McAllen and Joshua rode up to the Torrance cabin. The rhythmic ringing of a blacksmith's hammer on iron stopped as they appeared, and McAllen saw Brax in the smitty, watching them. He got the distinct impression that Yancey's boy wasn't overjoyed to see him.

Such was not the case with Yancey, who always greeted McAllen like a long-lost brother. McAllen told him he wanted as many Black Jacks as could attend a meeting to congregate at the cabin in an hour's time. Hearing this, Yancey grew solemn. "This has to do with the Comanches, doesn't it?" McAllen said that it did. "I'll send Brax into town," replied Yancey, and went out to the smitty. When he returned, McAllen asked idly after Emily's whereabouts. She was down at the river, replied Yancey, supposedly checking the trotline for any catfish foolish enough to get themselves caught on a Torrance hook, but more likely sitting on a log lost in daydreams.

"Were I you," said McAllen, "I wouldn't let the women stray too far alone, at least for the time being."

Yancey nodded. "Aye, you're right as rain, John Henry. I'll—"

"I'll go get her," said McAllen.

Ordering Joshua to stay behind, he walked down to the Brazos. He wanted to be alone with Emily. Just as Yancey had suspected, she was sitting on a log that jutted out into the river, splashing the water with her bare feet as she gazed at the sunlight scintillating off the ripples and roils of the river's surface. McAllen moved quietly through the trees—it was second nature for him to move like a cat stalking prey—and she wasn't aware of his presence until he was almost upon her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and jumped off the log to stand in the shallows, the hem of her homespun skirt swirling around pale, slender calves. "Captain McAllen! I didn't hear you—"

"I'm sorry if I startled you. I came down to make sure you were all right."

"Thank you." Self-consciously, she brushed tangled auburn hair away from her cheek, wishing she had known McAllen was coming by to visit. She looked a mess, and had she known, she could have brushed out her hair and donned the Sunday calico dress.

"It is I who should thank you, Emily."

"What ever for?"

McAllen reached into the pocket of his coat and took out a handkerchief. This he unfolded to reveal the wildflower which she had secreted in his clothing weeks ago. Emily blushed furiously and could not look into his eyes.

"Oh, that," she said thickly, as though the act had been of so little consequence that she had completely forgotten about it.

For a moment McAllen was silent, and as Emily chanced a darting, sidelong glance at him, she saw that he was staring at the flower with an odd, indecipherable expression.

"No one has ever given me anything like this before," he said at last, and looked up to capture her gaze with his own.

Emily felt her heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird against her rib cage as a curious warmth diffused itself through her whole body. She didn't know what to say, afraid to say anything lest it be the wrong thing. McAllen stared at her a moment longer and then it seemed to her as though he abruptly made up his mind about something. Refolding the handkerchief with the flower still in it, being very careful as though the flower were some holy relic, he put it back into his pocket.

"You ought not to go too far from the house alone," he said.

"Why not?"

"I'm sure your father has told you about what happened in San Antonio."

"I'm just glad you weren't hurt." She added hastily, "And Uncle Yancey and Dr. Tice, too."

"Thing is, the Comanches are bound to strike back. And I don't want you getting hurt, Emily. So, for the time being, you'd be doing me a big favor if you stay within sight of the house when you're alone."

"I'll do anything you ask."

He glanced up and down the river. A wistful smile touched the hard lines of his face. "I know that's asking a lot. This is a beautiful place, and it's my favorite time of the year."

"Mine, too."

"Been a long, cold winter."

"The water's still a little cold. . . ."

He held out his hand to help her from the river, and the touch of his fingers sent an electric jolt through her body. Even when he relaxed his grip she held on tight.

"Captain. . ."

"If you're going to give me flowers you might as well call me John."

She blushed and wondered if she was dreaming, and thought she ought to pinch herself, but then decided not to, because if she was dreaming it was the most wonderful dream she'd ever had, and she didn't want to wake up, ever again.

"I just wish . . ." Suddenly she lost her nerve and blushed furiously.

"I wish things could be different, too," he said, reading her mind. That was easy, because they were of the same mind. "But we can't always have what we want, at least not right away."

Emily's hopes were dashed. Sensing her dismay, McAllen pulled her closer.

"Emily, in time things will be different. Please try to understand. I made a horrible mistake. Now I must try to undo what I've done. If you could just see your way clear to . . ."

They heard someone coming through the trees, and McAllen let go of her hand, and she took a discreet step away from him as Braxton Torrance came into view. He frowned at McAllen, and then, as he glanced suspiciously at Emily and saw the high color in her cheeks and the bright, slightly dazed look in her eyes, his frown deepened into a scowl.

"I just come back from town, Captain McAllen," he said. "Thought I'd wander down here and make sure nothing was . . . wrong."

McAllen smiled. "No, nothing's wrong. I was just asking Emily not to go off alone for the time being. Until we know what the Comanches are up to."

"Don't you worry about her, Captain. You can count on me to watch out for her."

McAllen looked at Emily. She looked down at her wet feet, at the black river mud between her toes.

"You do that, Brax," he said quietly. "I don't want anything to happen to her."

"Neither do I," countered Brax. "I aim to marry this gal someday soon."

"Braxton Torrence!" exclaimed Emily, aghast.

He looked as innocent as a baby. "You mean you ain't told the captain how we plan to get hitched?"

"We've planned no such thing!" she cried, her eyes pleading with McAllen to believe her. But McAllen was impassive. In despair, she fled up the slope in the direction of the cabin.

Brax gave McAllen a long, speculative look. "I am gonna marry her, Captain," he said, with a trace of belligerence.

McAllen nodded. "Well," he said, and that was all. He turned away and followed Emily to the cabin. By the time he got there Emily had sought refuge in her room. McAllen settled down on the porch with Yancey. They shared a jug of corn liquor and McAllen fired up a Cuban cigar, and they waited for the Black Jacks to answer their captain's summons.

They arrived in twos and threes or alone, and it wasn't long before all of them were present and accounted for. Cedric Cole had left his ferry, and Will Parton his church. George Scayne had put his wife in charge of the store, and A. G. Deckard had done the same with his tavern. Dr. Tice was there, of course. The last to come were those who owned farms on the outskirts of town—they arrived on horseback or, in a couple of cases, in wagons. But within the hour they were congregated in front of Yancey's cabin, some standing, others sitting on their heels, all watching Captain McAllen with a grim and silent intensity. They knew what their captain had to say would be important. He would not have wasted their time if it weren't.