James looked back at Shipman. His partner looked tired and pale. They would be spending the night, all right. Maybe two nights.

The farmer remembered James’s name without prompting. “I knew no brother of Andrew’s and Michael’s could be kept out of Texas unless they buried him. Welcome back to God’s paradise.” He shoved out his big hand and nearly crushed James’s bones. His attention went then to Shipman. “What’s this? A man hurt?”

James said, “We got ourselves caught up in a scrap over at Velasco. Sly Shipman there, he taken a bullet.”

Caldwell frowned darkly. “We heard about that fight. Was it as bitter as the stories make it out?”

“It was bad enough,” James said grimly. “I was sure wishin’ I was someplace else after the shootin’ started. It wasn’t what I thought it would be.”

“I’ve been in a couple of bad scrapes myself, in my wilder days. I decided bein’ a farmer was better than bein’ a fighter. Maybe you’re gettin’ the same notion?”

“It’s come to me several times. Didn’t seem like there was much else we could do, though. Bradburn had Travis and some others in jail and was goin’ to see to it that they was shot. We couldn’t just stand by and let him get away with such as that.”

“I suppose not. Never met Travis myself, but I’ve heard of him. Seems like from what folks say that he hunts up trouble if it doesn’t hunt for him. He ought to’ve left Bradburn alone.”

“Maybe so. But he didn’t, and we set out to turn him a-loose. I just didn’t figure on it bein’ so mean. I figured they’d see we meant business and back away. People kept sayin’ the Mexicans wouldn’t fight.”

“Folks say lots of things. You can’t believe them all. Yes, the Mexicans will fight. How else do you think they won their freedom from Spain?”

Oddly, James had never thought about it in that light. “I wish I’d talked to you before I went.”

“And while we’re talkin’, now, your friend is sittin’ there sufferin’ on that horse. Let’s get him up to the house.” Caldwell called his oldest boy to come with him. “You others, keep choppin’ weeds till you hear your mama ring the supper bell. Come winter, you’ll be glad you raised somethin’ to eat.”

Mrs. Caldwell had seen them coming. She stood waiting on the porch, wadding a cotton apron in her hands. “Land’s sake, Libby,” she said to her red-haired daughter, “it looks like we’ve got a hurt man on our hands.”

James said, “He’s been wounded, ma’am.”

He felt Libby’s blue eyes examining him coolly. She had gotten no friendlier since his last visit here. She said, “Can’t say I’m surprised. Look who he’s with.”

James hoped one night here would rest Shipman enough to continue the trip. He tried to ignore Libby and said to her mother, “If you’ve got a place for him, ma’am—”

“Certainly. We’ll make a place.”