The house was of logs, but it was well finished inside. He looked at the fine stonework in the fireplace and remembered the haphazard one he had seen in the Blackwood cabin. The homemade furniture was plain, probably done by Caldwell and his sons, but it indicated care, skill, and time. What this family had they had built for themselves and built well. The food on the table was plain, as Caldwell had said, but it was plentiful, including fresh corn roasted in the ear, and pork from the family’s own free-ranging herd of hogs.

The sons and daughters were seated on benches along the length of the table, girls on one side, boys on the other. The mother and father took chairs at either end. Mrs. Caldwell assigned one of her daughters—evidently Libby was the oldest—to give the blessing. The boys were ravenous from the morning’s work in the field, and Mrs. Caldwell called them down, admonishing them that they were displaying poor manners before company. One of the boys asked James about his trouble with the soldiers, purposely looking away from his father’s disapproving stare. Leaving out some of the details he thought not appropriate at the table, James told of the two soldiers’ attempt to steal a pig, and the incidents that followed.

The oldest of the boys appeared to be around sixteen or seventeen. He declared, “Mr. Davis down at the forks of the creek says we’re goin’ to have to fight Mexico one of these days and show them they can’t boss Americans around.”

Caldwell cautioned the boy, “Hush with that kind of talk, Thomas. The Mexicans let us come here and take up land and own it. We can look to Mr. Austin to watch out for our interests. Us talkin’ too much will just make that job harder for him.”

“But Mr. Lewis here, he didn’t let them boss him around. I’ll bet Mr. Davis would sure like to meet him.”

In deference to Caldwell, James felt obliged to point out to the youth that because he had resisted, he was on the run. “My brother Andrew agreed with your papa. If I’d listened to him, I wouldn’t be in this fix.”

“And you’d be short a pig. Maybe a bunch of pigs. I wish I could’ve shot at them.”

“Thomas!” Caldwell said sharply. “We’ll have no seditious talk in this house. It can only lead to trouble.”

James saw in this family a diversity of opinion that he suspected was growing all over the Austin colonies, and probably in the other American settlements. He also saw that his presence here was fueling the disagreement between father and son. He thought he had eaten enough. He pushed away from the table and stepped back from the bench. “I’m might obliged for the good dinner, but I’d better be movin’ on.”

Mrs. Caldwell said, “I was goin’ to mend your shirt.”

“The shirt’ll be all right. I’ll do it myself when I get past the Sabine.”