The sorrel horse’s ears warned him in time to keep him from riding headlong into a large group of Mexican infantry, marching in an easterly direction. He pulled the horse up under some huge live oak trees and dismounted to be harder to see. He was glad the soldiers were not cavalry, for he might have found himself in a horse race. He had no idea how well the sorrel could run; he had had no reason to try him. He could at least outrun the infantry. They failed to see him, so he did not have to put the sorrel to the test.

He gave the infantry plenty of time to pass out of sight before he rode across their back trail. Though the country was beginning to look more and more like the area he knew best, he was not familiar with the dim road the soldiers followed. He did not tarry long to study it.

He sensed the Colorado River before he reached it. He realized as soon as he saw the trees and crossed a familiar road that he had come in west of home. The road showed recent hoofprints. There was no way of telling whether the riders had been Texan or Mexican soldiers, so he moved on down to the river and rode where he could quickly pull into the cover of the timber if need be. He had the blanket wrapped around his shoulders against a light, cold rain. He kept the rifle across his lap and primed, the lock dry beneath the blanket. In this kind of weather, flintlocks often failed because the powder became damp.

His pulse quickened as familiar landmarks told him he was nearing his farm. He considered it unlikely that he would find any of the family there. Surely by now Frank had evacuated them to safer ground. James moved up over a rise and saw his cabin below, and Andrew’s well beyond it. Over to his right was Frank’s. Michael’s lay out of sight beyond a hill. He had half expected to find all of them in ashes, for he had come across several that had been burned, either by the settlers to deprive the soldiers their use or by the soldiers to leave the settlers nothing to come home to. He was gratified to see that the Lewis cabins remained intact.

He remained in the edge of the timber, caution overriding his eagerness to get home. He came across the milk cow with her calf. It had grown considerably since James had left. He always kept the calf in a pen so the cow would come in for milking without having to be hunted down and driven. That the calf had been set free brought him some feeling of relief. It meant the family had left; they were not still here at the mercy of Santa Anna’s soldiers.

He watched the house a while before he risked riding up to it. He found some corn at the shed and left the horse in the pen, its nose stuck deep into the feed trough. He saw a pair of twin ruts, cut deeply into the mud and not yet completely washed away, showing where the wagon had moved. On harder ground a little farther out he found no more trace. Rains had washed away all sign. He walked up to the cabin, pushing the kitchen door open and stepping quickly inside as he had done at the first one he had come to. This time no hog snorted at him. The place was empty. He felt of the ashes in the fireplace. They were as he expected, dead and cold. By the look of things, Annie had been gone for some time, possibly several days.