“They after us?”

“I don’t see a thing, not a buffalo, not even a prairie chicken.”

“I wish we had us a prairie chicken right now.”

“Eat what I gave you.”

He had to fight down a temptation to run the horses. Instinct told him to put as much distance behind them as possible, but they had a long way to go. It would not be done in a day, or even two. The horses had to be spared if they were to go all the way.

Once Andy saw half a dozen horsemen on the horizon. His pulse raced. He dropped down the side of a low hill and quickly dismounted. “Get down, Billy. Maybe they didn’t see us.”

“Indians? You think they’re after us?”

“Probably a huntin’ party, after buffalo. But they might settle for us.”

“If they’re Comanche, can’t you talk to them?”

“They might not be Comanche. And if they are, they may be friends of Fights with Bears.”

In a little while the riders were gone. Andy found himself sweating more than the afternoon sun would justify. He said, “Some people claim this country is empty. But they never rode across it hopin’ not to see anybody.”

At dusk Andy saw the light of a fire directly in his path.

“We’d better wait for night, then go around,” he said. “No tellin’ who that might be.”

Billy asked worriedly, “You think they’re lookin’ for us?”

“Not likely. But in the dark it’s hard to tell who your friends are.”

They rested the horses until the stars were out. Andy and Billy passed closely enough to smell the smoke of the campfire and of meat roasting over it. Billy said, “I sure am hungry.”

Andy was too, but he had learned long ago to ignore hunger when other considerations pressed harder. “We’ll get a-plenty to eat at the Monahan farm.”

“That’s still a long ways off.”

Andy heard laughter from the camp, and a voice raised in a shout. He brought Long Red to a stop and listened. He was almost certain he heard some words in English.

“Billy, those may be white men.”

“Let’s go see.”

“Not too fast. We’ll work our way up close and make sure.” Andy was uneasy. It did not seem reasonable to encounter white men up here in what was essentially a Comanche stronghold. Perhaps they were soldiers, making an extended scout. Or they could be frontier guards like Captain Burmeister’s ranger detachment.

He dismounted and led Long Red but motioned for Billy to stay mounted. Billy’s horse was too tall and Billy’s legs too short for him to mount without help. They halted fifty yards from the firelight. Listening intently, Andy discerned that the men were indeed speaking English.

By himself he might have moved on, hungry or not. But the boy had had little to eat all day except a bit of pemmican, which he had forced down. “Billy, we’re goin’ to take a chance. Let me do the talkin’.”