Tonkawa Killer made a loud shout and came charging. Rusty had trouble fishing out a cartridge while trying to watch the Comanche rushing at him. He saw the lance point bobbing, a dark scalp hanging from the shaft. He knew he was too slow.

He was aware of a swift movement beside him. Andy’s bowstring sang as an arrow flew. It made a dull thump driving into Tonkawa Killer’s chest.

The lance point dropped, digging into the ground. Tonkawa Killer was jerked half around, then toppled from his horse. The animal brushed by Rusty and ran on.

It happened so quickly that Rusty had time only to draw one sharp breath, then it was over. Tonkawa Killer lay threshing on the ground, fighting against death but rapidly losing. He shuddered and went still.

“My God, Andy.”

The three Comanches at the creek seemed ready to charge, but Steals the Ponies rode forward and spoke sharply. The argument was over almost before it began. Two of the Indians dismounted and picked up the body while the third caught and returned Tonkawa Killer’s horse. Casting hating glances at Andy and Rusty, they laid the lifeless warrior across the animal’s back and led him toward camp.

Steals the Ponies watched them closely, his eyes grave. Andy’s hands shook uncontrollably. He could not take his eyes from the small pool of blood where the downed warrior had lain. He had never killed a man. That he had done it now, and that the man he killed was Comanche, filled him with horror.

Steals the Ponies placed his hands on Andy’s shoulders. “It is an awful thing you have done, little brother.”

Andy wept. “He was about to kill Rusty.”

“Now his brothers must try to kill you. You chose a Texan over your own. From now on, you will be an outcast.”

“He took care of me. I could not let him die.”

“It is easy to watch an enemy die. It takes a brave man to stand aside and allow it to happen to a friend. But sometimes it must be done.”

“Rusty risked his life to bring me home.”

“This is no longer your home. It never can be again.”

“What can I do?”

“You were born white. We made you Comanche. Now you must be white again. By what name does your red-haired friend call you?”

“Andy. The name my mother and father gave me.”

“You are Badger Boy no more. You must be Andy now, and for however long you may live.”

Andy placed a hand against his heart. “I will always be Badger Boy. I will always be Comanche.”

Steals the Ponies embraced him. “To me you will always be Badger Boy. But to the others . . . it will be as if you never lived. You must never return here.”