Mike did not wait for Rusty to react. “Just holler any time. But next time leave Isaac York to home.”

Rusty was not sure he would want to go again, not if the next mission turned out as this one had.

Preacher Webb brought the call. He rode up to the cabin one morning, his grim expression indicating he carried a message of importance. He delayed its delivery until he had inquired about Mother Dora’s health.

Mike’s worried eyes reflected the burden he had carried lately. “I’m afraid the medicine ain’t helpin’ her. Most days it’s all she can do to get out of bed. Me and Rusty been doin’ the cookin’ and all.”

Webb entered the cabin. He returned in a few minutes with a deep frown. “I wish we had a sure-enough doctor to see after her. Isn’t much I can do that I haven’t already done.”

“You’ve done your best, Preacher.” Mike grimaced. “The rest is up to the Almighty.”

Rusty feared the Almighty was looking somewhere else. But he would not say so where the minister could hear.

Webb said, “These are dark days. I suppose you’ve heard the talk that Texas may pull out of the Union?”

Mike grunted. “I have, and it’s damned foolishness.”

“A lot of people are dead serious about it. And there’s been more trouble up on the reserve. A bunch of white men rode in there and started a fight. When it was over there were dead on both sides. So the army has been ordered to move all tribes off of the reserve . . . take them north of the Red River into Indian Teritory.”

Mike scowled. “Even the ones that helped us fight the Comanches?”

“That’s what we’re told. I’m afraid most Texans don’t put much faith in Indian loyalties.”

“Damned poor piece of business. What ever became of gratitude?”

“Tom wants to take some of us up there and help see that the move stays peaceful.”

Mike observed, “Then he’d best not take Isaac York.”

“Isaac’s not goin’. And neither are you, Mike. You’d best stay here and watch over Dora.”

Rusty expected Mike to roar in angry protest because he had always welcomed any opportunity for adventure. Instead, he seemed almost relieved at not going. His easy acceptance brought home to Rusty—though he needed no reminding—that his foster mother was failing.

Mike gripped Rusty’s shoulder. His legs might be weak now, but his hands were strong as steel. “You’ll have to serve for both of us, young’un. It won’t be a happy sight to watch. Gather up what stuff you need. I’ll go saddle my black horse for you.”

Rusty remembered the bitter ending of the last trip and did not want to go. But Mike had drilled the notion of duty into him too deeply for him to voice his reluctance. He rolled a blanket, collected a little grub and the rifle, and went in to say a hasty good-bye to Mother Dora. She clutched his hand as if she feared she would not see him again. She whispered, “Hurry back as soon as you can.”