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and saw his house lit up with flames. He stood gut shot in his tracks and watched the embers and sparks floating all the way up and across the face of the moon.

Chapter 3

    H is home was a burning hell, and he could do nothing until morning light. Daybreak finally came and the sun showed over the horizon like a raw wound, soaking through and saturating the dark clouds until the sky was bloody red. He sat on a stump under the blood bay sky, staring into the smoldering pile of coals and ashes until the heat scorched his face. Pappy wasn’t to be found, the stock was all gone, and their good dog, Blue, lay at Odell’s feet with his throat cut and an arrow wound in his guts. Odell ran the poor, blind old mutt’s fur through his fingers and thought about Indians and Texas. He knew he was to blame for it all.
    Come full daylight, he found Pappy not in the charred ruins of the house, but in the woods along the river. They had drug him there and tied him to a little piss elm sapling. Odell couldn’t tell if they had shot his belly full of arrows before or after they tied him there. Pappy’s empty eye sockets stared at him, and he turned away and fell to his knees, crying.
    He was digging a grave under Pappy’s favorite cypress tree when a party of men rode up with the Prussian leading them. One of the men started to get down and help him dig, but Israel Wilson stopped him.
    â€œWe’ve no time for that. Those Comanches are putting miles on us while we sit here,” he said.
    â€œHelp me bury Pappy and I’ll ride with you,” Odell said.
    â€œWhat are you going to ride? The Comanches have taken all your stock,” the Prussian said.
    â€œSomebody can go back and fetch me a horse.”
    There were five men in the party, and all of them looked at Odell with hard, cold eyes. He knew they blamed him for Pappy’s death just as much as he did himself.
    â€œNo, we can’t wait. Those Comanches hit the Youngs’ place and ran off with their baby girl before they came here,” Israel said.
    â€œWhat about the rest of the Youngs?” Odell asked.
    The men passed a look between them before Israel answered. “They killed them all right inside their house, except for that oldest girl. We found her about halfway between their place and yours.”
    Odell didn’t need an explanation, and none of those who had seen her body were ever going to give one. People want to forget those kinds of things.
    â€œI’m coming with you. I’m going to kill them for what they did to Pappy.”
    â€œBoy . . .” the Prussian started to say.
    â€œI ain’t a boy.” All the hurt and anger began to well up in Odell, and he was ready to fight somebody, anybody. He needed to hurt another like he’d been hurt. He cocked his right fist and started for the Prussian.
    Israel shoved his horse in the way and looked down at Odell with a contemptuous smile. “Odell, this is a job for men.”
    Israel wheeled his horse and charged off before Odell could take a swing at him. The others followed, leaving Odell alone with the Prussian.
    â€œOdell, maybe you are still a boy. A man wouldn’t have left his grandfather alone with Comanches about,” the Prussian said.
    Odell leapt at him with both fists swinging wildly, but the Prussian shoved him down with a booted foot and spurred his big Kentucky gelding after the rest of them. Odell lay on his back and watched them all ride away. Dust, soot, and ashes caked his face, and he felt dirty outside and in—the kind of filth that he could never wash away. He would rather have died with Pappy than feel like he did right then.
    He stood and took up his pick again. He swung the tool with hard, fast licks, liking the feel of the impact jarring through his arms and shoulders. The packed earth gave way in big, pleasing chunks as he found a temporary victim for his wrath. It was slow work, picking some and then