It had been the first time Rusty had seen the results of murder. He remembered the shock, the stomach-turning sight of a woman butchered, her scalp taken.

Webb said, “I’d ministered to the family, even baptized their baby boy. Their name was Pickard. I even remember the name they gave their boy. Andrew. They called him Andy. Andy Pickard.”

The boy’s eyes widened at the name. His lips moved as he tried to form a word. He made a couple of efforts, then managed, “Andy. Andy.” He drummed fingers against his chest. “Andy.”

A chill ran all the way down to Rusty’s boots. “Then he’s the one we hunted for but never found.”

Blessing said, “Looks like it. You were lucky we found you so quick. He wasn’t as lucky.”

“Maybe his luck is fixin’ to change. Preacher, what can we do about that broken leg?”

“Set the bone if we can, and tie a splint on his leg so it stays set. It’ll hurt him real bad for a minute.”

Rusty nodded at Hoskins. “Me and you will hold him while Preacher sets that leg.”

Hoskins was dubious. “He’s liable to bite. A man could get hydrophoby”

Blessing said, “I’ll hold him, me and Rusty. You see if you can find a broken tree limb that’ll do for a temporary splint.”

The boy cried out and struggled as if he thought they meant to kill him. Rusty and Blessing held him tightly.

Webb said, “Now.” He jerked the leg. The boy convulsed, then went limp. “Fainted dead away. It’s just as well. He won’t be fightin’ me while I brace up his leg.”

The farmer found nothing suitable. Webb placed Rusty’s rifle flat against the leg and bound it with strips of cotton cloth torn from a jacket he had carried behind the cantle of his saddle.

Blessing asked, What’ll we do with him?”

Rusty said, “If somebody’ll go fetch a wagon, we’ll take him to my place. Me and Shanty’ll look after him.”

Hoskins warned, “Like as not you’ll wake up dead some mornin’ with a knife between your ribs.”

Rusty said, “I don’t see how I can do anything else.” He turned to the minister. “I’ve been where this boy is. I look at him, and I see me layin’ here in his place. Do you understand, Preacher?”

“I do. But this boy is not you. He’s been raised to fight. Like as not he’s been raised to hate you and me and everybody white. He may never get past that.”

“You’re a preacher. No matter how bad a sinner may be, you give him a chance, don’t you?”

“That’s part of the callin’.”

“I’m a long ways from bein’ a preacher, but I’ve learned a lot from followin’ you around. I’ve got to give him his chance, like the Shannons gave me.”

Distant shots told Steals the Ponies that the horse guard had come under attack. To their disappointment, he and the warriors he had taken with him had managed to find only six more horses. The Texans seemed not to have many, and most of those were too well protected to take without higher cost than the raiders were willing to pay. He had begun to worry about the reception they would receive when they returned to the encampment with less booty than expected.