Forrest dismounted on the right-hand side because of the wooden leg.

Billings complained, “It’s about time you got here. I can’t get this redheaded peckerwood to be any help.”

Forrest frowned. “I saw enough to know that this red-headed pecker wood saved your life, and with some risk to his own.” He leaned down to inspect the fallen animal.

Rusty said, “There’s still a little life in that horse, Sergeant. You’d best watch out for his hooves if he commences to kick.”

Straining together, Rusty and Forrest managed to raise the animal a little. Billings wriggled free just as the sergeant’s breath gave out and forced him to turn loose.

Forrest told Billings, “Better be sure that leg’s not broke.” His voice sounded hopeful.

Billings rubbed the limb and found it intact though skinned and bruised. He rebuked Rusty. “You ought to’ve shot that Indian good and proper the first time. He wouldn’t have killed my horse.” Still sitting on the ground, he jerked his head quickly from one side to the other, eyes wide with concern. Looking for Indians, Rusty supposed.

“What’ll I do now?” Billings demanded. “I’ve been set afoot.”

And we ought to leave you that way, Rusty thought. It’d do you a world of good, walking back to Belknap. “There’s several Indian ponies runnin’ loose. I’ll try to catch one for you.”

“Then don’t just stand there talking.” Billings arose shakily and limped to where the Indian lay. He picked up a painted bull-hide shield. With the Comanche’s own knife he cut a leather thong from around the warrior’s neck and removed a small leather pouch. Rusty knew it would be the Indian’s medicine bag, containing sanctified articles supposed to protect him from harm. They had brought him no luck today.

Billings cut two eagle feathers from the warrior’s braided hair. “Too bad he wasn’t wearing a headdress. That would look good hanging on my wall.”

Rusty reflected that Comanches did not often encumber themselves with full headdress on a hasty raid like this one appeared to be. Billings stuck the feathers into his hatband. Rusty hoped they were infested with lice. “I’ll see about catchin’ you a horse.”

Sergeant Forrest said, “I’ll go with you.”

Billings reacted with fright. “Don’t go off and leave me here alone.”

Rusty worked up a little saliva and spat dust from his mouth. “If any Indians show up, just lay down and play dead.’

Riding away, he told the sergeant, “I almost wish I’d left him and that Comanche to sort things out for theirselves.”

“Don’t expect gratitude. If anything, he’ll resent you more than he already does.”

“After I pulled his bacon out of the coals?”