The officer’s eyes were hopeful. “You say you’re a ranger?”

“Used to be. They cut us loose when the war ended. I’m Rusty Shannon. This here’s Preacher Webb. The boy’s Andy Pickard.”

“My father knew the rangers in the Mexican War. He said they would charge hell with half a bucket of water.”

“They did, several times. Where are you headed with these two?”

“Back to the Monahan farm to get positive identification.”

“The Monahans’d gladly hang Pete for you . . . by his toes, by his neck, any old way you want it done. And I’d be glad to help them.”

“Any hanging will be up to a court.”

The lieutenant seemed about to slip out of his saddle. He grabbed his horse’s mane to steady himself.

Rusty stepped forward to catch him in case he fell. The two black soldiers instantly aimed their rifles at him. The sergeant warned, “Don’t you touch Lieutenant Ames.”

The lieutenant coughed. “It’s all right, Bailey. He’s trying to help.”

“Yes sir,” the sergeant said, but he did not shift the rifle’s muzzle away from Rusty.

Rusty knew it would be wise not to make any more quick moves. “Lieutenant, you’d better get off of that horse and rest awhile. When you’re up to it, we’ll escort you to the Monahans’.”

“I’ve come this far. I can go the rest of the way. We ask for no favors.”

“We were headed there ourselves. You favor us by takin’ Pete Dawkins away.” He explained how Colonel Caleb Dawkins, Pete, and some hired help had lynched Lon and Billy Monahan early in the war for the family’s pro-Union sentiments.

Ames glared at Pete. “A rebel hangman. He has that much more to answer for.”

“You sure you’re strong enough to keep ridin’?”

“I’m strong enough. Two Johnny Reb bullets didn’t kill me at Chicamauga. I’ll survive one from a bushwhacking horse thief.”

The lieutenant pulled in beside Andy as Rusty climbed back onto Alamo. “I’ve forgotten what he said your name is, young fellow.”

The youngster gave Rusty a querulous look. “Andy”

Rusty feared Andy’s halting use of the language would give him away, but the boy said nothing more.

The sergeant poked his rifle in Pete’s direction. “Move out, you back-shooter.”

Pete growled, “I don’t take bossin’ from no nigger.”

The lieutenant snapped, “Then you’ll take it from me. Move out, like he says, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

Scully was usually a follower, but he started first.

Pete said defiantly, “You ain’t hanged me yet. My old daddy’s got influence. Ain’t no jury around here will ever convict me for killin’ a nigger.”

The lieutenant said, “It won’t be a local jury. You killed a soldier, so you will be tried by a military court.”