His thoughts turned to Bethel’s comment about her brothers, and the fact that Rusty resembled them a little. Could it be . . . no, surely not. No one had ever been able to determine who Rusty’s real parents had been. It was taken for granted that they had fallen victim to the great Comanche raid. It was probable he had blood kin somewhere, kin who did not know he existed.

But the Bracketts? No, the chance was too slender to contemplate. He probably resembled a lot of people. For most of thirty years he had lived without knowing who he was. He thought it unlikely that he would ever know.

He wished he could. Occasionally he awoke from a dream in which he could almost see the faces of his real mother and father, could faintly hear his mother’s voice singing to him. At such a time he felt adrift, alone in a world of strangers.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Andy Pickard sat on his moccasined heels in the shadow of his horse, his attention focused on an open spot where the grass was thin and short. Chopping weeds in the garden, Shanty had eyed him awhile. Finally, laying down his hoe, he moved through the open gate and walked out to join Andy.

He asked, “Where’d you leave Mr. Len?”

“Me and him found that lost milk cow of Tom Blessing’s. She’d had a new calf. Len took her home. I don’t expect he’ll come back tonight.”

“And Mr. Rusty?”

“Out lookin’ for a couple of strayed horses.”

Shanty bent to see what was holding Andy’s attention. “What you studyin’ so hard, boy?”

“Ants.”

Puzzled, Shanty asked, “What’s to look at with an ant? One looks the same as another. I don’t pay them no mind long as they ain’t crawlin’ up my britches leg.”

“These are fightin’ a hell of a war.”

Shanty frowned at the word hell, but Andy had taken to using it so casu-ally that there seemed little chance of breaking the habit.

“It’s passin’ strange,” Shanty said, “how easy it is for a young feller to learn words he ain’t supposed to say, and how hard for him to learn the gospel.”

Andy pointed. “They’re killin’ one another by the hundreds.”

Shanty’s interest quickened as he braced his hands against his thin knees and leaned down. “I see what you been lookin’ at. Dead ants layin’ all over. They’re just like people. This whole country to share, and they fight over one little bitty piece of ground.”

“I remember a medicine man tellin’ about watchin’ a big ant war one time. Said it went on from daylight ‘til the sun went down. Said he saw more dead ants than there was stars in the sky.”

“That’s a lot of ants.”