Rusty doubted. “He ought to know Billy’s goin’ to be guarded extra heavy. He could steal some other boy a lot easier.”

“Fights with Bears had him and lost him. That done hurt to his pride. He doesn’t want to settle for some other boy. He wants Billy back.”

James declared, “Well, he ain’t goin’ to get him, not as long as there’s a Monahan breathin’.”

James seemed for the first time to notice the three prisoners, their hands tied to their saddles.

Tanner explained the circumstances. He said, “Maybe the Comanches would settle for a few scalps instead of Billy. Here’s three they can have.”

The smuggler Jake reacted with fear. “You wouldn’t do that to a white man. Would you?”

Tanner kept a straight face. “You were fixin’ to let them have two white boys.”

Approaching the corrals, Rusty saw many horses penned there. He assumed that James and the others had gathered as many as they could find and brought them here where they could be kept under guard. He saw several of the Monahans’ neighbors gathered at the barn. It appeared that much of the community had come together for mutual protection.

Josie was the first family member to see the procession coming. She stood in front of the main house, shading her eyes. She turned and shouted something, then ran to the house in which Geneva and Evan lived. In a moment Geneva rushed out the door, holding her little girl in her arms. Josie took the girl from her so Geneva could run toward her son.

“Billy! Billy!” she cried.

Billy slid down from his horse. It was a long way to the ground, and he went to his knees. He was instantly on his feet and running to meet his mother.

Dust had gotten into Rusty’s eyes and made them burn. He looked away.

In a minute the Monahans were all gathered around Billy. Clemmie hugged him, then he was passed to Josie and Alice and Preacher Webb. The boy’s father had been in the corral among the horses. He vaulted over a fence and went running to grab his son.

Face shining with tears, Clemmie walked forward to meet Rusty and Burmeister and the others. “Men,” she said, her voice near breaking, “there ain’t words enough . . .”

Burmeister bowed without leaving the saddle. “Madam, it is to this young man that all thanks should go.” He nodded toward Andy. “He found him and brought him out.”

Clemmie looked up. “Get down off of that horse, Andy Pickard.” Her tone of voice was commanding.

Sheepishly Andy complied, looking as if he dreaded a whipping. Clemmie threw her arms around him and embraced him so tightly Rusty half expected to hear Andy’s ribs crack. For a small woman, she had always been amazingly strong.

“God bless you, Andy,” she declared.

He stammered, “I’m . . . I’m sorry about your daddy.”

“It was God’s doin’, not yours or mine. We can’t fault the Lord for doin’ His will.”