“I am white, but I am Comanche also. Why I not understand?”

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

They were a couple of hours short of the Monahan farm when Andy said, “Something moves, there.” He pointed to the west.

Rusty could not see anything. “Where?”

Andy pointed again. “Somewhere there. I feel it.”

“Feel it? You sure it’s not your imagination?”

Then Rusty saw horsemen straggle from a ragged row of trees a few hundred yards away. He reined up. “He’s right, Preacher. See them?”

Webb had his own reins drawn tight. “Not until just now.” He glanced at Andy with wonder. “Son, you’ve sure got sharp eyes.”

“Not see.” He touched his hand to his chest. “Feel it here.”

Rusty asked, “Indians?”

Webb frowned. “Can’t be sure at the distance.”

Andy said, “Not Indians. White.”

“If it’s holdup artists, we haven’t got much worth stealin’.”

Webb said, “We have three horses and a mule. For some, that would be enough.”

Rusty studied the terrain. It was open in all directions out to the trees. “If they come at us, this is a good place as any to stand them off.” He dismounted. “Come on, Andy, I’ll help you down.”

The boy seemed unperturbed. “We fight?”

“Not unless they bring a fight to us.” Rusty checked his rifle. Webb stood behind his horse, resting his own rifle across the saddle.

The horsemen hesitated briefly, perhaps discussing the situation, then moved cautiously across the open prairie. Rusty counted five. As they closed the distance he could see three blue uniforms. He lowered his rifle. “Soldiers. One’s hunched over like he’s hurt.”

Webb said, “Andy, you might ought to stick those braids under your hat. We didn’t bring you this far to have the army take you away from us.”

Two riders were in civilian clothes. They sat awkwardly, hands tied to their saddles. Two soldiers held rifles ready for action. The third straightened up with some difficulty. Rusty recognized the uniform of a lieutenant. He lowered his rifle and stepped forward.

“You-all come on in. We’re peaceful.”

The two enlisted men were black. One wore sergeant’s stripes. The officer’s dusty coat showed a dark bloodstain on the shoulder. A bulge indicated a heavy bandage beneath it. The lieutenant’s face was drained to a pale clay color.

Both prisoners were heavily bearded. Rusty looked a second time before he recognized them. “Pete Dawkins!” The other man was Dawkins’s running mate Scully.

The lieutenant glanced apprehensively toward the two enlisted men. He seemed reassured to see they had not relaxed their stance with the rifles. He asked Rusty, “You know these prisoners?” His cautious manner told Rusty it would be better to deny any acquaintance.

“I wish I could say I don’t. It’s been my bad luck to know them for several years.”

The officer eased a bit, though the two troopers remained stiffened for a possible fight.

Rusty asked, “What’ve they been up to this time?”

Cagily the officer said, “I hope you have no interest in setting them free. My men would drop you in a moment.”