Rusty’s backside tingled. Several times Andy had demonstrated that he possessed instincts beyond Rusty’s understanding, an ability to sense presences he could not see.

“I can’t just ride off and leave you by yourself.”

“But it is what you said. We talked much about it.”

“Talkin’ about it ahead of time is one thing. But it’s different when you get there and face havin’ to do it. I’ll always feel like I abandoned you.”

“Abandoned?” Andy puzzled over the meaning of the word. “You keep promise, is all.”

“Damned poor promise, the more I think about it.” Rusty looked again toward the buzzards. “Maybe we ought to ride over there and have a look. It may not be a buffalo kill after all.”

“I wish you turn back now.”

“Just a little farther, Andy.”

It was fully a mile to where the buzzards floated about. Two dark gray wolves skulked away as the horsemen approached. The wind carried an unmistakable smell of rotting flesh.

Scattered over a couple of hundred yards of ground were the leavings of a buffalo kill, heads, horns, intestines strung out by scavengers. Straight lines marked where travois had been used to haul the meat and hides. Rusty slapped at flies that buzzed around his face. “Let’s get away from here.”

They circled around upwind, away from the flies and the stench. “Looks like we’ve found your people. Or at least where they’ve been.”

“I find them easy now. Better you go.”

Rusty felt a catch in his throat as he faced Andy “This is a lot harder than I figured.” He offered his hand. “If you ever decide you want to change, you know where I live.”

Andy accepted his hand, then pointed southeastward where scrub timber lined a small creek. “You go to trees, hide ‘til dark.”

Rusty’s eyes burned as he turned away and touched spurs gently to Alamo’s hide. When he had first found Andy, he had no thought that he would ever become so attached to the boy. He had assumed that relatives would soon come and fetch Andy away, and that would be the end of it. Rusty was, after all, a bachelor lacking in experience helpful in raising a youngster beyond what he could remember of his own raising by Daddy Mike and Mother Dora. He tried not to look back, but he could not help it.

What he saw made his heart leap. Andy was racing toward him. Behind Andy, Comanche warriors were running their horses hard.

Andy was shouting at him, but the wind tore the words away. The message was plain enough: run for the timber. Rusty put Alamo into a lope as Andy drew abreast of him. He said, “Didn’t your spirits tell you about them?”

“Don’t talk. Run.”

“But they’re your people. What’re you runnin’ for?”