“Most Texans ain’t takin’ kindly to a Unionist police force.”

“At least the state police don’t wear them damned blue uniforms of the Yankee army.” Blessing’s sympathies still lay with the rebels, though he seldom expressed them beyond his circle of closest friends.

Rusty said, “The question is whether the police will enforce the law or just keep chastisin’ folks for the war.”

“If they could get the right kind of men . . .” Blessing studied Rusty intently. “People like you, for instance. You spent a long time with the rangers. You could help put the state police on the gospel path.”

“I doubt it. Lately both sides have come around to take my measure. Neither one seems to like me.”

“There’s some good men in the state police. They’re not all bad.”

“It wouldn’t be the same as the rangers. The Unionists lean too far in one direction. As for the other side . . . some of them want to run Shanty off of his land. You know he won’t fight back. He doesn’t want to cause trouble.”

“He causes trouble just by bein’ there. He can’t wash his skin white.”

Rusty said, “He’s a harmless old man. All he wants is to be left alone.”

“It’s liable to take some funerals before that can happen. But I’ve still got a little influence. I’ll ride around and offer a few folks a Preacher Webb sermon . . . with a little smell of hellfire and brimstone.”

“You’d best watch your back, Tom. There’s some folks that might not dare to face you, but they’d be willin’ to shoot you when you’re not lookin’.”

“It’s been tried. Hasn’t worked yet.”

Rusty finished his coffee and shook hands, then started for the door. Blessing said, “Wait.” The look of regret in his eyes told Rusty that he was about to say something he disliked.

“Rusty, that Indian boy of yours—”

“Why does everybody keep callin’ him an Indian?”

“He acts like one in so many ways, like the scraps he keeps gettin’ into.”

“He hasn’t had many fights lately.”

“That’s because he’s already whipped just about everybody who might challenge him. People are talkin’ about him, Rusty. They wish you’d send him away.”

“What if Daddy Mike and Mother Dora had sent me away?”

“With you it was different. You hadn’t been with the Indians long enough to pick up their ways. That Andy, though . . . folks are wonderin’ when he’s goin’ to pull out a scalpin’ knife and start takin’ hair.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“I wish you would. There’s a few people who might take it in their heads to do somethin’ regrettable. I’d hate to see him put in the ground.”

CHAPTER

SIX

Len Tanner stepped out of the lamp-lighted cabin and spread his blanket in the dog run. Straightening up, he shouted, “Rusty, you better come look.”