Webb said, “There’s more on the way?”

“The alarm’s been sent out in all directions. There’ll be some rangin’ companies along, I expect.”

Several Victoria men stood in a circle, heads bowed, staring down at a man on the ground. It was evident that he was dead.

Shannon said, “Since we’ve got a preacher with us, I expect you-all would like some words spoke.”

One of the bystanders said, “We’d appreciate it mightily.”

Webb removed his hat, and the others followed suit. He said a brief prayer for the stranger who lay before him. One of the Victoria men said, “Pray that before we get through, we send most of them bloody-handed Comanches after him.”

Webb doubted the propriety of such a prayer, but at the moment, standing in the presence of death, he could think of no reply. Most of the Victoria men took solace in the fact that they appeared to have killed or wounded several Indians. It crossed Webb’s mind that he might pray for those too, but he dismissed the thought. The devil had sent them; the devil could have them.

The captain of the volunteers came forward. “I’d be pleased to have you men join us if you have no company of your own.”

Blessing was torn. “I ought to be seein’ about my sister.”

His son Tom placed a large hand on his father’s shoulder. “You go find Aunt Bess. Me and Bert and Jim’ll do the family’s share of the fightin’.”

The two brothers signaled agreement. Blessing cleared his throat and shook hands with his sons, each in turn. “I’ve always been proud of you boys. A man couldn’t’ve asked for better.” Shortly he rode away, toward whatever was left of Linnville.

Tom Blessing told the captain of the volunteers, “We got cousins in Gonzales. They’d be mighty put out if they was to miss the main fight. Reckon we’ve got time to go and fetch them?”

“You might run into Indians along the way.”

“It’ll be their own fault if they mess with us Blessings.”

The captain glanced toward the dust left by the departing Comanches. “ ‘Til the ranger companies show up, there aren’t enough of us here to do more than pester their rear guard a little. If you can gather up some more help, go with my blessings.”

Shannon said, “Me and the preacher’ll go with you, Tom. Just in case you do run into some Indians.” He glanced at Webb. “All right, Preacher?”

“You said it yourself: Who wants to get old and decrepit?”

CHAPTER

THREE

Riding at the rear of the long column, Buffalo Caller looked back toward the white men who trailed behind like wolves following a buffalo herd. Their pursuit had become something of a game—parry and thrust, feint and retreat—in an effort to draw warriors into a trap. After a couple of these episodes resulted in a few casualties, the Comanches had become slow about rising to the bait.

Buffalo Caller saw no reason such a superior force should play the white man’s game. The People had all the advantage. It appeared to him that the whites were trying to delay the Indian retreat by pecking at its edges. They probably hoped for reinforcements. He doubted that they could muster enough fighting men to mount any serious challenge against a force this strong. Should they try, it would only mean more scalps dangling from war lances, more celebration when The People were back on their home ground. Buffalo Caller would welcome a stiff fight. Linnville had been so easy he almost felt cheated.