Tanner noticed. “He’s tryin’ to grin. Some people don’t think Indians have got any humor at all.”

Rusty said, “They just don’t know.”

“The trouble is, what an Indian is most apt to grin about don’t bode no good for a white man.”

Shanty was not smiling. “Preacher Webb wouldn’t like to come back and hear this boy usin’ mean language. We need to teach him proper so he’ll find favor in the eyes of the Lord.”

There was the Lord again, Badger Boy thought. If these Texans put so much store in Him, perhaps he should learn a little about Him, too. He needed all the gods and beneficent spirits he could summon, for he would require help to get away from here and return north where he belonged.

In time he more or less had the run of the place, within the limits imposed by his broken leg. He was able to get out of bed by himself, tuck the crutches beneath his arms, and go as far as the barn and livestock pens. He stayed away from the hog pen, for the mud-loving hogs had a smell like something four days dead. He saw that Rusty owned cattle, but those did not interest him. They were smaller and appeared more vulnerable than the buffalo. He found their meat less flavorful. Perhaps worst of all, they seemed dependent upon the Texans’ care. Buffalo did not depend upon anybody. They ranged proud and free. They were brother to The People, like the wolves and the other wild animals of the plains.

The horses interested him a great deal more, partly because he loved horses in general, but more importantly because they were his hope of getting away from here as soon as he healed enough to ride. He noted that Rusty’s favorite was a large black horse he called Alamo. He was not young, but he appeared sound, and strong enough to carry a rider all the way to Comanchena without stopping often for rest. Then there was the long-legged bay of Tanner’s. From conversation he had been able to understand, he gathered that Tanner had stolen it somehow from the blue-coated soldiers. That elevated Tanner’s standing in his eyes. A good horse thief was to be admired.

It pleased him to think how proud Steals the Ponies would be if Badger Boy came riding into camp on a fine Texan horse after having escaped from captivity. His brother might even stop calling him Badger Boy and give him a name befitting a man.

He leaned against the fence, staring northwestward, trying to visualize the way he and the other warriors had come. He had noted landmarks along the way, though a lot of the country had a monotonous sameness that led to confusion. He wondered if he could find his way home without getting lost.

A big worry would be the possibility of recapture, or even of being killed by the first whites who saw him. He had heard reports among The People that the white men had ended their long war against one another. He had understood enough talk by Rusty and the others to know it was true. He gathered that the warrior society known as rangers had been disbanded, which he considered especially fortunate. The People had always respected them more than the soldiers because when they engaged in a battle they clung like wildcats, with tooth and claw. The tall man Tanner talked about damnyankee soldiers, expected to arrive at any time. Badger Boy understood the word soldiers, but he was unsure about damnyankee. Tanner used the word as if it were an obscenity.