Rusty said, “They wanted to know if I’m a member of the Ku Klux. I told them I’m not and don’t know who is. They argued amongst theirselves about whether to thank me or shoot me. Then they went on their wray” A couple of the Unionists had not believed him and had advocated burning down his cabin as an object lesson, but the more levelheaded restrained them. Rusty chose not to mention that. It might give some of these yahoos the same notion. Both sides occasionally burned the homes of those with whom they disagreed. It had become an almost-accepted method of expressing political opinion.

A younger man beside Brackett demanded, “Are you sure you didn’t tell them anything?” A long scar on one side of his face marked him as Brackett’s only surviving son, Farley. It was said he had taken a deep saber cut while riding with Hood’s brigade. Like his father, he was reputed to be carrying internal scars as well.

Rusty said, “I didn’t know anything to tell. I’m just tryin’ to be a farmer and mind my own business.”

Fowler Gaskin accused, “Everybody knows you kept a Union flag in your cabin through the war. That’s how come you stayed in the rangers, so you wouldn’t have to go off and fight like them two poor boys of mine.”

Rusty declared, “Daddy Mike brought that flag home from the Mexican War. It had bullet holes in it, and some of them bullets were shot at him.”

As for Gaskin’s “poor boys,” they had been killed in a New Orleans whorehouse fight. Rusty never had decided whether the old man knew the truth and was covering it up or if he actually believed his sons had died on a battlefield. The facts were well known in the community, but perhaps no one had ever felt mean enough to disabuse Gaskin of his illusions.

The elder Brackett said, “A man can’t sit on the fence all his life. Sooner or later he has to come down on one side or the other.”

Rusty shook his head. “The war’s been over for six years. Ought not to be but one side anymore. We’re all Americans.”

“I have not accepted their damned Yankee oath, and I do not intend to. The war is not over, it’s simply taking a rest. When the South rises again there will be no fence for you to sit on.” Brackett started to turn his horse away but paused for a last admonition. “I suggest from now on you be very circumspect in your associations.”

Summerville appeared disappointed. He waved a rawhide quirt. “I thought we was goin’ to whup up on him a little. And that Indian kid, too.”