“His head, his tail, they stand straight up.”

“I said you have to use a lot of imagination.” She wiped the slate and made a single vertical mark. “That’s the next letter, I.”

“Don’t look like nothin’.”

“I means me, myself. If you use your imagination, you can see your own picture in that letter.”

Andy shook his head. “Where my arms and legs?”

She said, “In the picture, you’re standin’ sideways.”

Andy heard Rusty chuckle. Preacher Webb was wrapping a clean cloth around a rope burn on Rusty’s right hand after having applied hog grease. Macy had been trying to teach Rusty how to use the reata in catching cattle. Rusty had thrown a loop around a young bull’s horns but had made the mistake of letting the rawhide rope play out through his hand.

Andy had learned that Preacher Webb was a medicine man of sorts, though he had none of the feathers and rattles and powders that tribal shamans used. He spoke no incantations beyond a simple “Lord willin’, that’ll get better. But your hand won’t fit a plow handle very good for a while.”

“Won’t be much plowin’ to do anyway with winter comin’ on. I expect I’ll spend most of my time gatherin’ unclaimed cattle like James has been doin’.”

Webb glanced toward Andy. “I hope you’ll spend some time teachin’ Andy to read and write. Josie has made a start.”

“I’ll do the best I can. When it comes to books, I’m only middlin’ myself.”

Webb said, “Teach him out of the Bible. That way he’ll learn two lessons at one time. I doubt he’s studied much religion where he’s been.”

Rusty replied, “The Comanches have religion. Not the same as you teach, but I guess it fits them all right.”

Webb’s wrinkles deepened. “Teach him anyHow. When he’s old enough, the Lordil show him what’s right.”

Andy wondered if that meant going on a vision quest. Among the Comanches, when a boy came of age he went out alone to seek guidance from guardian spirits, usually in a vision. Only when he had experienced such a vision could he be considered truly a man.

James Monahan burst through the front door, his face dark with trouble. “Rusty, we’re fixin’ to have company. Where’s your gun?”

Rusty looked quickly at Andy, then stepped toward his rifle leaning in a corner. “Comanches?”

Andy swallowed. They’ve come for me, he thought. He could imagine them cutting his throat for what he had done to Tonkawa Killer.