“I had a mite of trouble with the convict soldiers. I had to leave.”

“Unfortunate. That is good land where your brothers are. You should be there raising crops to feed the hungry, with a family to share the bounty of your labors.”

“I’m goin’ back.”

“And what of the soldiers?”

“To hell with the soldiers!” He thought better of his language. “I beg your pardon, preacher.”

Fairweather shrugged. “There has been but one of us who was perfect, and He lived a long way from Texas. Let me feed your animals while you see about your friend. I believe you will find him better than you left him.”

Shipman was pale and drawn and had dark circles under his eyes, but those eyes were livelier than before. He assumed the worst before James had a chance to say more than hello. “I suppose you lost money for us on our merchandise?”

“As a matter of fact, I did pretty good. There ain’t much cash in this colony, but I got a little of what there is. I thought it was better than tradin’ for goods, because we’re not apt to go back to Natchitoches for a while.”

“Why not? I’m ready to travel.”

“The hell you are. I’d be buryin’ you before we got halfway to the Sabine. But maybe in a few days you’ll be up to makin’ a shorter trip. I’m takin’ you to my family.”

Shipman did not seem to know whether to accept that as good news or bad. “That sister of yours, she may not take kindly to me.”

“She probably won’t. She’s got a temper like a cat that’s had its tail stepped on. So we won’t ask her. We’ll just show up.”

Shipman pondered a while. “I can’t abide bad temper in an ugly woman. But I can stand it if she’s good-lookin’ enough. And your sister’s good-lookin’ enough.”

JAMES WAITED three more days before undertaking the trip, giving Shipman time to gain strength. He disliked imposing on the farmer’s patience and hospitality. When Fairweather departed to see after other souls, James gave the farmer two jugs of Kentucky whiskey which he had retained for that purpose from the supply of trade goods. The jovial farmer seemed to feel that this was excessive payment and insisted upon sharing at least one of the jugs with James and Shipman. Shipman was still carrying a glow when James helped him upon his horse and they set out westward.

He took more time than necessary, carefully watching for sign of soldiers but seeing none. He considered spending a night at the farm of Marcus Caldwell, the rusty-haired settler who had befriended him on his flight toward the Sabine. The only thing which gave him pause was that he still remembered his run-in with Caldwell’s red-headed daughter Libby. Unlike Shipman, James had little patience with bad temper in any woman, no matter what she looked like.

He had to hunt a little before he found the place, but he recognized the long, rambling log house, the well-tended rail-fenced field where corn waved green in the wind. He found farmer Caldwell and his sons out hoeing their corn, as befitted good farmers. Caldwell laid down his hoe and gave a shout. When his sons tried to follow his example, however, he quickly set them back to work. “You’ll have time enough to greet our company,” he said, the wind carrying his strong voice to James. “They’ll be stayin’ all night with us, you can be sure.”