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thousand miles, he thought, why not two thousand? Or three? The logistics were the same, it just took more time. As he sat on a ridge a mile and a half ahead of the herd, he turned in the saddle and watched the beeves flow up and over the last rise, oozing like mud. The cattle seemed almost playful, spurting ahead here and there, the herd changing shape like a ball of wax in the sun.
    But they were more than beeves. They were his past and his future. It was all he had on earth, that and a few hundred dollars for supplies. To feed his hands, buy ammunition, take care of whatever surprises might sneak up on them until they got where they were going, wherever the hell that was.
    Rafe was unsure, arguing they should head west to New Mexico, where they knew the army was buying beef. But Johnny wouldn’t hear of it. He trusted Rafe, loved him even. The old man was the closest thing he had to a father. But a man had to make his own decisions. That’s what being a man was all about. And that’s what got Teddy all twisted up, trying to listen to that damn Ellie and her Quaker nonsense.
    This was no place to be peaceful. The war hadtaught him that, and he’d seen nothing since it ended to change his mind. Ellie had softened Teddy, sapped his strength with all her nonsense about loving Indians as well as white men. You couldn’t do that. You couldn’t even think of them as human, if they were at all, because they’d cut your heart out and eat it raw if you gave them the chance.
    Ellie had almost gotten Tommy Dawson killed. Johnny was convinced of that. If she hadn’t filled Ted’s head with such plain horseshit, he wouldn’t have blinked an eye before killing that Comanche. But she had, and he did. And that was all there was to it.
    But the country would toughen Ted up again. Long after it chewed Ellie and her kind up and spat out the bones, Ted would still be there, because he knew how tough it was. He would see how foolish Ellie’s thinking was. If she lasted, if she lived, the country would change her, too. It would make her more like Teddy used to be, ought to be. If she didn’t, Teddy would be free and clear. Either way, he’d have his brother back.
    If he lived long enough.
    As the herd closed in on him, sweeping down the broad slope, painting the sky above it a dull brown, he wished to hell things could have been different. It would be good to know that Teddy was bringing up the rear, the way he always had, ever since they were kids. That’s when they firststarted calling him Drag Rider. It had stuck, and Teddy had always been happy with it. But not now. Teddy didn’t listen to him anymore. Teddy wanted to go his own way, live by his own rules. Maybe that’s what hurt the most, not having the final say anymore.
    He watched the herd draw closer, and knew that was only part of it. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gutted his brother, stripped off something he used to have. And that it could get them both killed.
    Better him than me, Johnny thought, as he wheeled his pony and started down to the floor of the next valley. And he hated himself for thinking that.
    “It’s your own damn fault, little brother,” he whispered. “Not mine.”
    And Johnny almost believed it.
    The day was empty. Texas stretched as far as Ted could see. And as far as he could see, it was empty. Hot and dry, but featureless, like hell without imagination. Sitting on the porch, he turned his attention to the rest of his life. From here, it looked as empty as Texas itself. Stretching out far enough that he couldn’t see the end, but end it would. In some ways it already had.
    The bottle of whiskey was two-thirds gone, and it hadn’t made him feel any better. Maybe the last third would make a difference. At least he wasn’t afraid to find out.
    He tilted the bottle up and took a long pull of the foul-tasting stuff. His taste ran more to beer, and little of that. He’d tried whiskey during the war, in Tennessee. It was