Rusty suspected Webb had heard about the fights Mike had had over the question. “He’s always taken care of himself.”

“He’s never seen old friends turn into enemies before. It’s been bitter enough to cause a few killin’s.”

The minister’s apprehension was infectious. Rusty began to feel it, too. “It might do some good if you’d talk to him. He doesn’t listen to me much. Still figures I’m just a kid.”

“I’ll go back to the settlement and look for him.”

Rusty watched Webb ride off. His stomach had been uneasy since Mike had left, and it was worse now. Politics had brought on this trouble. This could be a happier world if it weren’t for politics and politicians, he thought. He wondered if Indians had them, too. He decided they probably did. They fought among themselves just like white folks, sometimes with even deadlier results.

If he ever found himself in a position to rule the country, he would pass a law against politics.

Rusty waited for supper until almost dark, hoping Mike would come home. The work and the cold had made him hungry, however, so he finally fried up some smokehouse ham and made corn bread. He had almost finished eating when he heard voices outside. Stepping onto the dog run without taking time to put on a coat, he saw Preacher Webb and Mike dismounting from their horses. Mike had to hold to the saddle a minute to steady himself. His face was dark with bruises, his shirt torn and bloody.

Rusty hurried out to help. Mike waved him and Webb away. He said curtly, “I can get into the house by myself.” Rusty guessed that he and the minister had argued. It was evident that Mike had been drinking, for no other way would he have said a cross word to his old friend. Rusty stepped aside and let him alone.

Mike stumbled getting up on the dog run but caught himself on a post. “Come on in where it’s warm, Preacher. Me and Rusty’ll fix you some supper.” He weaved his way into the kitchen side of the double cabin and bumped into a chair. He promptly slumped in it.

Rusty remained outside, shivering from the night’s chill. “Who did he fight with this time?”

“Isaac York. Isaac’s strong for secession. Shanty managed to get hold of him after a few blows were struck. I took Mike out of there.”

“I’ll bet he wasn’t happy about leavin’.”

“He wanted to finish the fight, but I was afraid I might have to bring him home dead. Isaac was mad enough to kill him.”

Rusty looked toward the door. “I’m obliged. Come on in, Preacher. Dad ought to be in a better humor after he gets some supper in his belly to soak up that whiskey.”