“Tonkawa Killer! Where is my brother?”

Tonkawa Killer sat up straight and defiant on his horse. “The last time I saw him, he was running away.”

Angrily Steals the Ponies pushed his mount against Tonkawa Killer’s, forcing the warrior to back away. “You lie! He would not run.”

“I told you many times, he was never one of us. He is a Texan. Perhaps he ran to the Texans.”

“He would not do that. Never would he do that.” Steals the Ponies swept the other horse guards with eyes fierce as an eagle’s. “Did anyone else see him? Did anyone see him run away?”

No one answered. Most looked off as if he were lashing them with a whip. He felt fire in his face. He would lash them if he had something more formidable than a quirt.

“Perhaps you let the Texans kill him, and you did nothing to help.”

Tonkawa Killer remained defiant. “Go look for yourself if you do not believe us.”

The rest of the warriors arrived with their six horses. Steals the Ponies chewed on his anger a minute. “Go on, the rest of you. See if you can keep these horses, at least. I am going to look for my brother.”

Tonkawa Killer said, “Look for him in a Texan lodge, among his true brothers.” His tone was charged with contempt.

Heart heavy, Steals the Ponies began backtracking the horse guard’s line of retreat. He was aware of the danger that he might suddenly confront Texans doing the same thing in a reverse direction, but he had no choice. He must take that risk.

After a while he saw a horse grazing alone. Holding his breath until his lungs burned, he closed the distance quickly. He recognized the roan Badger Boy had been riding. The horse looked up, alert ears pointed forward.

Steals the Ponies grabbed the trailing rein, then circled the roan, looking for dried blood that might indicate his brother had been shot. He saw none. That raised his hopes a little. His anxious gaze scanned the countryside, searching for Badger Boy.

Shamans sometimes claimed they had heard animals talk, but Steals the Ponies never had. He wished the roan could talk to him now.

“Where is he? Where did you leave him?”

The roan tried to lower its head to graze again, but Steals the Ponies held the rein too closely. “You will lead me back to where you lost him.”

He tried to pick up the roan’s trail, but it was lost amid the tracks of so many others. He reasoned that all had come more or less the same way, so he followed the broader trail. He checked every brush motte, thinking a wounded Badger Boy might have dragged himself to the shade. He found nothing.

He came finally to a set of wagon tracks. Boot marks and crushed grass indicated that several men had moved around afoot. The wagon had circled and retreated in the same general direction by which it had come. He thought it probably was the one he had seen earlier, carrying some wounded Texan.