Some of Purdy’s years seemed to have lifted from his thin shoulders. Humming, he began removing the mule’s harness. “James comin’ home . . . Everything’s fixin’ to be fine from now on out.”

Rusty leaned against a fence and turned away with his eyes closed. They burned as if he had rubbed pepper into them. “Yeah, fine from now on.”

Rusty talked Captain Whitfield into staying a few days and resting before he finished his trip. His hip gave him pain enough that he was amenable to the idea. Clemmie and the girls seemed to enjoy waiting on him. Rusty rode with Tanner around the farm, searching beyond his own boundaries for cattle bearing his brand. He rough-counted about fifty head, double what Daddy Mike had owned and what had been here when Rusty rode off to join the rangers.

Tanner said, “Looks like the folks taken good care of things for you.”

“I never had a moment’s hesitation. I knew what they’d done with their own.”

“I’m sorry that girl let you down.”

Rusty was immediately defensive on Geneva’s behalf. “She didn’t let me down. She hadn’t made me any promise and didn’t owe me nothin’. From what Clemmie says, she didn’t even know if I was still alive. None of my letters ever got here.”

He brought up the subject of the calves at the supper table, thanking Vince Purdy for branding them.

Purdy said, “Couldn’t’ve done it by myself. Evan helped me, and Preacher Webb pitched in every time he came by.” He glanced up at Clemmie. “Which has been right often.”

Clemmie suppressed a smile.

Purdy said, “The girls helped a right smart, too. They’re both good hands whether it’s with a cow or a plow.”

Rusty thanked them. Josie said, “It’s the least we could do. You gave us a place to go, away from Caleb Dawkins and his men.”

Clemmie said sharply, “We’ve agreed never to mention that man’s name in this house. What a scorchin’ he’s got comin’ when the devil gets his turn.”

Purdy said, “It ain’t no big thing, holdin’ on to cattle. Nobody wants them much anyway. Not unless it’s a milk cow. Our old Spot’s been missin’ for over a month. Somebody’s probably milkin’ her right now, and I’ll bet it ain’t no Comanche Indian.”

Rusty said, “I think I remember her. Mostly white with brown spots, and a stub horn on the left. . . no, the right side?”

“That’s her. I’ve hunted high and low. It’s like she fell in a big hole and covered herself up.”

“You talked to all the folks around us?”

“Nobody’s seen her.”