“Better hurry up, Edward,” James told his nephew. “Smells like they’ve near got our supper ready.”

Edward, hands already strong at eight, finished his milking and turned the calf loose to finish whatever was left. The red cow never let down all of her milk until the calf was punching at her udder; it was her instinct to save some for her offspring. When she held back too much, Frank would turn the calf with her for just a minute, then remove it to let Edward finish the milking. “It doesn’t take much to fool a cow,” Frank said, “so long as you’re just a little smarter than she is.”

The smell of frying venison drew James to the campfire. He realized how hungry he was. When the venison was cooked, Annie poured off most of the grease and dropped corn dodgers into the skillet. Bubbling on a bed of red-hot coals was a pot of beans that had already served them for two days. A man could get almighty tired of beans, but they came in handy on the trail. A big fresh pot, cooked overnight, could last for several days. All it needed was a little heating each time they made camp.

They all bowed their heads while Hope gave thanks to the Lord for delivering them safely into Texas after such a long journey. She beseeched His continuing guidance while they found their way down into the American colonies to settle beside those Lewises already there. “We hope you’ll keep a-lookin’ out for us, Lord, for we are Thy loyal servants, a-travelin’ through a savage wilderness. Look with favor upon these young’uns here and the young’un soon to come. Protect us if Thou will from any who would come a-wantin’ to do us harm. Amen.”

James said, “Amen,” and raised his head. He noted that his bay horse and a couple of the mules were staring fixedly toward the west, their ears pointed. He turned, searching. He saw a dozen or so horsemen moving in their direction on the trail.

“Hope,” he said quietly, “maybe you’d better say the last part of that prayer over again.” He went to the wagon wheel where he had leaned his rifle. He raised it up and cradled it across his left arm.

III

AS THE riders neared, he saw that they were soldiers. Their uniforms were the worse for wear and dusty from traveling, but the man in the lead bore himself with the dignity James had always associated with lieutenants and captains and such. He did not remember that he had ever seen anyone higher in rank than that. His father had served with Andrew Jackson once, long before James’s time, but all James knew about that was the stories he had heard in the family. He could not picture Mordecai Lewis in a uniform. He had most often worn buckskins.

The men were brown-faced, like some he had seen in Natchitoches. This was part of Mexico, so these must be Mexican soldiers, he reasoned. At least they were not the white renegades he had been warned about. But Spanish soldiers had shot his father a long time ago, probably not far from here. He did not know how much difference there might be between Spanish and Mexican, so he kept the grip on his rifle. He was reassured when cousin Frank stepped up beside him. Frank had a rifle too, but he carried it at arm’s length, presenting no overt threat to the riders. Frank’s genial countenance had fooled some people back home into believing they could crowd him as much as they wanted and never have to pay the fiddler. Frank’s fighting streak was well hidden behind his smile, but that smile could turn cold just before lightning struck.