Cold dread settled in the pit of Rusty’s stomach.

Andy led his brother to where Rusty sat. Rusty stood up, trying to look as if he had no concern. Steals the Ponies stepped close and lifted Rusty’s hat from his head. His eyes widened.

Rusty asked, “What’s he lookin’ at?”

“Your hair. It is red. My brother say red hair big medicine.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good for me. You save me. Maybe not good for my brother.”

“Tell him I don’t mean him any harm. Tell him I want to be his friend.” Rusty dropped his voice. “Tell him I want to get the hell away from here.” He did not like the look of the conference Tonkawa Killer was having with his adherents.

Steals the Ponies and Andy went into another conversation while Rusty watched their faces and tried to decide whether it meant good news or not.

Andy turned. “My brother and me take you out of camp. We ride with you ‘til you are safe from Tonkawa Killer.”

“Tell your brother I am much obliged. I’m ready to start any time he is.” Right now would not be too soon.

Steals the Ponies said something to one of the hunters. They brought up Rusty’s and Andy’s horses. Steals the Ponies made a motion for Rusty to mount. He did, quickly.

“Better get me my rifle, Andy.”

Andy fetched it but handed it to Steals the Ponies. “Better my brother hold it. Give back when all is good.”

Rusty felt naked and vulnerable without the rifle, but this was no time to bog down in details. “Sun’ll be gone pretty soon. I want to put a lot of miles behind me while it’s dark.”

As they started to leave camp, Steals the Ponies turned to shout something at Tonkawa Killer. Whatever he said, it drew a response of raw malice.

Rusty said, “Looks to me like those two are ready to kill one another.”

“Comanche never kill another Comanche.”

“Never?”

“Never. But Tonkawa Killer says I lie, cause him big shame. Says I am not Comanche. He glad to kill me. Glad to kill you, too. Only scared of my brother.”

“Tell your brother I hope he has a long and happy life.”

Rusty was relieved when he put the sight and smoky smell of the Indian camp behind him. He kept looking back, half expecting Tonkawa Killer to build his nerve and come in pursuit. He suspected Steals the Ponies had the same suspicion, for the Indian also kept watching their back trail.

They had ridden perhaps three miles, and the sun was at the horizon line, the shadows long and dark across the open buffalo prairie. Ahead lay the same narrow creek in which Rusty and Andy had taken refuge from the first set of hunters. The line of small timber looked black against the sun-gilded grass. Somehow Rusty felt that the creek was far enough from camp to be a safe haven. Beyond it, he should be all right.