The white man had much to answer for.

He had often thought upon Antelope’s warning that the boy’s red hair was bad medicine and could bring misfortune upon them all. True, the big fight had been a disaster for the Comanches. Buffalo Caller had almost died of a bullet wound and later had had to make his way afoot all the way from the battlefield to the encampment on the plains. Many a long and sleepless night, he had pondered Antelope’s warning and wondered if it might have been correct.

In the fight, Buffalo Caller had lost the scalp of the red-haired woman who had been the boy’s mother. He wished he could have burned it, for at times he felt its evil had followed him. He had encountered a few white people with red hair in the years since. He had drawn away from them as if they carried the spotted sickness. He had not considered killing them, for he feared the possibility that evil spirits dwelling within them might transfer themselves to him at the moment of their deaths. Shamans had said this could come to pass. A wise man did not risk the displeasure of malevolent spirits.

Blinking against the bite of dust, he looked toward the herd of horses and mules. He could not see the white boy they had taken. He had feared all along that one of the young warriors might take it in his head to kill the youngster as Antelope had tried to kill the other one long ago. That would be contrary to Buffalo Caller’s order, but the young men were not bound to obey if they chose otherwise. A war leader could not compel; he could only use his powers of persuasion and hope they were strong enough. He had given his approval for the young men to violate and then butcher the white woman in hope that spilling her blood would cool the fire in their own. She had been a burden anyway weeping all the time. How could white men expect to raise strong sons if the mothers were weak?

It had long been a Comanche observation that captive children should be separated from their mothers as soon as possible if they were to make a successful conversion to the ways of The People. Texan and Mexican mothers tended to exert an adverse influence. This boy, who appeared to be three or four summers old, had the chance to become a good warrior once his mettle had been tested. The young men had been quirting him at intervals and jabbing the points of their arrows into his skin to determine if he was of strong spirit. So far he seemed to be. He had cried a bit at first, then had grown sullen. This morning he had lashed out at a couple of his tormenters. Buffalo Caller took that as a good omen.

He put the bay into a lope to catch up and pass the herd. He noted with satisfaction that the captive boy appeared sound enough, riding in front of a young warrior who had suggested that he might take the lad as his brother. Buffalo Caller said, “He has borne up well. Do not let them torment him anymore.”