Stung, Monahan struggled to recover his composure. “You’ll find no traitors here, Colonel Dawkins. There is scarcely a man in this crowd who has not answered the call against Mexico or against the savage.”

“We’ve a different enemy this time. You and your family have openly allied yourself with the northern union. I must assume that those who break bread with you support you in your sedition.”

The accusation aroused angry shouts from among the visitors. Half a dozen men surged forward in protest. The three with Dawkins dropped their hands to their weapons, and the threat cooled. Dawkins remained unmoved, showing no emotion. He seemed to be above anger or fear.

Monahan’s face colored. “Damn you, Colonel, you’ve just abused the hell out of my hospitality.” He moved toward the man, but Preacher Webb stepped in front of him.

Webb said, “You are wrong, Colonel Dawkins. A vote here tonight would probably be ninety percent for secession. These people have come for a prayer meeting, not a political fight. I would invite you to join us in fellowship and worship.”

Dawkins looked at Webb as if he were a beggar on the street. “You call yourself a man of God, yet you sup with one flagrantly disloyal to his state. The devil rules here tonight, not God.” His chilling gaze swept over the crowd. “I warn all of you, judgment day is coming. When the vote is taken and Texas secedes, a swift and just punishment will be visited upon all who are not on God’s side.” He leaned forward, piercing eyes fixed on Lon Monahan. “Be warned. You will be the first.”

Rusty was reminded of Isaac York. This man could have been York’s close kin except that York was highly excitable, where Dawkins was stolid and cold. Rusty could not help shivering.

James Monahan, trembling with anger, reached down to pick up a rock. “Git off of this place, Dawkins, before I chunk you off.”

Lon Monahan caught his oldest son’s throwing arm and held it. “This is for your daddy to take care of.” He looked up at Dawkins. “James said it as good as I could: Git! Else I’ll be forced to stomp hell out of you in front of the Lord and everybody.”

Old Vince Purdy joined his son-in-law. “And damned if me and James don’t whip the other three.”

Caleb Dawkins could have been leaving church for all the emotion he showed in departing. The men with him followed without speaking, though they kept looking back over their shoulders as if expecting trouble to run and catch up.

James hurled the rock, missing Dawkins by only a couple of feet. “We could’ve beaten him, Pa. Him and that hired trash with him.”

“He ain’t worth skinnin’ our knuckles over. He talks strong because it’s the only way he can get anybody to listen to him.”