The lieutenant argued, “He’s the army’s prisoner. It’s my place to recapture him.”

Rusty said, “With all due respect, you’re not strong enough to travel ten miles. We’ll bring him back for you, either in the saddle or across it.”

“I can’t give you any legal authority . . .”

Rusty said, “I never officially got mustered out of the rangers. I’ve got papers that say I am one whether there’s still a ranger force or not.”

“You’d be laughed out of a civilian court, but a military court might accept it if I testify that I approved.” He glanced at James. “How about you? Any history with the rangers?”

“No, I was hidin’ from them most of the time.”

While Rusty caught Alamo, Webb saddled James’s horse. Sergeant Bailey saddled and mounted his own leggy black.

Rusty told him, “Pete fetched you a bad lick with that shovel. You’ve got no business ridin’.”

“I don’t ride on my head. You say you know where he’s goin’. Let’s be gettin’ started.”

Andy stood watching. “I go, too?”

Rusty wondered about the instinct that had awakened the boy. Perhaps he had heard something but did not realize it. Or perhaps his time with the Comanches had given him some sort of sixth sense. “No, you stay here. Keep off of that leg as much as you can, and don’t go anyplace ‘til I come back.”

Rusty and James did not have to compare notes. Both guessed Pete’s first destination would be his father’s farm. Even granted that the old man had disowned him and thrown him off the place, Pete would probably go there for fresh horses and, likely as not, to take any money his father might have. In times of trouble he had always run to Colonel Dawkins.

They put their horses into an easy lope for a while, then slowed to a trot. Sergeant Bailey was impatient to keep up the faster pace. “I ain’t so bad hurt.”

Rusty said, “We’ve got to think about the horses. We’re liable to have to chase Pete a lot farther than his daddy’s place.”

James added, “He’s bound to figure somebody is grabbin’ at his shirt-tails. He’ll be makin’ all the tracks he can.”

As they rode, James asked Rusty how things were at his farm down on the Colorado. Rusty told him they had managed a good harvest, but what they produced would be mainly for their own consumption. Barter trade was limited. There was no cash market at all.

James said, “Me and Evan spent a lot of the summer catchin’ and brandin’ wild cattle. Nobody paid much attention to them through the war, so they’ve multiplied. They’re there for the takin’.”

Rusty replied, “But they’re not worth a continental. About all you can sell is hide and tallow. Even to do that, you have to be on the coast where the boats can load it up.”

“That’s now. By next year it’ll be different. There’s a cash market for cattle in Missouri, live and on the hoof. They’ll pay in Yankee silver. Soon as the grass rises in the spring, I’ll gather everything I can rustle up and drive them to Missouri.”