He blinked, trying in vain to clear his blurred vision. He sensed that a horseman was moving toward him. One of the Texans, coming back to kill him, he thought. He felt no fear, for the teibo could do nothing more to him. He was dying anyway.

The voice that called softly was not that of a white man. “Powva? Father?”

Steals the Ponies had found him. The young warrior dropped to the ground and knelt by Buffalo Caller’s side. He gave the wound a swift appraisal. “I am here to take care of you, Father.”

Buffalo Caller struggled to find voice. “It is too late. Even if I could ride, my horse has run away and left me.”

“We lost all the horses, Father, except the ones we rode. There will be other times and other horses.”

“For you, my son. Not for me. Our grandfathers are waiting for me.”

Steals the Ponies choked off a cry. It was not becoming for a grown son to weep in the presence of his father.

It was a hard thing to die, knowing his last mission had been a failure. But Buffalo Caller could feel the darkness coming over him, the long darkness from which there would be no waking. “You will keep fighting, Ner- too-ahr—son. Take my bow and my shield. Every time you fight the Texans, I will be with you.”

“I will fight them, Father. I will fight until they are gone or I am.”

Buffalo Caller found strength to raise his hand, to touch his son’s arm. “But beware the red-haired ranger. His medicine is stronger than mine. Stronger, perhaps, than yours.”

He sighed then, and the long sleep closed his eyes.

Steals the Ponies remained beside him long after the breath was gone and the strong heart had ceased to beat. He did not understand what his father had said about the ranger. Perhaps Buffalo Caller would come back in a vision sometime and explain.

As darkness came, Steals the Ponies took his father into his arms and lifted him up, laying him across his pony’s back. He heard a whisper of wind through the trees and thought for a moment it was the voice of Buffalo Caller, trying to reach him.

“What did you mean about the red-haired ranger?”

There was no answer. Head bowed in disappointment, Steals the Ponies realized he had heard only the wind after all.

Time had come to begin the journey. Time had come to take his father home.

BADGER

Boy

FOREWORD

One of the most dreaded hazards of Texas frontier life was capture by the Indians. It happened more often than history books might indicate. Comanches in particular often took women and children captive, though they usually killed men on the spot. Women and older girls not murdered outright were almost invariably raped. Whether they continued to live or not depended upon the mood of their captors. For a majority, life proved to be terrifying, and short.

Children had a better chance for survival. For one thing, the tribe was gradually shrinking in numbers because of lives lost in battle and in the dangerous hunt for buffalo. Captives helped make up for this decrease. Boys were looked upon as potential hunters and warriors. Girls would become warriors’ wives when they were old enough. In the meantime they were pressed into menial labor to help ease the work burden for Indian women.