The other man was Evan Gifford, married to James’s sister Geneva. Rusty had wanted to marry Geneva himself but had waited too long to ask her. Seeing Gifford always stirred up an aching sense of loss. Still, he would reluctantly admit that her choice had been a good one. Gifford, badly wounded in Confederate service and sent home to Texas to die, had fought his way back to his feet. The Monahan family had come to regard him as one of their own. Like them, he accepted hard work and frontier hazards as challenges to be met head-on. Rusty could understand how Geneva had become attracted to him. In his defiant outlook and unflinching convictions, he reminded Rusty of Geneva’s murdered father. James and Evan Gifford could have been brothers instead of brothers-in-law.

Rusty forced the regrets aside and shook hands. “How’s the baby, Evan?”

“Stout. You can hear him holler for half a mile.” He glanced at Andy, but unlike James and Purdy, he asked no questions. He accepted what his eyes told him. “Geneva was uneasy about you . . . we both were. Preacher Webb and us, we prayed for you and the boy.”

Rusty feared Evan could read in his eyes what was in his mind. “I didn’t ask James about the rest of the family.” It was an oblique way of asking about Geneva without directly mentioning her. Evan had never shown signs of jealousy, and Rusty did not want to stir up any.

“They’re fine. We’re about finished gatherin’ the crops. Gettin’ fixed for the winter.”

“So now you’re puttin’ the Monahan brand on these cattle.”

“It’s better than sittin’ around worryin’ about the Yankee occupation.”

“Maybe you’re so far out on the edge that the Yankees won’t bother you much.” Rusty doubted they would trouble the Monahans anyway. Their loyalty to the Union had been well known during the war. Too well known, for it had killed the father and one son and had driven James into exile west of the settlements. Evan was potentially vulnerable, however, because he had served in the Confederate Army.

A horseman alone could travel forty or fifty miles in a day, depending upon how hard he wanted to push and how much he was willing to punish his horse. A herd of cattle did well, however, to move ten or twelve. The day was well along when Rusty and Andy joined the drive, but James pushed a few more miles before he called a halt.

“If we get them wore-out enough, maybe they won’t feel like runnin’ tonight,” he said. “By tomorrow night we’ll have them at home.”

Rusty asked, “Once you get them there, what’s to keep them from driftin’ right back where you found them?”

“Hired a couple of ex-soldiers to see that they don’t go far.”

“How can you afford to pay anybody?”