The point rider asked, “You sure your kin ain’t in the federal army? Or maybe the ranger spy company up there?”

“I don’t know anybody in the army, or in any spy company either.” It was true that Rusty didn’t know anyone in the ranger company yet.

He strongly suspected these were Indian horses, stolen off the reservation. The threat of war had raised the price of horses enough to tempt even an honest man, much less one already inclined to be a thief. Rusty’s life might not be worth a brass peso if these men knew his true business. He made an effort to keep his hand still, not to let it move down toward the stock of his rifle. He doubted he would live to bring the weapon clear of leather.

“I don’t mean to hold you fellers up. You look like you’re in a hurry.”

The three men glanced at one another, indecisive. The last of the loose horses trotted past, two riders following. Another rider spurred up from far behind, his face flushed with excitement. “What the hell have you stopped for? They’re right behind us!” He pointed in the direction from which he had come.

That threw the others into a similar state of excitement. The point rider drew a pistol from his hip. He brought it up as if to aim it at Rusty, then changed his mind.

The man who had come up last shouted, “Shoot him, damn it, and let’s get out of here!”

The point rider hesitated. The other drew his pistol to do the chore for him. The point rider pushed between him and Rusty. He said, “They might hang us for horse stealin’, Pete. They’d sure as hell hang us for a killin’.” He stared hard at Rusty. “Reckon you can forget what we look like?”

The muzzle of the pistol was leveled on Rusty’s stomach. “I’ve already forgotten.”

He had not, however. The images of the man with the pistol and the one named Pete had burned themselves indelibly into his memory.

Pete looked back, his voice desperate. “We’d better let the horses go. We can’t save them and our scalps, too.”

Reluctantly the point man said, “All right, there’ll be more horses another time.” He turned back to Rusty. “I wouldn’t stay here if I was you. You’re fixin’ to meet up with a bunch of real mad Indians.”

Rusty’s anxiety over the horsemen was replaced by anxiety over what was coming next. He saw a thicket a couple of hundred yards away. “Don’t let me hold you back.”