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“Indigo, run get our father. Hurry!”
    A movement from slightly behind Swift’s left shoulder drew his attention. He discovered that a tawny-haired girl stood two feet away, a classroom pointer gripped in her hands. She looked prepared to skewer him with it. He nearly smiled again at the murderous expression in her wide blue eyes.
    “I’m not goin’! Send Peter!” she cried.
    “Indigo Nicole, do as I say! Find our father!”
    Swift guessed the girl to be about thirteen or fourteen years old, with a burnished tone to her skin that struck an almost breathtaking contrast to her hair and eyes. “Untamed” was the word she brought to mind, the impression underscored by her Comanche clothing, a loose-sleeved, beautifully beaded blouse, a flowing skirt, and fringed knee-high moccasins.
    Swift inched his nose back from the weaving knife the boy held. Now that he had seen the girl, it suddenly occurred to him who this youth resembled. Little wonder he knew how to use a knife.
    “Your father . . . Hunter of the Wolf?” Swift queried.
    The boy’s blue eyes darted from the girl back to Swift. “How’d you know his Comanche name?”
    “I’m an old friend.”
    “That’s a lie. My father wouldn’t have any doings with the likes of you. Indigo, git! If you don’t go right now, I’ll thrash you good, you hear?”
    The girl stood her ground. “And leave you alone? He’s a gunslinger, Chase. Anyone can see that. You’re no match for him!” She inched the pointer closer. “Peter, you go. And hurry! Tell our father Aunt Amy needs him!”
    Peter, a carrot-haired ten-year-old, shot around his desk and hurtled toward the door. Swift, more concerned about Amy than he was about meeting his maker at the hands of children, lowered his gaze. “If you don’t want me to touch her, Chase, you do something. Loosen her collar. Get her some water.”
    “You just mind your business,” the boy ordered. He directed a concerned glance at Amy’s chalky face and swallowed. “My father will be here shortly. Time enough then to tend Aunt Amy. You best be figuring what you’ll say to him. He doesn’t cotton to outlaws coming here.”
    Too late, Swift realized he did look like an outlaw, dressed as he was, which explained the hostile reception and Amy’s fainting dead away at the sight of him. He sensed that the other children had pressed closer, frightened for their teacher. The little girl was still sobbing, swallowing the sounds now so they erupted through her nose.
    Swift sighed. “Does the name Swift Antelope sound familiar to you?”
    The boy’s face tightened. For the first time he began to look uncertain. “What if it does?”
    “Because I am Swift Antelope.”
    The girl holding the pointer inched sideways to study Swift’s face, and after getting a good look, she gasped. “Oh lands, it is Swift Antelope, Chase. He’s the man in the sketch.”
    “He isn’t, either,” Chase snapped, but even as he spoke he gave Swift a closer study. “Well, maybe he resembles him a little. That doesn’t mean nothing. He’s got a scar on his face. Swift don’t.”
    “He could have acquired a scar, porridge brains.” The girl lowered her pointer slowly. “Hein ein mahsu-ite?” she asked in rapid Comanche.
    Hearing the language of his childhood made Swift’s heart catch. “I want to take care of your aunt. After that, receiving the proper welcome of a trusted friend would be nice.”
    “You see! He understands Comanche!”
    Sensing the boy’s growing uncertainty, Swift bent back over to Amy to unfasten the collar of her dress. Peeling back the cloth, he glanced up at the girl. “Bring me some water.”
    Indigo tossed aside her weapon and ran over to a large jug that stood in the corner. The sobbing little girl made a wet, choked sound, and cried, “I want my ma.”
    Indigo flashed her a glance, her pretty face softening. “Don’t cry, Lee Ann. Miss Amy just fainted. She’s going to be fine.”
    Chase inched closer to