“Looks like we’ve about used up our conversation.” Rusty put his foot into the stirrup.

“Wait a minute.” Brackett raised a hand. “It’s about dinnertime, and you’re miles from home. You’re welcome to stay and eat with us.”

That caught Rusty by surprise. “You’re invitin’me?”

“I have never turned a hungry man away from my door, be he white, black, or somewhere between.”

“I’d figured myself lucky if I got away from here without bein’ shot at.”

“I even fed the tax collector, though he made me sell off more than half of my farm so I could keep the rest.”

“That’s a second thing we can agree on. I don’t like the governor’s tax men either.”

A bell clanged at the house. Rusty saw the black man stop the mules in the middle of a row and begin to unhitch them. Brackett said, “That’s Bethel, letting us know that dinner is about ready.”

Brackett had evidently walked to the field. Rusty saw no horse for him to ride. The plowman rode one of the mules and led the other, but Brackett made no move toward the second mule. Either he did not like to ride mules or he would rather walk than ride beside the black.

To keep from outdoing the host, Rusty also walked, leading Alamo. Brackett showed an interest in the animal.

Rusty admitted, “He’s gettin’ up in years, and I wouldn’t take him out anymore if I was called on to chase Indians. But he’s still the best horse I ever had just for ridin’ the country and workin’ stock.”

Brackett gave Alamo a look of approval. “You can tell a lot about a man by the horse he rides.”

Rusty, by the same token, had always been able to overlook at least some faults in a man who took good care of his horses.

Brackett’s daughter stood on the porch, one hand shading her eyes as she watched for her father’s coming. Brackett stamped his boots against the bottom step, dislodging a little field dirt. He said, “I brought company for dinner.”

“I figured you would. I set an extra plate.” She motioned toward the open door. “You-all go on ahead. There’s a fresh bucket of water and some soap on the back porch.”

Brackett led the way. Rusty saw a black woman and a white one in the kitchen. He surmised the white woman was Mrs. Brackett, but she did not turn to greet him. He heard Bethel say, “They’re here, Mama.” He heard no acknowledgment. Perhaps Mrs. Brackett did not care for company. Or, from what he had heard, she no longer cared for Mr. Brackett.