Brackett gave Summerville a look of disgust and turned away. His son and the others followed him, all but Summerville and Gaskin. Rusty had a feeling they had not been invited to join the party; they were not the type Jeremiah Brackett would normally associate with. They had simply tagged along, hoping to participate with the others in what they dared not try alone.

Summerville lamented, “We come a long ways not to do nothin’.”

Gaskin spat a stream of tobacco. Much of it fell back into his gray-and-black whiskers and glistened in the sun. “There’ll come a better time.”

Rusty had been a little apprehensive when the whole bunch sat there facing him. The apprehension was gone now. Neither Gaskin nor Summerville had the nerve to make a move against him without a lot of backing.

Summerville said, “Uncle Fowler, I thought they was goin’ over yonder and talk to that nigger Shanty next. They ain’t headed that way.”

He pointed in the direction of a small farm that a former slave had inherited from his longtime owner. Shanty was well along in years but still managed to put in a good day’s work. Quiet and inoffensive, he had tried to avoid trouble from those who objected to seeing a black man own a farm, even a small one like his. To people who had that attitude, a black was fit only to labor for someone white.

Rusty warned, “You leave Shanty alone. If you do anything to hurt him, you’ll see more of me than you ever wanted to.”

Gaskin said, “The niggeril keep for another day.” His voice dropped ominously. “Or some dark night.”

Rusty raised the rifle a little. “You heard what I said.”

“I heard. But I don’t put much store in any white man who’ll speak up for a darkey. Especially a white man who wouldn’t go fight like my boys done.”

More than once Rusty had felt a strong temptation to throw the truth in Gaskin’s face, and that wish came to him now. But he held his tongue. He said, “You’d better whip up to a lope if you’re goin’ to catch your friends. You’ve wore out your welcome here.”

Andy and Tanner rode in shortly before sundown, penning the two strayed mares they had gone out to find. Rusty looked the animals over, then bridled one of them.

Tanner said, “It’s late to be goin’ somewhere. Night’s comin’ on.”

Rusty saddled the mare while he told about the visitors. “Fowler Gaskin let it slip that they’re thinkin’ of callin’ on Shanty. I’ll see if he’d like to come over here and stay with us for a spell.”

It would not be the first time Shanty had stayed at Rusty’s farm. Night riders had threatened him before.