Rusty frowned, studying the proposition. “In the long run this may be the wrong thing to do, but in the short run I can’t see any other way. Bein’ a captive on the reservation would be like dyin’ an inch at a time.”

“Sometimes you have to get through today the best you can and trust tomorrow to the Lord.”

Rusty looked toward his field. The crops were almost all in. “Won’t be much for somebody else to take care of if I’m gone for a while. Len, you’ve got nowhere to go. Wouldn’t you like to winter here?”

Tanner shrugged. “It’s better than campin’ in some brushy draw when the northers come down. But hadn’t you rather I’d come with you?”

“I’d rather you were here, watchin’ over the farm.”

Shanty said, “I ain’t in no hurry about movin’ back home. I can stay here with Mr. Tanner and look after my own place just the way I been doin’.”

Rusty nodded his gratitude. “I don’t know how long I may be gone.”

Tanner said, “It won’t matter. This placeil be waitin’ for you when you get back. Me and Shanty won’t let old Fowler Gaskin tote it away.”

In another week Webb removed the splints. “Test your weight real careful and trust in the crutches.”

Badger Boy was delighted. He found that he could move the knee a little. Though it caused pain, it was a welcome pain. He had feared that the leg might remain stiff forever. “Pretty soon no more crutches.”

“Don’t get in too big a hurry. Rome was not built in a day.”

Badger Boy wondered who Rome was.

Shanty and Tanner both grinned to see Badger Boy without the splints. Rusty was not smiling. If anything, he appeared regretful. “Why you not glad for me?” Badger Boy asked.

“I am, in a way. But I’m not anxious to see you leave us. I was hopin’ maybe you’d change your mind if you stayed here long enough.”

“My mind not change.”

Getting rid of the splints meant a change of clothes. Webb said, “He can wear somethin’ decent now instead of that long shirt.”

Badger Boy was ill at ease in the white-man shirt and trousers Rusty gave him. A floppy old hat dropped down to his ears and had to be stuffed out with strips of newspaper to fit comfortably on his head. He kept his moccasins because they fit his feet better than anything the men could offer.

Webb observed him with reserved satisfaction. “Except for the braids, he looks like a farmboy from anyplace. Nobody’d take him for a Comanche.”

“I am Comanche,” Badger Boy declared. “Clothes no change.” He turned to Rusty. “When we go?”

“Another week. Maybe two. We’ve got to know you can stand a long ride.”