Two buffalo bulls jumped up, snorted, and loped away in an awkward rocking gait, grumbling at the disturbance. Relieved, Tanner expelled a long breath. Rusty realized he had been holding it.

Tanner said, “At least it’ll give the sergeant somethin’ to write in his report. ‘Jumped two buffalo. Found no Indians.’”

“The day’s a long way from done. How do you know we won’t find any Indians?”

“If there’d been any around, they’d’ve already killed them two bulls for meat.”

Tanner’s professed confidence did not lessen Rusty’s watchfulness. He found himself looking to the horizon more than to the ground where any horse tracks might be. But he reasoned that sergeant Whitfield was watchful enough for both of them.

They camped on the south bank of the Red River. Whitfield detailed Tanner to make bread and Rusty to brew the coffee. Rusty dipped the pot into the river to fill it. Somehow the water looked a bit less muddy in the pot than it did out in the channel, though it still retained some of the red clay color.

Tanner saw Rusty’s uncertainty. “A little mud makes for stronger coffee. They say our bodies are made of clay anyhow. But if it bothers you, grow yourself a moustache like the sergeant’s. Then you can strain your coffee.”

Whitfield had started a fire. Rusty hung the pot on a short steel bar and looked at Tanner. “Did you ever have a serious thought in your life?”

“Sure. I’ve tried cryin’ and I’ve tried laughin’. I like laughin’ better.”

Sergeant Whitfield looked reproachfully at Tanner. “I want to hear you laugh someday when the Comanches swarm down on us like a bunch of hornets.”

Tanner turned to kneading dough, which had a faint reddish tinge from the river water he mixed with the flour. “You’ll be way too busy to listen to me.”

The meager supper of bread and salt pork and coffee left Rusty wondering how much Red River mud he had ingested and whether it might leave any lasting damage to his digestive system. He had been too hungry to notice if it had any distinctive flavor.

Sergeant Whitfield beckoned him a little distance away from the rest of the men. Whitfield seemed reluctant to broach his subject. “Ordinarily, I don’t ask a man about his politics. Who he votes for is his own business. But you know the people of Texas are votin’ right now as to whether or not they want to stay in the union.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“We won’t get a chance to vote out here, but just the same, we’ll be in the stew when the pot comes to a boil. You heard Colonel Dawkins. He’s just one of a great many that’s ready to breathe fire and brimstone after the vote is counted. It’s goin’ to be almighty important where every man stands.”