“It’s hard to convince him of that.”

She asked hopefully. “You stayin’ with us awhile?”

“Long enough to rest the horses.” He rubbed his face. “And to shave my whiskers. I feel like a bear fresh out of its winter cave.”

“You look fine to me. You always look fine to me.”

Rusty’s face warmed. Josie had a forward manner that disturbed him even as he admitted to himself that he liked it. He said, “These cattle are raisin’ a lot of dust. Oughtn’t you go back to the house?”

“A little dust won’t hurt me. I’m not so fragile. Someday, when we’re married, you’ll see that.”

Rusty’s face warmed more. She meant it. He felt a little guilty, wondering if the interest she aroused in him came only because she reminded him of someone else.

A tall man with slightly bent shoulders moved out from the main house, limping a little as if each stride hurt. He stopped beside Josie and extended a wrinkled hand to Rusty.

Rusty said, “Howdy, Preacher. Didn’t know if you’d still be here.” For all the years Rusty had known him, bachelor Warren Webb had ridden a long and punishing circuit, testifying to his faith and carrying messages of hope wherever scattered settlers had no regular church. He never had accumulated much for himself. He was always giving it away to someone needier. During the war he had remained impartial, serving staunch Confederates and Unionist brush men alike. He had retained the respect of them all, assuring them that heaven still existed despite the hell they found on earth.

The minister smiled. “I live here now. It may surprise you to know that I’ve married Clemmie Monahan.”

Rusty grinned. “Everybody knew it was comin’, everybody but you and Clemmie.” He grasped the minister’s hand again, firmer this time.

Preacher Webb and Daddy Mike Shannon had found Rusty on the Plum Creek battlefield in 1840 after volunteer rangers and militia challenged a huge Comanche raiding party. Rusty had been but a toddler, frightened and confused by the gunfire, the chaos that thundered around him. Over the years he had considered Webb the best friend he had, after Mike and Mother Dora. “I’m pleased for you, Preacher, you and Clemmie both.”

Clemmie was the mother of James and Geneva and of the younger sisters Josie and Alice. Rusty could see her standing ramrod-straight in the open dog run between the two main sections of the larger house. She was a small woman tough as rawhide. Though the war’s hatreds had cost her a husband and son, she remained unbroken, fiercely defensive of the family that remained to her. Rusty thought it good that she and the minister had married. They were strong-willed people, and together their individual strengths were doubled.

Webb turned his attention toward Andy. “You couldn’t find his people?”

“We found them.”