“You saw how he came at me. Damned savage, that’s what he is.”

Webb lifted Badger Boy to his feet and helped him fit the crutches beneath his arm. “The boy’s still confused. The Indians have had him since he was little.”

Pickard’s face was flushed with rage. “There was murder in his eyes. He’s past all salvation. Keep him around white folks and he’s apt to kill somebody.”

Rusty said, “You’ve got to give him time.”

Pickard picked up his hat and dusted it against his leg. “Time for what, to do murder? He’ll never change. Maybe we’d all be better off if you’d shot him in the first place and put him out of his misery.”

Tom Blessing seemed to swell up even larger than his natural large size. “We’ll have no talk about killin’. And this boy is your own kin!”

Pickard pointed. “Look at him. He ain’t white anymore, he’s got the killin’ heart of a Comanche. If he ever was any kin of mine, he ain’t no more.”

Anger flared in Rusty’s eyes. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not lettin’ you take him with you.”

“I don’t want to take him with me. Think I’d let him slit the throats of all my family? Or maybe ravage my daughters? And even if he didn’t, what would my neighbors think, me keepin’ a wild savage and callin’ him kin? I’d probably have to chain him up like a dog.”

Fists clenched, Rusty moved close enough to breathe in Pickard’s face. “Then maybe you’d better get in your wagon and go back where you came from.”

“I’ll do more than that. I’ll tell the bluecoat army about him. I’ll tell them to come get him and put him on the reservation where he belongs. He’ll never be nothin’ but a wild Indian.”

Webb and Tanner and Blessing all moved toward Pickard. He backed off, his hands raised defensively. His eyes cut from one man to another. “Four against one ain’t a fair deal.”

Rusty growled, “The others are stayin’ out of it. It’s just me and you, if you want it that way. The boy’s no animal to be put in a cage.”

“That’s just what he is, an animal.”

Badger Boy was amazed that the two men would threaten a fight over him. He had not understood all that was said, but he knew his uncle meant him no good and Rusty had come to his defense. That did not seem logical inasmuch as his uncle had a blood tie to him. This reinforced his long-held acceptance that Texans were a strange lot. Trying to make sense of them could give a man a headache.