“He said it was a sign from the spirits. The winnin’ ants was Comanche, he said. The losin’ ants was the Texans. Said pretty soon the Comanche nation was goin’ to rise up and take back everything the white men stole, clear to the edge of the big water. Then everything would be like it was in the old days when the Comanches drove the Apaches out.”

“I don’t reckon he said when that was goin’ to happen, seein’ as it ain’t yet?”

Andy sensed that Shanty was not taking the prediction seriously. “It’s bad luck to make fun of a medicine man. They say some can turn a man into a crow or a bullfrog, even a snake.”

“You ever seen it done?”

“No, but I’ve heard tell.”

“I don’t reckon you know a medicine man who can turn a black skin white? If I was white, maybe I could live over at my own place and not have to burden nobody.”

Andy brushed away two ants that started to crawl up on his moccasins. “No tellin’. Medicine men have a lot of power. They know how to reach spirits nobody else can talk to.”

Shanty frowned. “Listen at you, talkin’ about spirits and such. Preacher Webb’d be mighty disappointed. He’s taught you all about the Good Book and tried to help you put away them heathen notions.”

“Who’s to say they’re all wrong? I expect Preacher Webb is closer to the Lord than anybody I know, but when I was with The People I saw things he nor no other white man could explain. Not everybody talks to the Lord the same way. I’ll bet before your folks was brought to this country they talked to Him different than what you do.”

Shanty mused. “When I was a shirttail young’un, before I was sold off, I remember my granddaddy tellin’ about a far-off place way across the water. Said his daddy was a king before the slave catchers come. Said he fought the chains and took many a bad whippin’, but he never did give up the notion of bein’ a king. Died claimin’ he still was.”

“Then by blood rights you’d ought to be a king yourself.”

“King of what? A little old dirt farm that I dassn’t even go to unless I got somebody with me?” Shanty pointed to the ground. “If I was an ant—if my people was ants—they’d be the ones gettin’ whipped yonder, the ones with their heads bit off. And I’m afraid your medicine man was wrong about which ones was Comanche and which was white. It’s the Comanches that’s losin’. Or fixin’ to.”