He did not understand why white men had gone to war against one another, but the reasons were of no importance. What mattered was that the teibos were distracted by their own fight. Many white men had left the Texas settlements to join the war, leaving the countryside thinly defended. It had become easier for raiding parties to reenter their old hunting grounds and escape with whatever spoils they were able to garner along the way. Many settler families had abandoned homes on the leading edge of the frontier, retreating eastward to the relative safety of the older settlements. Others had gathered into makeshift forts for mutual protection, venturing out only in numbers sufficient for a meaningful defense.

Buffalo Caller hoped the white men’s war would go on forever. Perhaps The People might regain the lost portions of Comanchería. It was theirs by the sacred right of conquest. They had won it the honorable way, in war, wresting it from the hated Apaches and other claimants. They had not stolen it piecemeal like the white man, but boldly and swiftly at a high cost in blood. They had held it with lance, arrow, and club until the Americans had come swarming in, numerous as the ants and greedy as the fat hogs they brought with them.

He watched until the sun disappeared beyond the source of the broad, shallow river, for they would wait until darkness before crossing. Not once did he see any sign of white men. Lacking the bluecoat soldiers anymore, the Texans had only scattered roving groups belonging to a warrior society known as rangers. They could be ferocious when encountered, but with help from benevolent guardian spirits a raiding party could usually go around them. Buffalo Caller had always been careful to observe the requirements of his spirits and avoid their displeasure. Rarely had his medicine proven weak.

When darkness had swallowed the shadows and before the moon rose to magnify its brilliance in the water, he decided it was time to cross over. He felt no need to voice orders, for The People’s way was fully democratic. It was each warrior’s right either to follow the leader or to head off in his own direction. Buffalo Caller had never lacked for warriors eager to accompany him, however. Seldom did one of his raids fail to reward them with horses, and more often than not, their victories yielded a few scalps as well. It was always good to make the white men bleed for their perfidy.