Rusty stepped past the sagging door of Blessing’s cabin and turned to where he had tied Mike’s favorite horse, Alamo. The mule Chapultepec stood patiently waiting, a pack on his back. Rusty told Blessing, “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on Fowler Gaskin. Soon as he knows I’m gone, he’s liable to carry off everything that’s not rooted down.” He had already let Webb give Mike’s and Mother Dora’s clothes to families who needed them.

Blessing shook Rusty’s hand. “You’re doin’ the right thing, goin’ away for a while.”

“I’m not forgettin’ Isaac York.”

Blessing said, “But forget about takin’ your own vengeance. Leave it to the law.” He looked at Webb. “And to the Lord.”

“For now.” Rusty turned his eyes toward the Colorado River. Beyond it lay the Llano and San Saba, the Brazos . . . and how many more?

He said to the horse and mule, “I hope you-all can swim.”

Following a faint wagon road that led in a northwesterly direction, Rusty and Webb made a dry camp the first night. They ate a meager meal of cold cornbread and pork Tom Blessing’s wife had sacked for them. In his lingering grief, Rusty had not felt like eating much since Mike’s death, so he took his supper mostly in boiled coffee stretched with parched grain.

Webb studied him a long time in the faint light of a modest campfire that barely held back the night’s chill. “I don’t like the look in your face. I’m afraid you still have murder in your heart.”

“Won’t matter how far we go. Whatever’s inside, I’ll carry along with me.”

“You’ll have other things to think about besides revenge. Distance will give time a chance to cool the passion.”

“I don’t want it to cool. If the law doesn’t settle with Isaac, I will. Won’t make any difference how long it takes . . . a month, a year, ten years.”

Webb’s eyes held pity. “That book I gave you . . . I could cite you some passages. It might help you to read them.”

“I don’t see you readin’ out of yours.”

“I don’t have to. I know it by heart.”

Toward noon the third day Webb turned off the wagon road and bore northeastward.

Rusty looked back to be sure the pack mule was following. “Aren’t we goin’ out of our way?”

“Some people I know have a farm off yonder. They’ll make us welcome, and the womenfolks are fine cooks.”

Though Rusty still had little appetite, he perceived that Webb was eager to make the stop. The minister enjoyed being among friends, and given any chance, he made friends of almost everyone he met. “I don’t reckon there’s any big hurry about me gettin’ to Belknap. The main thing was to get me away from home.”