He stopped next to a small cluster of longhorns that lowed gently and moved away as soon as they saw the dogs. Miguel turned to his daughter and placed both hands on her shoulders. It was good to see her mourn, show some emotion over the loss of their family. For far too long she had been a stranger to him, cold, forbidding.

"I know that some days it is very hard to go on. Sometimes it seems pointless," he said. "But that is not what they would want, Sofia. Your mother especially; she would want me to get you safe away from here so that you might grow up and continue the family. In the end that is all that matters. Not me; my time is almost past-"

He felt her shoulders tense up under his hands but shushed her before she could protest.

"No, it is true. I am not old, not like some of your uncles were, but the family part of my life is over. It has been taken from me. But your life lies in front of you. We will endure this, Sofia. We will survive, and you will rebuild our family, and you will make sure that all of those Peiraros to come know of those who preceded them. That is what God has planned for you. For me… well, for now there is you to look after. And when I have you safe, then we shall settle our score with Blackstone and his men. That is what God means for me to do, Princesa."

Leaves rustled in the evergreen trees, and branches creaked as a cold wind blew up from the south. Miguel resumed their round of the herd, opening his senses to the night again, listening for the telltale sounds of men nearby and not hearing them.

"Adam really likes Sally, doesn't he?" Sofia said without warning.

The vaquero was glad of the dark night that hid his smile.

"That is only natural," he said. "They have traveled together, and they are of the same people. I suspect hitting him with your rifle butt in Crockett did not improve your chances."

Sofia laughed. "Maybe, maybe not."

Miguel searched for and quickly found the distant silhouettes of the Mormon boy and the giant engineer. They were on the far side of the clearing. He kept his voice down.

"It is good you make friends with Adam and the others," said Miguel. "We need each other out here. But our paths will part somewhere in the future. You should remember that, too."

He was unsure what to say next. This was the sort of discussion Sofia would have had with her mother or grandmother not so long ago. Miguel would simply have stood in the background scowling and polishing his rifle to put the fear of God into any potential suitors. Now he found himself having to play a role for which he was entirely unsuited. When he thought of Sofia, the age she was, and all the changes that would come as she grew from a young girl into a young woman, he felt himself even more wretchedly alone than before. Perhaps one of the Mormon ladies could help with such things, at least for now, while they shared the trail.

Any further discomfort was forestalled by the return of Randall and young Adam. They cut across the clearing, a half-moon lighting their way. A few of the cattle protested at their passage, but mostly they moved aside. Ben Randall was a massive shape in the dark. He towered over his smaller companion, cursing softly and muttering as he tripped on an unseen obstacle. Of all the Mormons, he was the most likely in Miguel's experience to cuss like a normal person.

"Hey," said Sofia.

"Hey," Adam replied.

"We all good?" Randall asked.

Miguel scowled into the inky blackness of the forest that surrounded them. "Good? No, I would not say that."

Instantly, Randall seemed more alert, his back straighter, his presence more watchful. "Why? You see something, hear something?"

"No, and that is the problem. I see and hear nothing, which might mean there is nothing to fear. But I do not like feeling my way through the dark like a blind man in a roomful of traps. I will not be happy until we know for sure where the men who killed the settlers have gone."

The big man sighed, and his shoulders dropped a little.

"I'm with you on that," he said. "Ever since we buried those poor people, it's like I've been feeling someone's eyeballs staring at the back of my neck. Not a pleasant sensation, no, sir."

They began a slow, careful walk to the northeast, following the path of one of the remnant trails that led off to the farmhouse a mile or two distant, where the rest of their companions had settled down for the night. It was a solid structure with good clear lines of fire all around. It would be easily defensible.

"We should have scouts," Adam said, glancing meaningfully at Sofia.

Miguel agreed with him, but aloud he said, "There are few of us to spare. Where would we look?"

Adam surprised him by answering, "We don't need to look everywhere. We just need to know that the route we're taking is safe."

Sofia confirmed her father's suspicions that the two teenagers had been discussing this issue by quickly following up on Adam's suggestion.

"That's right," she said as they reached the tree line at the edge of the clearing. The going became much tougher there. They did not have the night vision goggles, and the two men had agreed it would be reckless to use a torch that might be spotted many miles away. As long as the moon was out, they had just enough light to pick their way through the undergrowth, but whenever it disappeared behind a drift of cloud, they were forced to proceed much more carefully and slowly. The dogs, in contrast, bounded ahead, crashing through the long grass and occasionally tripping on a tree root without a care.

"It's worth considering," Randall said. "We probably should send riders ahead just to be sure."

"And who would these riders be?" Miguel wondered aloud.

"I'll go," said Adam.

"Me, too," Sofia added quickly.

The night brightened just perceptibly as a meteor streaked overhead. Miguel resisted the urge to stare at it, not wanting to ruin his night vision.

"I do not think so, Princesa," he said. "But you, Adam, you could ride with me if Cooper Aronson allowed it."

He braced himself for his daughter's protest, and it was not long in coming.

"That's not fair," she said just a little too loudly before continuing in a stage whisper. "I can ride and shoot as well as Adam, probably better. No, much better. Sorry, Adam, but it's true."

It was true, Miguel thought. Her performance in Crockett had confirmed that. With her hunting experience, she had all the natural makings of a scout. He often found her looking at the next horizon with binoculars or her Remington in hand. The trail boss in him saw the merit of her argument.

But there was no way he was going to have his only surviving daughter tracking the sorts of monsters responsible for the atrocity in Palestine. Adam was skilled enough to do that sort of work, and after the gunfight in Crockett, Miguel trusted him to keep his head.

The lad seemed most put out to have had his manly virtues dismissed by Sofia. Miguel could tell, even in the dark, that Adam was considering a wounded protest.

The cowboy smiled to himself.

Miss Sally would look all the more attractive to the Mormon boy now. Cooper Aronson sipped at the steaming mug of coffee. In the soft, guttering candlelight he looked as though he'd aged ten years in the short time Miguel had known him. His eyes stared out from sunken pits, and the cowboy could swear that deep lines and new crevasses scored his face. The Mormon leader stood at a cork-covered island bench with his hands wrapped around the chipped enamel coffee mug as though he were hugging it for comfort as much as for warmth. Only three candles burned in the kitchen, where Miguel, Ben Randall, Willem D'Age, and Aronson had gathered after a modest evening meal of salt pork and beans. All the rest had bunked down in their sleeping bags throughout the farmhouse after the Mormons had tended to the remains of one of the former residents.