Isaac shook his head. “I got no reason to hurry. Ain’t nothin’ much waitin’ for me there.” In the distance, someone was calling a group of militiamen to attention. The response was ragged and slow. Isaac pointed his chin in that direction. “There’s some that agree with Zaragosa. They think we ain’t seen the last of the Mexican army. I’ve been studyin’ on joinin’ a company that’s goin’ to follow Cós’s soldiers all the way down to the Rio Bravo to be damned sure they cross over and don’t come back.”

“I heard he signed a paper sayin’ he would never take up arms against Texas again.”

“A paper don’t mean nothin’. Anyway, Santy Anna wasn’t here to sign it. So I think I’ll just stay with the boys. Beats settin’ around the cabin all winter watchin’ Finis and Luke and Nelly fight.” He looked away, toward the east. “Just one thing—you know the boy that’s come with me from time to time, over to see your sister?”

James nodded. “Finis’s boy?”

“Maybe Finis’s boy, maybe mine. If anything was to happen to me—if the Mexican army should come back, I wisht you’d see that the boy gets out all right.”

James swallowed. It had never occurred to him that the boy might be Isaac’s. But remembering Nelly, he could not be overly surprised. “I’ll do what I can.”

“And tell your sister—”

James waited for Isaac to finish, but Isaac had said all there was. Isaac turned and walked away from him.

HE DID not know what to expect when he returned home. He thought Baptiste Villaret might have managed to convince Marie to flee with him to Louisiana. If she had, the others no doubt would have gone as well: Annie, Petra, the children.

But as he rode up to his cabin, he saw smoke curling from the chimney. One of Baptiste’s wagons stood out by the pole pens James had put up for his few livestock. “Annie!” he called. “Annie, it’s me!”

She came out onto the dog-run into a cold December wind. “James?”

He had not shaved in weeks because of the weather. He knew he probably looked more like a Blackwood than a Lewis. But she came running as he stepped down from the saddle. She threw her arms around him in joy. “We heard there were a great many killed. We were afraid for you.”

“There were more killed of them than of us. We won, Annie. It’s over.”

She pulled away and looked beyond him, as if hoping to see someone else. “How about Michael? Is he with you?”

“I never found Michael. He wasn’t there. Hasn’t he come home yet?”

She shook her head. “Marie hasn’t heard a word. We don’t know whether he’s dead or alive. It isn’t like Michael not to let us know something.”

“Yes it is.” Andrew had told him of Michael’s penchant for riding away and staying gone, of looking always for some new place he had not yet seen. “I’m afraid it’s just like him.”