Sheridan had sent 50,000 Yankee troops to occupy Texas. Will had heard stories of them giving former Confederates a hard time, confiscating weapons and property and baiting meninto conflict, then beating them and tossing them into jail, even hanging them on occasion.
Which was unfortunate but not all that surprising.
But he hadn’t expected a Texan to try and kill him. For what? The man hadn’t known he was carrying money. No one had any money here.
So why kill him?
For a couple of mules and whatever he had in the packs, Will supposed.
That was desperation.
And if these men were that desperate, others would be, too.
Will couldn’t afford distractions. He was home again, and home was suddenly as dangerous as the war he’d left behind.
He took the man’s Colt Dragoon and ammo pouch and searched him, finding nothing but a hunting knife and a deck of well-worn playing cards.
Suddenly, he remembered the man talking about gambling, bragging about his prowess and luck, saying he had a deck of cards on him if anyone from the 5thwanted to play.
Will couldn’t help but wonder if these were the same cards.
“Whatever the case,” he told the man, who stared up at him with empty eyes, “your luck’s run out.”
He considered taking the cards but decided to leave them, figuring there couldn’t be any luck left in them, either, then went on down the road and talked to his mules and took a look at the other bandit, who was in even worse shape, as hard as that was to believe, than the ex-soldier.
Barefoot and starved to bone and gristle, the would-be mule thief possessed nothing but the raggedy clothes enshrouding his cadaver.
What a shame. What a senseless shame.
He would have given the men food—money, even—if they’d only asked.
Then he dragged the man off the road and into the brush and gathered his mules and started for home again.
The farm was only a few miles away.
He shook his head.
What a homecoming.
CHAPTER 4
Despite everything—the ambush, his fatigue, the current condition of East Texas, and his concern for Rose—Will felt a surge of excitement as he neared the long path to the farmhouse where he’d been born and raised.
But as he drew closer, he saw the sign.
He reined to a stop and read the unfamiliar green-and-gold sign which stood beside the entrance of the property.
Southern Repose,gilded letters etched into the pine-green sign read.
Will was puzzled.
Southern Repose?
They had never had a sign out front before. What would be the purpose? Everyone around here knew this was the Bentley place.
Not the Southern Repose…
He felt the slightest chill, as if a cloud high in the sky had blocked the afternoon sun.
