A small group of Indians ventured out to watch the carts pass. Andy saw no friendliness in their faces.

Martinez moved upstream a little ways from the Comanches. “We camp here,” he said. “Let them come to us. We do not wish to seem in a hurry to trade. They will expect too much.”

“They didn’t look all that glad to see us.”

“There is a bad mood in this camp. I can feel it.”

Andy guessed that something had gone wrong for the Indians. Perhaps there had been an argument over dividing the spoils, or worse, the raiders had lost a man or twro in skirmishes along the way.

Riding past the tepees, Andy had given each a moment’s careful scrutiny. “I did not see Billy anywhere. If he is here he must be tied up inside one of the tepees.” He wished he could search every one of them.

Martinez seemed to sense his thoughts. “Patience. I said from the first, he may not be here.”

“But if he isn’t, he has been. I can sense it.”

Martinez snorted. “Sense it? You think you can smell him, like a dog?”

“I’ve got a feelin’, that’s all.”

“Someday you will have a feeling that you are about to be killed, and you will be right. Patience. With patience, all things can be known.” Martinez looked back toward the Indian camp. His eyes revealed misgivings.

One of the cart men spoke to him in Spanish. Andy did not understand the words, but he knew the man was concerned about something. Martinez told Andy, “He says we should not stop here at all. But we will look the coward if we go on. You must never let the Comanche think you are coward.”

They finished making camp. Martinez looked apprehensively toward the tepees. “Maybe they do not come to trade at all. That might be best.”

“But if they don’t, How will we find out anything about Billy?” Martinez gave him no answer.

They had finished a meager supper when three warriors walked into camp. They walked silently around the two carts, peering inside without touching anything, then went to the dwindling campfire and seated themselves on the ground. They did not speak a word. In a short while others appeared, more or less repeating the motions of the first group. Several stared at Andy, evidently trying to figure out who or what he was, but they asked no questions and he offered no answers. The mood was sullen. Andy looked vainly to Martinez for guidance. Whatever the Mexican was thinking, he did not allow it to show in his face. He produced a pipe, stuffed the bowl with tobacco, lighted it, and handed it to the man sitting on the end. Each man took a couple of puffs and passed it on to the next.

They looked no friendlier.

With a combination of Comanche words and sign language, Martinez welcomed the men to camp and asked them what was their pleasure. Andy listened intently. He feared at first that he might have forgotten too much, but he found that he understood the talk. The gist was that most of these men had taken part in a raid that penetrated the Texas settlements,’ accumulating many horses and mules as well as other booty. They had returned to this place where their families waited. Dissension had broken out regarding division of the spoils, and this group had been left feeling robbed. A larger band had gone on with more than their share. These Comanches wanted to trade the mules and some of the horses.