Andy was reminded how formidable distances could be across the high plains. Movement had always been slow when the pace was set by horses dragging travois loaded down with camp equipment and folded tepee skins. Plodding ox teams made it equally slow now. Much of the time he was hard put to see landmarks. The prairie had a gentle rolling character, the seasoned grass short and near golden in the sun. He sensed that Martinez knew where he was going despite the sameness of the landscape, mile after mile. Now and again Andy saw wheel ruts cut during some long-forgotten rainy spell, but these would quickly disappear. Even more rarely he would see a horseman or two at long distance. They vanished like wraiths.

Toward evening the little caravan reached a small stream. Andy tried in vain to remember if he had been there before. One small watercourse looked much the same as another. They made camp, and before long a half-dozen Kiowas appeared as suddenly as if they had risen up from the ground. Using sign language and a few Kiowa words he knew, Martinez welcomed them to camp.

They sat and smoked around the fire, using it for ceremony but remaining back far enough not to be made uncomfortable by its heat. Andy quickly discerned that the Kiowas had little to trade, but nevertheless Martinez passed out a few cheap gifts, mostly small mirrors and shiny metal figures. One of the Indians had an ancient rifle but explained through motions that the hammer was broken. Martinez spoke in Spanish to one of the cart men, who took the rifle and examined it. Soon he was filing a replacement part from a piece of steel.

Andy wondered at Martinez’s show of generosity when he had nothing evident to gain. The Comanchero told him he had much to learn if he should ever decide to become a merchant. “Next time they may have something to trade. They will remember us.”

The Kiowas stayed to supper. By then the cart man had the rifle ready. He fired it once to demonstrate that it was again serviceable, though it missed its target by at least a foot. Andy saw that the sight was bent.

“Are you goin’ to get him to fix that?” he asked Martinez.

The trader shook his head. “If they shot at you, would you want it fixed? They are happy enough that it fires.”

“When are you goin’ to ask them if they’ve seen some Comanches with a boy captive?”

“In time. With Indians one does not rush, or have you forgotten?”

Andy decided he had forgotten much. He had become accustomed to Texans’ lack of ceremony when taking care of business. Like them, he wanted to get to the red meat first and handle the amenities later.