Badger Boy sensed that Rusty continued to hope he would change his mind and stay. But when the north wind blew at night he imagined he could hear the voices of his People, calling. Nothing was going to change his mind.

Three saddled horses and a pack mule stood waiting. Rusty shook hands with Shanty, then Tanner. “In case somethin’ drastic comes up, Len, you know where I’ll be.”

Tanner smiled. “Tell them Monahan girls Len Tanner said howdy. And kiss them for me, if you’ve got the nerve.”

The Monahan girls. Mention of them brought the image of Geneva, and the pain that went with it. “Kissin’ the girls is more in your department.”

Shanty was somber. “Be watchful, Andy, and take care of yourself.”

Tanner gripped the boy’s hand. “You ever get tired of that Indian life, come see me. There’s lots more things I can teach you.”

“Damn betcha.”

Webb said dryly, “I think you may have taught him too much already.”

Rusty was able to follow a well-defined wagon trail for better than half the day, but then he had to turn off of it when it shifted due westward. He angled across country, toward the northwest.

Webb rode alongside him, Andy trailing a little ways behind, Indian style. Webb said, “Years ago, the first time you ever rode with the volunteers, we followed Indian raiders along this same route.”

Rusty nodded solemnly. “That’s right. We camped for the night yonder where the trail crosses the creek. But we’re not stoppin’ there this time. I’ve got another place in mind for tonight’s camp.”

Webb’s voice became anxious. “You sure you know what you’re doin’?”

“I’m takin’ a chance. He’s been havin’ trouble rememberin’. This may jog his memory.”

“Some memories are best left buried.”

“Not when you need them to tell you who you are.”

Webb shook his head in doubt.

For a time Rusty feared darkness might catch them before they reached the place he was aiming for, but then he saw the line of small trees and knew he had reached the creek crossing he remembered with such terrible vividness.

Andy had sat slumped in the saddle, looking as if he might even be dozing. Now he sat up straight, looking around with serious interest. “This place. I think I been here.”

He pointed to a tree that apparently had been bent out of shape as a sapling and had grown crookedly into something like a question mark. “That tree. I remember.”

“One tree looks about like another.”

“Not that one.” Badger Boy’s face became increasingly grave. “Bad place.”

“Bad? How so?”

“I don’t know. Feel bad spirits here. Damn bad.”

Preacher Webb frowned. “Fanner’s teachings had left an indelible mark on the boy’s speech.

Rusty said, “We’ll camp here for the night.”

The lad’s eyes looked fearful. “Something happen here. Something bad.”