“For you. We get to trees, I turn back and talk to them. Out here, they kill you first, then they talk.”

The timber was thin, for the creek was narrow and barely running. Rusty slid Alamo to a halt, jumped to the ground, and grabbed his rifle.

Andy looked with disfavor at the weapon. “You don’t shoot. They kill you sure.”

Rusty knew it would be futile to fight. He might knock down two or three, but they would have him in a minute. Still, he wanted them to know he could. He wanted each warrior to contemplate the possibility that he might be one of the unlucky two or three.

The Indians stopped short of the timber and spread out in a ragged line. Andy said again, “You don’t shoot. I go talk.”

“You better talk real good.”

Rusty could feel the pulse pounding in his neck. Dust choked him. He had to struggle for breath as he watched Andy ride out toward the Indians, one hand held high. The line contracted as the warriors drew back together to receive him. It soon became obvious that most recognized him. They greeted him as one lost and returned from the dead.

Rusty began to breathe easier. But it was one thing for them to accept Andy. He was a blood brother. Rusty was a blood enemy.

The conference continued awhile, then Andy turned and rode back toward Rusty. His face was grim. Rusty’s hopes sagged.

Andy regarded him a moment before he spoke. “I tell them what you do for me. They say they don’t kill you yet. They want council first.”

“What would you give for my chances?”

“Tonkawa Killer is very bad man. He wants to kill you now. Others say wait, talk to my brother. My brother will help.”

“I take it your brother’s not here, but Tonkawa Killer is.”

“My brother hunts. Will be in camp tonight.”

Rusty weighed his options and found them dismal. If he broke and ran he would be lucky to get two hundred yards. To fire into that bunch would amount to the same quick suicide.

“I’ll go along, I guess.”

“Give me rifle so they know you don’t fight.”

“The minute I turn loose of this rifle, I’m helpless.”

“You helpless now.” Andy reached out. Grudgingly Rusty handed him the weapon.

“You were right, Andy. I ought to’ve turned back yesterday. But I just couldn’t.”

“Not be scared. My brother fix.”

Don’t be scared. Easy to say for somebody who had never had to ride into a bunch of Comanche warriors with kill in their eyes. Rusty’s skin crawled as if worms burrowed under it. The warriors quickly closed around him. He picked out one who appeared the most hostile and looked directly into his black and glittering eyes, trying to stare him down. It did not work.