Rusty was certain now. At least one of the riders had been with Dawkins when he had threatened Lon Monahan. He turned his attention to two more who moved up almost even with the colonel. They had been among the thieves who had stolen horses from the Tonkawas. One was the young man called Pete, who had urged the point rider to kill Rusty and move on. The other was the point rider himself, who could have shot Rusty but chose not to. The point rider’s eyes met Rusty’s and locked on them. Recognition was immediate, and so was sudden fear. The young thief surreptitiously shook his head, silently pleading that Rusty not give him away.

Burmeister said, “We saw but one band. They were Tonkawas with federal escort. They had just recovered horses stolen by white renegades.”

Rusty studied Dawkins, wondering if the colonel knew the truth or if the thieves had duped him. Nothing in the man’s expression gave a solid indication either way.

Dawkins said, “Did you have anything more than their word that the horses they took had been stolen?”

“The word of a federal officer.”

“Federal officer!” Dawkins spoke the words like a curse. “I had rather trust a gypsy horse trader.” He turned to the young man beside him, the one called Pete. “That wouldn’t be the same Indians you told me about, would it, son?”

The reply was so quick it overlapped the question. “No sir, Papa, the ones that chased us was sure as hell Comanches. And the horses they took was mine, bought and paid for over east. We wouldn’t lie to you.”

The young point rider looked again at Rusty, silently begging. The one called Pete carefully avoided Rusty’s gaze. That he had recognized Rusty was almost certain.

Dawkins said firmly, “I assume you intend to pursue the matter, Burmeister?”

“Patrols are out. They will find the trail if one there is, and we will pursue. Tell me where it happened.”

Pete proceeded to offer an ambitious lie. He placed the raid well to the east of the point where Rusty had encountered first the outlaws, then the Tonkawas. He was vague and uncertain when Burmeister asked him to describe the horses, their number and their brands. His excuse was that he had just recently bought them from a number of farmers and had not yet had time to become familiar with the individual animals.

The ranger had to maintain appearances, though the sarcasm in his questions made it clear that he saw through the hoax. He said, “Whoever took the horses, they are by now across the river. There it is forbidden for my men to go. Your friends can go to the federal officers and make a complaint.”

Rusty knew that was a polite way of closing the matter, for going to federal authorities was the last thing either Dawkins or the horse thieves would want to do.