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Eagle Man said something to him in his own tongue. McAllister replied with his hands in sign language. He would return at dawn tomorrow. Then he would go with Eagle Man to Iron Hand. Eagle Man looked annoyed and McAllister wondered wryly what a trip to the Comanches with this bloodthirsty-looking bunch would be like. It would be no picnic, he’d bet on that.
    He wheeled his horse and rode away down the creek. He traveled about a mile, stopped, drank deep, watered his animals and filled his canteen. Then he crossed over and rode about a mile out onto the plain. Thus he made pretty sure of some sort of a night’s sleep. The
canelo
would sniff anything out headed in their direction. He found a spot which would offer him a little protection against the wind that was starting to rise, unsaddled and staked the animals. He wanted them near to hand. On second thoughts, he put a long line on the
canelo
and tied the line to his left wrist. That would allow it to eat and at the same time help to prevent it from being stolen. He got in his blanket and catnapped through the night, rising on one elbow every now and then to listen.
    * * *
    He was up before dawn. He ate a little hard-tack, rolled his bedding and tied it behind the saddle. Then he rode to the creek, drank himself and watered the animals again, before he rode south along the edge of the creek toward the Comanchero camp. He reached it shortly after dawn when its inhabitants were starting to stir. He could see no sign of the Indians as he rode in.
    He found the
jefe
smoking against his wheel and he wondered if the man had slept there. He looked unwashed and obscene in the cold morning light. For protection against the chill wind that blew from the north, the man had dragged a moth-eaten buffalo robe around him. He watched McAllister cynically as he dismounted. McAllister was tempted to find a good reason for punching the man on his nose.
    â€œWhere are the Indians?” McAllister asked without preamble.
    The man shrugged.
    â€œHow am I to know? They were here. I do not see them now, so they will have gone. Where? I do not know. One day when they want to do business with me, they will return.”
    McAllister squatted. Near the next wagon were gathering the men with their spears and bows, eyeing him distrustfully. McAllister could smell their fear and suspicion. They reminded him of coyotes who would bravely attack the wounded buffalo calf, but would flee from it if it butted one of them.
    On second thoughts, he wondered if he wasn’t wrong. These people were go-betweens between two warring peoples. They survived by walking a tightrope, depending on the forebearance of both sides for their survival. If they put a foot wrong, both sides could kill them.
    â€œWhere did the Indians go?” McAllister urged. “You could make a guess.”
    â€œA guess that could cost me my life. You know the unwritten rules. The Comanchero has the confidence of Indian and settler alike.”
    â€œThe Comanchero has the confidence of nobody.”
    The man smiled and shrugged.
    â€œDid Eagle Man mention a white woman for sale?”
    â€œHe may have done.”
    â€œI have a fine rifle,” McAllister said.
    He let the statement hang in the air. It stayed there between the two of them while he filled and fired his battered pipe. He got the smoke going like a well-stoked chimney, settled himself cross-legged on the ground as if he had all the time in the world.
    The
jefe
was watching him through slitted eyes.
    â€œI am looking for a certain woman,” McAllister went on.
    â€œThe man who helps me find her could possess that fine weapon.”
    The little eyes gleamed.
    â€œThere would need to be ammunition for the rifle,” he said.
    McAllister nodded, puffing.
    â€œThere’s ammunition.”
    The
jefe
said: “It is not an easy matter. I know there are women with the bands, but there are many bands. I know that Iron Hand has three. The woman