Augustus made no answer. He scooted a little closer to where Call sat and pulled his long coat up around his ears, as protection from the deep cold of the night.

Buffalo Hump had taught Blue Duck that the safest time to attack a white man, and a Texas Ranger particularly, was while the man was squatting to do his morning business. The whites were foolish in their choice of clothes; they wore tight trousers that slowed their movements when they squatted to shit. Blue Duck, like most braves, only wore leggins--even those he discarded unless it was bitter cold. The leggins didn't interfere with his movements, if he had to rise quickly. But a squatting white man was like a hobbled horse: you could put an arrow in him or even jump on him and cut his throat before he could get his pants up and run.

Blue Duck knew they had killed a ranger the morning before. He had seen the other men hacking out a shallow grave with their bowie knives. They even spent a long time gathering rocks and piling them on the grave, to protect the corpse; a foolish labor. Then they sang a death song of some kind over the rocks, and rode off.

As soon as the rangers were out of sight Blue Duck quickly scattered the rocks and pulled out the corpse--of course it was stiff as wood. He tied the corpse on his pony and followed the whites all day. He was alone. The other braves had spotted three antelope and had gone off to run them down. He doubted that they would catch up with the antelope, but he didn't try to stop them from leaving. There was more bravery in following the Texans alone. Perhaps he would be able to kill Gun In The Water, or even Big Horse Scull. After all, even Big Horse would have to shit sometime. Perhaps he could get him with an arrow, while he squatted.

That night, when the rangers camped, Blue Duck made a big circle around them, carrying the corpse. He wanted to put the dead ranger where the others would find him in the morning. First, though, he untied the corpse and began to hack it up. He scraped the icy scalp away from the skull. Then he cut off the man's privates and sliced open his body cavity. He pulled out the frozen organs and smashed the man's ribs with a big rock. He had with him a little axe that he had found in a burned-out farmhouse near the Brazos.

With the little axe he cut the man's feet off and threw them into the canyon, to assure that the ranger would be a cripple in the spirit world. Finally, with a single blow of the axe, he split open the man's skull. Then he shot three arrows into the man's legs--his arrows. He wanted the whites to know that he was Blue Duck, a warrior equal to his father, Buffalo Hump.

In the darkness he brought the hacked-up corpse as close to the ranger camp as he dared come. He didn't want them to ride away and miss it, so he put it near the horses. It was only an hour before dawn. Soon the rangers would be stumbling off to do their shitting. He would wait, a little distance away. Perhaps Big Horse would walk out, hoping to shit in private. If he came Blue Duck meant to wait until his pants were tight against his legs, before trying to kill him.

While it was still dark he walked over toward the canyon, to make sure his horse was still there.

Once while sneaking up on some Kiowa he had failed to secure his horse, a skittish pony.

The horse ran off, causing him to miss the battle. He had to walk all the way back to the Comanche camp, a humiliation he had not forgotten.

It was while returning to his horse that he saw Gun In The Water. The other one, Silver Hair McCrae, was walking back toward the camp, his shoulders hunched. It was cold and misty; the clouds of McCrae's breath were whiter than the mist. Blue Duck thought McCrae would surely see him, but McCrae was taken by a fit of coughing as he stumbled on toward the camp.

He was almost to his horse when he saw Gun In The Water walking along, a pretty rifle in his hands. Blue Duck immediately decided to kill him. Gun In The Water went into a little shallow gully near the edge of the camp and began to take down his pants.

It was then that Blue Duck made his mistake. He had a gun and a bow as well--he preferred the gun and was out of practice with the bow; it was a failing his father had often chided him about. His father still practiced every day, shooting arrows at prickly pear, or jackrabbits, or anything he thought might sharpen his aim.

Blue Duck knew that he could easily kill Gun In The Water with his gun; but he had not yet checked on his horse. If he fired a gun and his horse was not still there, the rangers could run him down and kill him. He thought he had better attempt to kill Gun In The Water with an arrow, which meant creeping a little closer. He crept a little closer and was just raising up to draw the bow when Gun In The Water, still squatting, brought up his rifle and shot him. Blue Duck shot his arrow just as the bullet struck him; the arrow missed completely, sailing over Gun In The Water's head.

The bullet had gone into his side, spilling blood down his leg, but Blue Duck could not pause to think about how badly he might be hurt.

He had to run for his life. Gun In The Water fired again and hit him again, this time only in the arm.

Blue Duck ran as fast as he could. He could hear the rangers yelling. Soon the great Buffalo Horse would be thundering after him. His horse was still there, and in a moment he was on him, clutching his rifle and his bow. He flailed at the horse and the horse ran well, but before he had gone many yards there was a shot and his horse fell.

Blue Duck was up at once--he saw that it was McCrae who had shot his horse. McCrae, mounted, was already in pursuit, and, just behind him, Blue Duck saw Scull, on his great steed.

Big Horse Scull was waving a big sword --x was known that he liked to kill with the sword, when circumstances allowed it.

Blue Duck ran for his life, embarrassed by his own carelessness. He knew that the whites would tell that his arrow had flown over Gun In The Water's head; Buffalo Hump would be dark in his displeasure. He raced along the edge of the canyon, looking for a place that he could go down but that a horse could not. The Buffalo Horse had already outrun McCrae, whose mount had come up lame. It was Big Horse Scull and the Buffalo Horse who were pounding down upon him.

Then, desperate, Blue Duck jumped--he had come to a place where the drop was not sheer. He jumped fifteen feet and rolled and rolled--the slope was slick with frost. He could not stop rolling but he held on to his weapons.

Bullets were hitting all around him, zinging off the frozen ground. But the depths of the canyon were still in darkness--the farther he rolled, the more the night protected him. A hard little rock gouged his ribs and then he slammed into a large boulder, stopping his roll. The shots had stopped. The rangers could no longer see him and had decided not to waste any more bullets. Blue Duck crawled behind the boulder, panting. He knew that Big Horse Scull had almost caught him.

He wasn't scared--he knew that even the Buffalo Horse could not follow him down the steep sides of the canyon--but he was out of breath and confused. When he could breathe a little better he stood up and satisfied himself that his wounds would not kill him. He heard the beat of wings and looked up to see a red hawk, flapping just above him, climbing into the air, higher and higher, toward the rim of the canyon. He wished he could become a hawk--then he could glide down into the canyon on hawk wings and drop right into the camp.