The police captain stopped, puzzled. “You know these men, Judge Burmeister?”

“Indeed. Many a long mile Private Shannon and I rode together as rangers. And Andy, he did a remarkable thing.”

Rusty was still immobilized by surprise. “You’re the new judge here? What happened to the other one?”

“He was a stealer. A little one only, but he did not share with the big stealers in Austin. He was fired. What brings you here?”

“Hopin’ to stop a killin’. Maybe two of them. You remember the Oldham brothers?”

Burmeister nodded briskly. “But too well. Who are they about to kill?”

“More likely it’ll be the other way around if we can’t stop it.”

“Then go, by all means. My docket is full already with murders.” Judge Burmeister waited until Rusty and Andy were near the door before he called and pointed. “My office is here. Come visit sometime.”

The police captain collared one of his deputies to help him. They went out another door.

To Andy’s recollection, two whiskey shops stood on the street due south of the courthouse. He was considered underage and had not been allowed inside. He followed Rusty into the first one. A quick look around did not reveal the Oldhams. Rusty glanced anxiously up the street. Andy knew he was looking for Farley.

Rusty said, “Let’s try this other one.”

He headed for another, which Andy knew by reputation. Its sign marked it as LONE STAR GROCERY, with smaller letters proclaiming that it dealt in the finest of tobacco and spiritous liquors, and a billiard table from St. Louis. It was known as a hangout for off-duty state police and others of Union leanings. Most old Confederates avoided it.

Buddy Oldham sat at a table, a full glass and a half-empty bottle in front of him. Clyde Oldham stood with his back turned. He was haranguing half a dozen listeners with an account of How they had been unjustly dismissed from the state police force because of a natural mistake anyone might have made. “The old man was a die-hard rebel anyway,” he declared. “Ought to’ve been killed years ago, him and Farley too.”

Buddy recognized Rusty and pushed his chair back from the table. He called to his brother. “Clyde.”

Clyde was so busy talking that he did not hear the first time. Buddy repeated the call and stood up. “Clyde, looky who just came in.”

Clyde turned. He froze a moment, then placed a hand on his pistol. “Rusty Shannon, you are under arrest.”

Rusty said, “You’ve got no authority to arrest anybody. But if you want to try, there’s a lot bigger game than me out yonder lookin’ for you.”

Buddy asked, “And who would that be?”

The startled expression in Clyde’s face indicated that he already guessed. He spoke the name fearfully. “Farley Brackett?”

Rusty nodded. “He’s on his way. May already be here. I’d advise you boys to go out the back door and not let your shirttails touch you ‘til you’re in the next county. Maybe two counties over.”