rusty was surprised to see a couple of women and half a dozen children in the camp, families uprooted by the war.

James said, “First thing, we’d better see what we can do about Buddy.”

Young Oldham was carried into a tent and laid down on some blankets. James went to his knees beside him and gave the wound a closer examination. He loosened the tourniquet to let the blood flow. It had slowed considerably from before. His face was grave as he looked up at Clyde Oldham. “Ain’t nothin’ holdin’ that arm together but a little skin. The bone is busted into a dozen pieces. It needs to come off.”

Oldham’s voice went shrill. “Amputate? But what can he ever do with just one arm?”

“Live, maybe. Otherwise, he ain’t got a jackrabbit’s chance. If I was you, Clyde, I’d go out yonder and find somethin’ to drink. You don’t want to watch this.”

Oldham’s stricken gaze fastened on Rusty for a moment before he walked away from the tent. A friend put an arm around his shoulder and said, “Come on, Clyde. You need a shot of whiskey.”

James beckoned to Rusty. “You did the shootin’. It’s your place to do the cuttin’.”

Rusty had treated bullet and arrow wounds, but he had never cut off an arm or leg. James held the blade of a skinning knife over a campfire, then handed it to him. Sweat trickling down his face and burning his eyes, Rusty severed what remained of the arm.

Young Oldham screamed. His brother turned to come back, but his friend held him. “We both need a drink, Clyde.”

Rusty felt sick at his stomach. He fought to keep everything in it from coming up.

James said, “You’ll need to tie off those veins.”