Mrs. Caldwell gathered up some of the food left on the table and began putting it into a sack. “It’s a long ways to Louisiana. I’ll not let you leave here without you take somethin’ along to eat.”

Caldwell stood up and shook James’s hand. “I’ll find some way to get word back to your brothers that you passed this way and that you were all right.”

“That’d be more than kind of you, sir.” He shook Caldwell’s hand. He paused to look at this family. They reminded him a lot of the Lewises back in Tennessee, of his mother, of Uncle Benjamin, and all the rest. They gave him a feeling, almost, of being home. He hated to leave.

“I’m glad to’ve met you folks,” he said. “I hope I’ll see you again someday, without any soldiers behind me.”

He had unsaddled Walker in a pen with plenty of water, and Caldwell had given the horse some heads of maize in a trough. The maize had been eaten, and Walker nosed at the water without drinking. He had had his fill. James caught him and began to put his saddle on him.

The red-haired Libby watched him through the rails of the corral fence. “You already fixin’ to leave? Thought you’d probably spend the rest of the day and somebody’d have to stand guard to keep the soldiers from catchin’ you.”

He saw no lessening of her earlier resentment. “You can go in and eat now.”

She pointed her chin at the sack of food Mrs. Caldwell had gathered up. “I’m surprised you left me anything.”

Testily he said, “I didn’t ask you to stand guard for me. That was your mama’s idea. Now go on in yonder and eat your dinner like I said.”

“I’ll go when I’m ready. You don’t boss me around.”

She reminded him of his sister Annie—not in looks but in manner and sharpness of tongue. He finished the saddling, opened the gate, and swung up onto Walker. He said without meaning it, “I hope we’ll meet again someday.”

“We won’t, unless you catch me unawares.”

HE REMEMBERED no particular landmarks from the trip the previous spring. Texas—that part of it, anyway—had no mountains or even any sizeable hills that might set themselves firmly in his mind. It had a been a succession of forests, rolling open lands, canebrakes, streams, and rivers without any particularly distinguishing characteristics. It was a feeling rather than any tangible evidence that told him he was nearing the eastern edge of Texas. If he had ever crossed over the track they had followed before, he was not aware of it. But he came at last to a trail that appeared to have carried some horse or mule traffic at times in the past, though it revealed no sign of recent use. It led him almost due eastward.

He was not sure how far the Sabine lay ahead, probably a few miles. Seeing a squirrel, he thought ahead to his next meal and shot it, and then another. He wondered whether he would eat them on this side of the river or the other.