His opinion about these new settlers was immaterial, whether favorable or otherwise. As a ranger, paid or not, he would have to defend them against reinvasion by the displaced Indians. Since removal, any Indian found inside the borders of Texas was assumed to be hostile and subject to being shot on sight unless accompanied by federal or state officials. Even then he would be regarded with suspicion and kept under watch lest he try to take back by force that which he regarded as having been his.

Rusty came to a creek he thought too narrow to be the Clear Fork. He was sure it was not on Blessing’s crude map. Nearby stood a new picket cabin built of upright oak logs and covered by a sod roof that he doubted would keep all the rain out. The sod was thick enough and heavy enough to pose a hazard if it became saturated with water. Its weight could collapse the cabin into a heap of ruin and bury anyone unlucky enough to have sought shelter inside. But perhaps its owner was better at farming than at carpentry.

A man was stacking stones, building a rock fence around a garden plot. He was so intent on his work or whatever else was on his mind that he remained unaware until Rusty was almost close enough to reach across the fence and touch him.

“Howdy,” Rusty said.

The man jumped backward, bringing a large rock up defensively as if to brain Rusty with it. A trickle of brown down his chin showed he had been chewing tobacco. He swallowed most of it. “My God!” he exclaimed after a moment’s startled silence. “You could’ve been an Indian. Why don’t you make a little noise before you slip up on a feller?” He dropped the stone and spat out what remained of the tobacco, coughing in an effort to bring up some that had lodged in his throat.

Rusty said, “This old mule sloshes like a water barrel on a wagon. You must’ve been studyin’ hard not to’ve heard us.”

It took the farmer a minute to get rid of the tobacco and calm down. “Maybe I was. I need to pay more attention if I’m to keep livin’ in this country. Just because they’ve moved the Indians out don’t mean they might not come back.”

“Could you blame them? They were given this land, and then it was taken away from them.”

“It wasn’t me that gave them the reservation, and it wasn’t me that told them they had to leave. Damned government never did ask my opinion about anything. If I hadn’t took up this place, somebody else would’ve. Can’t blame me for that, can you?”