James looked behind him. He did not expect to see soldiers, but one never could be sure. His stomach reminded him that none of the squirrel had survived last night’s supper, and breakfast had consisted of the last piece of dry bread from Petra’s sack. “My horse could stand a rest. We been travelin’ pretty hard.”

The farmer frowned. “I hate to say this, but you’ve got the look of a man who’s watchin’ back over his shoulder. That hole in your shirt looks like it could’ve been made by a rifle ball. You runnin’ from somebody?”

James was caught by surprise. He hadn’t thought anybody would notice. “To tell you the truth, sir, I run afoul of some Mexican convict soldiers. I had to up and leave what was rightfully mine. You seen any soldiers over this way?”

The farmer nodded darkly. “They’ve taken what they wanted and then left. I figured it was better to let them. I just look on it as an extry tax.”

“I guess that was my brother Andrew’s way of lookin’ at it, but it wasn’t mine.”

“Andrew?” The farmer studied James’s face. “Would that be Andrew Lewis? Seems like I see a resemblance, now that I look at you a little closer.”

“You’re right, sir. I’m James Lewis.”

“Good man, that Andrew.”

“Michael’s my brother too.”

“I’ve met Michael, but he’s a hard man to get to know. Andrew, now—” The farmer smiled. “If you’re a brother of Andrew Lewis, you’re more than welcome at this place.”

He extended his hand. “I’m Marcus Caldwell. Them yonder’s my boys.”

James shook with him. “I got to tell you, sir, there’s a chance the soldiers will come lookin’ for me.”

“You kill one of them?”

“Creased one a little, is all. Caused another one to fall on his sword and stick it in his leg. They acted like it was a killin’.”

The farmer nodded gravely. “A mistaken policy, sendin’ convict soldiers here. But Austin has gone to Mexico to talk to the officials. He’s always been able to get things straightened out.”

“I hope he hurries.”

James did not intend to eat without contributing something. He took his knife and started heading corn, dropping it into a sack he began dragging for a boy who looked to be eight or nine, about the age of Frank’s oldest. The exercise brought an occasional stab of pain from the rib, but it was no longer so bad as the first day and night. He heard a clanging sound from the house after a while. The boys began eagerly dropping their sacks. “Dinner, Papa,” shouted the one whose sack James had taken.

“I heard,” said Caldwell, “but we’ll work to the end of our rows before we stop. You’ll be wantin’ to eat next winter, too.”

That, James surmised, was why the family looked prosperous. They were a working people, like his Uncle Benjamin back in Tennessee, who had married James’s mother and had seen to the raising of the family after Mordecai’s death in Texas. Uncle Benjamin had never been one to deny pleasure in its own due time, but the work had always come first.