The lieutenant said, “I’ve been trying to draw your boy into conversation. He doesn’t talk much, does he?”

“The trip’s worn him out. He needs a few days of rest before he goes on.”

“Goes on to where?”

“Back to his folks.” Rusty hoped Ames would be satisfied enough to stop asking questions. He seemed to be, for he fell quiet. He looked even wearier than Andy. The wound in his shoulder was wearing him down.

Vince Purdy, the grandfather, was the first person Rusty saw. Working in the garden, he paused and leaned on his hoe, staring at the incoming riders. Rusty’s attention went to Josie Monahan, picking tomatoes and holding them in her apron. She hurried to the new log house.

“Mama! We got company comin’!” She emptied the tomatoes into a basket on the dog run, then turned to watch the visitors’ approach. “I see Preacher Webb. And Rusty Shannon. Looks like soldiers with them.”

Clemmie Monahan stepped out past the dog run, shading her eyes with one hand. She beamed at sight of the minister and gave Rusty a tentative nod. The smile died as she recognized the two prisoners. Reining Alamo to a stop, Rusty heard her declare, “They’ll not bring Pete Dawkins into this house!”

Webb dismounted and embraced her. “Pete’s a prisoner. He can’t hurt anybody.”

“But I may hurt him. Put him in the barn out yonder, or the shed. Even the root cellar. But not in this house where I’ve got to look at him.”

The lieutenant gave her a weak salute. “We’ll not trouble you with him more than we have to, ma’am. We’ll keep him out of your sight.”

Clemmie stepped into the yard. Her agitation over Pete turned to solicitude for Ames. “You’re hurt. Come on into the house and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

“I’m obliged, ma’am, but first I have to see to my men, and to my prisoners.”

Rusty climbed down. “I’ll help your troopers, Lieutenant. You go with Clemmie . . . Miz Monahan.”

Clemmie put her arms around Webb again. “It’s good to see you, Warren. Come on in. Josie, go unsaddle Warren’s horse for him.”

Josie’s eyes shone as she stared at Rusty. The glow was infectious. The resemblance to her older sister grew stronger each time he saw her.

Clemmie noticed Andy still sitting on his horse. “Get down, boy, and come in.” She asked Webb, “Who is he?”

“His name’s Andy Pickard. I’ll explain about him later.”

Clemmie called again, “Come on down, Andy”

Andy seemed shy. “Rusty, I stay with you.”

Rusty saw that the attention made the boy nervous. “You can help me unpack the mule, but be careful about that leg.” He helped Andy to the ground. He shouted to Clemmie, “We’ll be comin’ along directly.”