Monahan’s eyes brightened. “I just wanted everybody to know what we’re up against and to let you have your say.” He turned back to Webb. “I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it again. I’ve got the best damned family of anybody I know.”

Webb still looked sad. “I envy you your family, but I do not envy the position you’re in.”

Monahan shrugged as if his worries had largely evaporated. “Long as we stick together, ain’t nothin’ can whip us.” He turned to his breakfast.

Webb ate little. Monahan’s renewed cheer had not transferred itself to him. Rusty finished his eggs and biscuits and pushed to his feet. “I wish I could stay longer, but I’ve still got a ways to travel.” He shook hands with Monahan and with each member of the family, including the smallest of the girls.

Geneva said, “You’ll be comin’ back this way sometime, won’t you?”

“That is my intention.” He lingered a moment, held by the sparkle in her eyes.

Webb said, “I’ll walk out to the barn with you.”

They strode in silence to where the horse and the mule were tied. Rusty asked, “You sure you can do anything here?”

“There is no certainty in this life. I’ll do what I can to keep the peace. The rest is up to a greater power than ourselves.” He grasped Rusty’s hand. “Be careful. The Indians have been given a bad bargain, and they’re mad. You had nothing to do with it, but you’re white. That makes you fair game.”

“I’ll watch out.”

“I’m proud of you, Rusty. You were a good boy, and you’ve grown up to be a good man. Now go and be a good ranger.”

Riding away, Rusty looked back. He already missed the comforting presence of Preacher Webb. Except for the farm itself, Webb was the only remaining strong tie to his life with Mike and Dora Shannon. He saw the Monahans scattering, each to his or her own chores, and regret was a wrenching pain. For a while he had warmed himself in the glow of this closely knit family. Now he mourned anew the loss of his own, for he was alone again, rootless and adrift.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

It was not a lot farther to Fort Belknap, and Rusty did not push hard. He did not want to wear down his animals. Tom Blessing had not indicated there was any particular hurry. His main concern had been to put distance between Rusty and Isaac York until feelings cooled down. Rusty stopped occasionally to allow the horse and mule to graze and to give himself an opportunity to study the land. He had counted the rivers and streams he had crossed and knew there were more than Blessing’s rough map had indicated. But good water made for a good country.