He had made a modest amount of money gathering unclaimed cattle and throwing them into herds that James Monahan trekked north to the railroad, but it had been extremely difficult to hold on to much of it. He bought little, but what he did buy was high in price. Taxes had risen to near impossible levels. He was convinced that reconstruction officials were deliberately taxing old settlers off their land so they or their friends could have it. The stronger the tie to the Confederacy had been, the higher the taxes were set.

Jeremiah Brackett stood in the edge of the field, watching a black man follow a plow and team of mules. He became aware of Rusty’s approach. For a moment his gaze went to a rifle leaning against the rail fence, but it was some distance away. He gave Rusty a second look and evidently saw no imminent threat. He picked his way through rows of corn, careful not to crush any growing plants.

“Howdy, Shannon. You’ve come to see me?”

That seemed obvious to Rusty, but he guessed it was a strained way of being polite. He dismounted. “I have. Wanted to ask you where you went last night.”

The question seemed to surprise Brackett. “Nowhere. I was at home. I am at home just about every night. Where would you have me be?”

“Thought you might’ve gone over to pay Shanty another visit.”

“I rarely visit my white neighbors, much less one of so dark a hue.” Brackett peered intently as if trying to read what was back of Rusty’s eyes. “I suspect you are about to tell me that something has happened.”

“Somebody burned down his cabin.”

Brackett blinked as if the news was unexpected. “Was he in it?”

“No, I’d taken him home with me. But I figured you knew that.”

“I had no reason to know.”

“Figured your son Farley would’ve told you.”

“Farley hasn’t been there since the night your Indian boy fired a shotgun and got him thrown from his horse.”

“Andy didn’t shoot at him. He just wanted to be sure he had everybody’s attention.”

“He had it, and that is a fact. The boy is a menace.”

“Some folks must figure Shanty to be some kind of a menace too, the way they keep tryin’ to run him off.”

“We don’t need his kind in this country.”

Rusty nodded toward the black man with the plow. “I’ve seen three of them in your fields.”

“That’s different. They’re working for me. They have no claim on any of the land.”

“Where do they live?”

“In a cabin out by my barn.”

“Then they’re livin’ a whole lot closer to you than Shanty is. How come he puts such a burr under your blanket?”