He lifted his foot toward the stirrup, but Eph Gaskin grabbed the back of his coat. “You ain’t goin’ noplace.”

Rusty whirled and swung a knot-hard fist at him. Gaskin’s head snapped back under the impact. The other brother rushed in, and Rusty found himself entertaining two at the same time. The scrap lasted only a minute or so. When it was over, both younger Gaskins were sitting on the ground with bruises and contusions, showing no inclination to get up.

Fowler Gaskin shook his fist but dropped it quickly when Rusty took a step toward him. “I’m a crippled-up old man. The law wouldn’t like it, you hittin’ a crippled-up old man.”

Eph Gaskin did not arise, but he growled, “We’ll get you, Rusty Shannon. You just wait, we’ll pay you back.”

Rusty said grittily, “You’d better worry about how you’re goin’ to pay back Old Man Jones for the loss of the mule.”

Riding away, he could hear Fowler Gaskin railing at his sons for letting “that redheaded son of a bitch” whip both of them. Rusty rubbed his skinned knuckles in satisfaction. It had been the best day’s work he had done all winter.

It had been three days since the fight. Now Rusty hitched Chapultepec alongside a young mule Mike had traded for. The young one had a double portion of stubbornness and only a small portion of the older mule’s intelligence. It was constantly testing the limits of Rusty’s patience, but at least it helped keep his mind occupied so he did not dwell on grief over Mother Dora or brood too much on the troubles brewing between North and South. These seemed far away except when Mike went to the settlement. Then they came close to home.

Rusty had the wagon half full of deadfall timber when he stopped to drink from a jug he had brought beneath the seat. His attention was caught by movement on the road from the east. Preacher Webb approached on a bay horse. The minister altered his course when he spotted Rusty down by the river. Rusty held the jug high so he would see it. “Water, Preacher? It ain’t coffee, but it’s wet.”

“Much obliged.” Webb dismounted and tipped up the jug for a long drink. “I never could understand why so many people insist on whiskey. Water is better by far.” He wiped his mouth on the frayed sleeve of his coat and glanced toward the cabin. “Is Mike anywhere around?”

“He’s gone to the settlement.”

Webb’s face looked pinched. “I must have missed him somewhere on the way. Wish I’d gotten here in time to head him off. Things are commencin’ to get ugly.”

“How ugly?”

“Ugly enough. There’s been a lot of agitation stirred up against those who oppose secession. I’m afraid it’s gettin’ dangerous.”