The whole family was a lean and hungry lot, looking to reap where others had sown.

Gaskin seemed torn. Rusty suspected he had come this far only because someone had shamed him into it.

A tall, angry-looking man named Isaac York pushed his horse against the mule Gaskin rode. “Go back, Fowler, and leave the fightin’ to people who know how to kill Indians! You’d just be in the way.”

Though Gaskin was a man of little pride, and for good reason, that little made him stubborn enough to refuse. “I’ve come this far. I’ll go the whole hog.” He spat on the ground and gave York a look of defiance. Rusty was surprised that he could rouse up that much gumption.

Mother Dora said, “I wish you wouldn’t take David. He’s just a boy.”

Blessing gave Rusty a quick study. “Maybe you haven’t looked at him close, Miz Shannon. Rusty’s a man.”

Rusty warmed at Blessing’s acceptance. He had waited a long time for it.

Blessing said, “We’re goin’ on, Mike. When you’re ready, you can lope up and catch us.”

Pulse racing, Rusty watched the men ride away, Gaskin trailing behind on the mule. The faces were known to him, and most of the names. They were neighbors, friends of Mike’s, farmers and tradesmen from the settlement five miles downriver. Each had his own life and his own interests, but in times of challenge the community pulled together. In that way it had survived the poverty of the early years, the pressure from Indians and from Mexico.

Though that country had relinquished formal claim on Texas after the Mexican War, many people on both sides of the border had never acknowledged the treaty. They regarded Texas as Mexican territory and sometimes raided north of the Rio Grande to bolster their point. This, in turn, invited retaliation by Texans, who felt no compunctions about raiding into Mexico, often less from patriotism as from expectation of personal gain. Even up here on the Colorado River, far north of the Rio Grande, settlers could not feel secure against the border troubles. Only a few years ago a Mexican army had invaded all the way to San Antonio, capturing the district court in session and taking Texan prisoners back to Mexico. There had been hell to pay over that incident and the retaliations that followed. Always ready for a scrap, Mike Shannon had ridden off on a punitive expedition. Wisely, he had stopped at the Rio Grande. Some who crossed the river had paid with their lives.

Preacher Webb said, “I’ll wait and ride with you-all.” He dismounted and stepped up to Mother Dora. His voice was full of concern. “How do you feel, Dora? Any improvement?”

She attempted a faint smile that never quite came to life. “I know better than to lie to a preacher.”

Webb turned to Mike. “I wish you’d stay and watch over Dora. It’s time you left the fightin’ to younger men.”

“I ain’t any older than you are.”