Among them was Jed Hoskins. Whatever his shortcomings, Rusty decided, he was devoted to his family. Relieved men embraced wives and children. Rusty had no one there except Shanty. The old man limped out to meet him.

“Who’s that you got in the wagon, Mr. Rusty?”

“A boy by the name of Andy Pickard.”

Shanty’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “How come he’s dressed up like an Indian?”

Rusty explained. “We’re takin’ him home with us ‘til his leg mends, and ‘til we can get word to his kinfolks to come and fetch him.”

Tom Blessing had said he was fairly sure the boy’s father had relatives down on the lower Brazos River, somewhere around old San Felipe.

Shanty leaned over the wagon and reached in as if to test the binding that held Rusty’s rifle in place as a splint against the broken leg. The boy struck at him and shouted defensively. Shanty drew back. “He snaps like a young pup that’s been beat on.”

Rusty heard a familiar voice call his name. “Rusty Shannon! Damned if your hair ain’t got redder than it already was.”

Rusty knew the speaker before he turned and saw him. “Len Tanner, I thought you’d gone back home for good.”

The lanky former ranger grabbed Rusty’s hand so hard he made the knuckles hurt. “The trouble with home is that after you’ve been gone too long it ain’t home anymore.”

“How come you here at Tom Blessing’s?”

“Joined in with some fellers trackin’ Indians. This is where we ended up.” He peered into the wagon bed. “Just heard about your Indian boy. He don’t look so fierce.”

“Don’t lean in too close. He’s liable to take a chunk out of you.”

“How you goin’ to talk to him? You don’t speak Comanche.”

“He seems to recognize some words. I figure the language will gradually come back if we talk to him a lot.”

Tanner said, “I’m better at talkin’ than you are.”

Rusty could not argue with that. “Then come home with us, why don’t you?”

“Us?”

“Me and Shanty.” He pointed toward the black man. “He’s been stayin’ at my place.”

Tanner hesitated, then extended his hand. It was not common for white to shake hands with black. Old ways faded slowly.

Jed Hoskins walked up, his face solemn. “Shanty, I want to talk to you.”

Rusty stiffened, expecting trouble. He thought of his rifle, still tied to the boy’s broken leg. But he had his pistol on his hip.

Hoskins said to Shanty, “My wife told me what you done.”

Rusty prepared himself to step protectively in front of Shanty.

Shanty said, “I didn’t do nothin’ much.”

“Saved my young’uns. I’d call that a right much.”

Rusty stared in disbelief as Hoskins stuck out his hand toward the black man. Hoskins had a shamed look. “I’ve said some mean hard things agin you. I take back every one of them.”

Surprised, a little flustered, Shanty accepted the handshake.

Hoskins turned to Rusty. “Wife says my young’uns and some others got restless bein’ cooped up like chickens. They went outside to play and strayed off too far. All of a sudden a bunch of Comanches showed up. Of course they was mainly lookin’ for horses, but they’d take a scalp from a kid if they couldn’t get one from a grown man.