They stayed at the base of the Chiricahuas as long as they could. Once they cut east toward Rodeo, New Mexico, they would be back in the open again, protected only by the low, rolling hills and the scrub of the desert. By noon they were pretty sure they were now due west of Rodeo and not far from the Blakely ranch, where Tom had worked, branding and cutting for a couple of seasons.

They made the ranch with daylight to spare. Sisson and John waited in a clump of mesquite a few yards from a stock tank. Tom walked on into the ranch. No one was in the barn, the tack room, or the corrals. Tom made his way to the house, stood by the door for a while, then, ready to run, gave a tentative knock.

It was the missus who answered. “Miz Blakely,” Tom said, taking off his now-battered hat. “I'm Thomas Power. Done some work for you all a couple of years back.”

“Tom Power, you get out of here. You'll get us all hanged. Go on. Go.”

“Miz Blakely, we're in bad need of a little food, some water. Then we'll be gone.”

“Half the state is after you. We get found out that we're giving you comfort, they'll hang us or burn us out. Something. You go.”

“Please, Miz Blakely. We haven't eaten in many days or had clear water.”

She came out the door with a broom and brought it heavily down across Tom's shoulder. “You go. You'll get us killed.” She drew back the broom and brought it down again. Tom retreated a couple of steps, holding up his hand to ward off the broom.

Herb Blakely appeared at the door. “What's going on here?”

Miz Blakely took another swipe at Tom. “You git now.”

Herb stepped into her and took the broom with one hand. “Tom? Tom Power?”

“Herb. I come looking for a little food. Water. Don't want to start trouble.”

“He's going to get us killed, Herbert. They will come here and find him, and they will hang us next to him. We got to get him out of here.”

“Yes, Momma. But not with no broom. We ain't turning our backs on him. We know this man. We don't turn away the hungry or the hurting. Where's the rest of you at, Tom?”

“Yonder.” Tom pointed back the way he had come. “By the stock tank.”

“You go on out there and wait. I'll be along directly, and we'll take care of you.”

“I appreciate it, Herb.”

“I know you do.”

“You sure we can trust him?” Sisson asked.

“Herb Blakely is good people. I've known him a long time. He wouldn't lie. If he didn't want to help us, he would say.”

“All right. Going to be dark soon.”