He led the two horses to within twenty yards of the fire. He shouted, “Hello the camp!”

Instantly several men jumped away from the campfire’s reflected light. Someone shouted back, “Who’s out there?”

“Just two of us. We’re white.”

“show yourselves, but come in slow.”

Andy could not see the weapons aimed at him, but he could feel them. He led the horses as near the fire as they would go. He raised both hands.

A voice demanded from the darkness, “Where’s your guns?”

“All I’ve got is a rifle.” He raised it so the speaker could see.

A man emerged from the night, into the flickering light. He carried a pistol aimed at Andy. “You talk white enough, but you both look Indian to me.”

Andy said, “There’s a reason. We got away from a Comanche camp.” He looked toward meat roasting over the fire. “The boy is awful hungry. That’s why we came in.”

The man’s suspicions were not yet satisfied. “You got names?”

“He’s Billy Gifford. Comanches stole him from his folks a little while back. Mine’s Andy Pickard. They took me when I wasn’t no bigger than he is.”

The man lowered the pistol. “Lift the boy down. You-all help yourselves to some buffalo haunch.”

Other men emerged from the darkness. Andy saw six altogether. They were a ragged bunch. If there was a comb or a razor in camp, it must have lain undisturbed for days in the bottom of a saddlebag. One man wore what remained of a Union Army coat. Another wore patched Confederate gray trousers. If nothing else, the outfit appeared to be politically neutral.

The one in gray complained, “Jake, we come to trade with the Comanches. They won’t take it kindly, us helpin’ these runaways.”

Andy said, “They don’t need to know about it. Me and Billy sure ain’t goin’ to tell them.”

The complainer said, “Indians got ways of knowin’ everything. Claim spirits come and whisper the news in their ear.”

Andy started to deny it but could not. Despite his years in the white man’s world and many earnest sermons by Preacher Webb, he had not become convinced that such spirits did not exist. He was almost certain he had felt their presence in certain sacred places.

Nothing about this place struck him as sacred, however. He said, “I doubt there’s any spirits watchin’ us here.”

Jake said, “We’ve got nothin’ against you boys. But you have to understand, we’re out here to try and strike a trade with the Indians. We can’t afford to stir them up.”

“Then just let us have a little somethin’ to eat, please sir, and we’ll be on our way. Nobodyil ever know we was here.”

The trader considered. “No, you’re here, and you’d just as well stay all night with us. No tellin’ what you might stumble into out in the dark.”

Andy was so intent on eating, and on watching Billy wolf down a big chunk of roast, that he paid little attention to the appearance of the camp. But as his appetite began to be satisfied, he looked around. He realized there were no wagons. A string of pack mules was tied to a rope picket line beyond the firelight. The packs lay on the ground in the middle of camp. From what he could see, they contained mostly bottles and jugs.