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same thing.”
    The captain thought a moment, then nodded.
    â€œAll right, men,” he said to those who had gathered about, “stand down. Go back to your tents.”
    He turned to Teague. “Go ahead and go with him, Sergeant,” he said. “We don’t want a run-in with the civilian authorities.”
    â€œWhat—you’re going to let me get railroaded by this kid!”
    â€œDon’t worry—we’ll have you out and back here by tonight.”
    Heyes stepped forward, eyed Robert coldly for having instigated such a ruckus, then took charge of Teague himself.

R EFLECTIONS
    7

    W ITH D AMON T EAGUE IN JAIL , R OBERT’S LIFE gradually began to flow again into its previous channels. But nothing would ever be the same again. The two preceding weeks, and what would result from them, would forever change him and mark out a destiny he never could have foreseen.
    Teague’s increasing belligerence on the way into the city caused Heyes and his men to regard him as a more serious threat than they had at first. By the time they reached police headquarters, he was nearly out of control, yelling and swearing wildly, vowing to kill the minister’s son and everyone else within earshot. Heyes put extra guards on him and ordered him locked up. What he had intended as a mere routine interrogation had turned ugly. If he was not quite yet prepared to take the boy’s side, neither was he going to send the man back to camp without looking into the thing further.
    He sent word back to the man’s captain that, owing to new developments, on which he did not elaborate, Sergeant Teague would not be returned to camp by nightfall but would be held pending a thorough investigation. Then he sent for the deacon who had been acting as his liaison with the church and the minister.
    While they were waiting, Robert asked if he could see the prisoner. Heyes thought a moment, then nodded.
    He led Robert toward the block of cells.
    â€œI’ll station a guard right outside the door,” said Heyes. “Yell if he tries anything. He’s pretty worked up.—And you had better let me have that Colt of yours before you go in.”
    Robert gave him the gun and followed the guard down the dark hall. Teague glanced up as the door opened. He had calmed down in the thirty minutes he had been sitting there.
    â€œSo . . . you’re the one they call the artist, eh, kid?” he said. “Guess you had us all fooled with that sketch pad of yours. What were you, a police informer all along?”
    â€œNo, just someone who wanted you brought to justice,” replied Robert.
    â€œWhat was it to you?”
    â€œI had my own personal stake in it.”
    â€œWhat stake? Who are you anyway? What’s your name, kid?”
    â€œRobert . . . Robert Paxton. Reverend Paxton is my father.”
    Teague laughed bitterly. “What do you know—a preacher’s kid carrying a gun and getting the drop on me.”
    He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t believe it . . . caught by a preacher’s kid! I should have taken care of you when I had the chance.”
    He kept shaking his head in disbelief, then began to grow angry again.
    â€œBut why, kid?” he said. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”
    â€œBecause I watched you kill an innocent girl!” Robert shot back angrily.
    â€œWhat are you talking about? I’ve never killed a girl in my life.”
    â€œWhat were you trying to do in that church, then?”
    â€œI was after the minister. I think I got him too. I hope his soul rots in hell.”
    â€œWhat do you have against him?”
    â€œHe’s a nigger lover and a traitor.”
    â€œHow dare you say such a thing! You’re the traitor . . . against everything this country stands for!”
    Teague jumped up from his bunk, his fist clenched, and took two quick steps forward. But then he seemed to think better of another