“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to.”

“ ‘Til the first Yankee soldiers show up. I’ve seen enough of them to last me awhile.”

Badger Boy felt strange lying in a bed that stood on legs. He stared up at a ceiling of wood instead of buffalo hide. It did not even have a smoke hole in the center like the tepees to which he was accustomed. He vaguely remembered having lived in a cabin much like this one. He conjured up a hazy image of hard-packed dirt floors, of climbing a stairway into a loft above an open dog run. And there had been people. He wished he could remember them better, but when he reached for them they faded like dust carried away on the wind.

He wanted to get up and move around, but his leg was immobilized by the splints the Texan shaman had tied against it to hold the broken bone together.

He knew the man must be some sort of shaman. A number of people had stood with him, heads bowed, speaking to whatever guardian spirits watched over the Texans. Badger Boy reasoned that theirs must be different from those of the Comanches. How could the same spirits serve both The People and their enemies?

He longed to escape this trap that had snared him, but his leg was tightly bound and so painful he could not move. He realized that if he untied the splints the leg would collapse under his weight. They had taken away his breechcloth and moccasins and had given him a long cotton shirt much too large. To him it resembled a woman’s dress, no fit garment for a fighting man.

His early fears had subsided, but he remained distrustful. Despite these Texans’ display of concern, it was possible they were holding him prisoner until they were ready to torture him to death, as he had seen Comanches ceremonially torture captives, especially Apaches. If this came to pass he was resolved not to cry out or let them see fear. He could be at least as brave as any Apache. He was determined to die with the dignity worthy of a warrior. Somehow, he felt that Steals the Ponies would know. Perhaps his adoptive father, Buffalo Caller, would look down from the spirit world and know, too.

The red-haired man who had captured him walked into the small room. Badger Boy had heard others call him Rusty. He had no idea what the name meant. He sought but did not find any sign of hostility in the man’s countenance. On the contrary, the Texan seemed worried about him. This was difficult to understand in an enemy.

Rusty said, “We’ll have dinner directly. You hungry?”

Badger Boy recognized some words here and there. He knew dinner meant food. He understood hungry. He reasoned that he had known the Texan language before he became a Comanche. Bits and pieces came back to him as he listened to the men talk. When no one was in the room he tried to speak the words to himself. Some came easily. Others twisted his tongue.