Clearly, Pete had not considered that possibility. He looked as if the officer had struck him with a club. Scully slumped lower in his saddle.

Rusty felt a glow of satisfaction. “Pete’s not worth the price of the rope that hangs him. But I’d be glad to make the investment.”

“The government will provide the rope.”

“I haven’t seen many soldiers yet, but they tell me you-all are spreadin’ out across the state.”

“As rapidly as we can. It’s our job to begin the Reconstruction of this country and to keep the peace no matter how many we have to shoot.”

Rusty nodded in the direction of the sergeant. “Are all your soldiers black?”

“A lot of them.”

“Then peace may not be easily kept. Black soldiers will be like a red flag to some folks.”

“I’m afraid that’s the idea, though I am not proud of it. The powers that be are determined to humiliate the defeated rebels. One way is to place former slaves in a position of authority over them.”

“They’ll get a bunch of soldiers killed.”

“The shameful part is that the officials don’t care. No price is too high, so long as someone else has to pay it.”

“You know who’ll pay the most. The blacks.”

“Yes, just as they carried the burden of slavery.”

The Monahan farm broke into view. Pete Dawkins became agitated. “You ain’t goin’ to let them Monahans at me, are you? They’re crazy. . . James and that hateful old woman. They’d kill me and not bat an eyelash.”

Preacher Webb’s face reddened. “You’ll not speak ill of Clemmie Monahan in my presence.”

“Put a curse on me, why don’t you?”

“I am a minister. I do not practice witchcraft. Any curse that’s on you, you’ve put it there yourself.”

With a lifetime of help from Colonel Caleb Dawkins, Rusty thought. The lieutenant said, “No one is going to kill you, Dawkins, not until the duly appointed time. Then it will be the army’s responsibility.”

Andy waited until the lieutenant and the two troopers were out of hearing. He whispered, “Those soldiers, they Shanty kin?”

Rusty realized the boy had seen few if any blacks. “I’d hardly think so.”

“Same tribe, look like.”

All the way up from Rusty’s farm, Geneva had weighed heavily upon his mind. She had carried him to the extremes of high anticipation, then of dread. Hearing about her husband’s injury had only complicated his feelings. He wondered how well she was coping with what must seem an overabundance of bad luck.

He hoped his own hurt had healed enough that he could look at her without falling a part inside.

Andy was being stoic, but Rusty could see in his weary eyes that his leg pained him, that only willpower kept him in the saddle.