Steals the Ponies said something to one of the hunters. They brought up Rusty’s and Andy’s horses. Steals the Ponies made a motion for Rusty to mount. He did, quickly.

“Better get me my rifle, Andy.”

Andy fetched it but handed it to Steals the Ponies. “Better my brother hold it. Give back when all is good.”

Rusty felt naked and vulnerable without the rifle, but this was no time to bog down in details. “Sun’ll be gone pretty soon. I want to put a lot of miles behind me while it’s dark.”

As they started to leave camp, Steals the Ponies turned to shout something at Tonkawa Killer. Whatever he said, it drew a response of raw malice.

Rusty said, “Looks to me like those two are ready to kill one another.”

“Comanche never kill another Comanche.”

“Never?”

“Never. But Tonkawa Killer says I lie, cause him big shame. Says I am not Comanche. He glad to kill me. Glad to kill you, too. Only scared of my brother.”

“Tell your brother I hope he has a long and happy life.”

Rusty was relieved when he put the sight and smoky smell of the Indian camp behind him. He kept looking back, half expecting Tonkawa Killer to build his nerve and come in pursuit. He suspected Steals the Ponies had the same suspicion, for the Indian also kept watching their back trail.

They had ridden perhaps three miles, and the sun was at the horizon line, the shadows long and dark across the open buffalo prairie. Ahead lay the same narrow creek in which Rusty and Andy had taken refuge from the first set of hunters. The line of small timber looked black against the sun-gilded grass. Somehow Rusty felt that the creek was far enough from camp to be a safe haven. Beyond it, he should be all right.

Steals the Ponies reined up and spoke sharply to Andy. He handed Rusty’s rifle to the boy, who passed it on to Rusty. Rusty saw alarm in Andy’s eyes, though so far he had seen no reason for it.

Four Comanches rode up out of the creek bottom and stopped in a line. At one end, Tonkawa Killer brandished a lance.

Evidently they had circled around without allowing themselves to be seen. Rusty shivered. “Looks like he’s not as afraid of your brother as you thought he was.”

Steals the Ponies said something. Tensely, Andy translated. “My brother cannot shoot Tonkawa Killer. You can.”

“There’s three more besides him.”

“They not fight. Come only to see.”

Rusty threw the breech open. He felt a jolt as he saw that the chamber was empty. One of the Comanches had removed the cartridge. He fumbled in his pocket for another.