"This dadgum sergeant is gonna get it, sooner or later," muttered the man.

"What was that, Bennett?"

"Uh, nothin', nothin' at all, Sarge," responded the man in his gravelly bass voice. On a patrol for the first time, ex-cattle rustler Reese Bennett rode beside his sergeant, a stiff, rule-abiding ex-cavalry officer. There were rumors circulating that this patrol was going to be his last before he was moved to Laredo to become the local captain. Reese didn't want to speculate. Parmalee would probably stay on duty as a sergeant just to give Reese grief. Instead of bunking inside out of the torrential spring rains like the rest of the rangers, Reese and Parmalee were out looking for Comanches. "You sure them reports are true, Sarge? I mean, there ain't been no Comanch spotted out this way in over a year."

"And how would you know this, Bennett? You just joined up a month ago."

"Well, I always wanted to be careful when crossing this territory before when I was…uh…driving cattle," Reese stammered. He had been set to hang but was offered a life in the Rangers instead. Now he wasn't so sure which was better.

"I know all about your previous life as a drover. But yes, no real sightings have been reported except for a few claims. That's the thing about these people out here. Live too long alone, they start jumping at shadows."

Reese nodded in agreement. The last homestead they had come across housed only one man, and he nearly shot their heads off before he who they were.

Parmalee squinted up at the sky. "Looks like it might rain again. Let's try to find some shelter."

Reese pulled at his jacket collar moodily. He was just starting to dry off! He wished he had a fellow private with which to commiserate, but he was stuck riding solo with the sergeant.

The two men cleared a rise just as the front came through. Spring storms could be unpredictable, so they were both heartened when the spied a little homestead lying below them. Their horses willingly trotted the last few yards to the front of the barn.

"Reese, put these horses in the barn. I'll go up and see if anybody's home."

Reese pushed the barn door open. It was almost pitch black inside, the combination of darkening skies and shuttered windows. He reluctantly entered with the horses. "Not that I'm scared of the dark, boy," he said to his horse as he tethered him to a nearby post. "It's just what's in the dark that scares me."

He could hear voices in the distance, Parmalee's and a woman's. Sticking his head out of the barn door, Reese caught the sergeant's eye, who sent him a permission-giving nod. Taking the initiative, Reese went ahead and started to unsaddle both horses. When he put the saddles over to the side, he noticed a lantern hanging on a nail. Fishing out a match, he lit the wick, grinning at the light spilling into the shadows. "That's better," he said to himself. He found two empty stalls and pulled the captain's horse into one, and then led his into the other. There was another horse in the next stall that whickered in greeting. He was an attractive, well-muscled bay. Reese loved animals of any kind, but horses especially. "Why, hello there, son," he said cheerfully. While looking over the wall at the gelding, he noticed a brush on the far wall of the bay's enclosure. Stepping into the stall, saying, "Whoa there, son," he grabbed the brush. The horse nickered and bumped him with his big, black nose. "Hey, you want brushed?" Reese obliged at ran the brush down the bay's neck. His laugh died in his throat when he reached the horse's shoulder. There, as plain as day, was the US cavalry brand.

Reese tried not to jump to conclusions, but there was no tangible reason for any civilian, even if retired military, to have a cavalry horse. There was nothing left to do but tell the sergeant. Putting the brush back where he found it, he ducked under the stall bar and made his way to the opening of the barn. He was nearly there when a shape suddenly materialized out of the shadows. Reese's hand immediately went to his gun, but the figure was too quick. Reese was knocked to the ground while at the same time his pistol was ripped from his grasp. Breathing heavily, he struggled to regain his feet, only to be pushed down again. Reese decided to just stay put until this dark figure either explained himself or made another move. Since the figure was silhouetted in the doorway, Reese could only gather one thing: this person was big. Broad shoulders and slightly over six feet, the man looked as though he was part bear.

"Well," Reese gasped out, his breath still haggard. "What are you waitin' on?"

The man stepped forward into the light of the lantern, and Reese gasped in shock. There before him was one of the largest Comanches he had ever seen. Though he looked to only be in his late teens or early twenties, the Indian was incredibly brawny. He was fully decked out in buckskin breeches and loin cloth, as well as knee-high moccasins. On his torso he was wearing a loose buckskin jacket, which hung open, revealing a muscular chest and several necklaces, some adorned with bones and teeth. Two braids, decorated with beads and colorful cloth, hung with the necklaces. One feather lay flat on his dark hair, its soft end pointed off to one side.

Reese had actually never seen an Indian so close up and personal, and yet he did not feel afraid. Rather, he and the young man stared at each other with open curiosity for at least a full minute. Reese nearly jumped out of his skin when the brave went down into a crouch. Even closer, Reese could see the Comanche's tan, unlined face, and round, unblinking brown eyes. These eyes squinted in what could be taken to be anger, causing Reese to stammer out, "I don't mean you no harm! I was just looking for some shelter, me an' my pard!" He thought it best to leave out the part that he and his "pard" were rangers.

The Indian looked at him skeptically, then opened his mouth to speak. Reese, not expecting to understand a word he said, immediately interrupted saying, "I don't speak Comanch—wait, what're you sayin'?"

The brave rolled his eyes—an action startlingly similar to a white man's—and started again. "I speak English. Probably better than you."

"Well I'll be bamboozled," Reese muttered, scratching his head. This Comanche spoke English with a perfect Texas accent! "How—"

Before he could have a chance to continue, several things happened at once. A noise was heard outside toward which the brave spun on his toes, standing in the same motion. In the same moment, Sergeant Parmalee appeared on one side of the door, his gun already firing. Reese's ears were ringing; the sounds of gunfire were amplified in the closed interior of the barn. Reese's yells of protest were complete lost in the foray. He started to get to his feet, but was knocked down once again when a heavy body landed on top of him.

Reese struggled to move under the Indian's bulk. He could hear the sergeant calling to him. "Bennett! Are you alright?" The brave was rolled off of the crushed ranger, allowing Reese to breathe again. "Bennett?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright, Sarge," Reese said as he sat up. "What did you have to do a thing like that for? He weren't doin' me no harm."

"He had a gun on you! I saw the whole thing." Sergeant Parmalee protested.

Reese was about to contradict this statement when he heard a load wail. A woman ran into the barn, quickly followed by two kids. "Wasápe!" they were all screaming repeatedly.

Reese got to his feet, halfway expecting to be knocked over again. Parmalee looked at him with slight alarm. "You've got blood on you, Ranger. Are you injured?"

"Naw, Sarge, must be his," Reese said sadly as he took in the scene before him. The woman was cradling the warrior's head in her lap, and all were crying.

Parmalee stepped closer to Reese. "What is going on? He was a Comanche, wasn't he?"

"Yessir, but the funny thing about it all, he—"

"Please," the woman interrupted, "help me! He's still alive!"

Parmalee, thoroughly confused, rushed to help the lady. "Let's get him up to the house. Bennett, grab his legs." Reese scrambled over, boggled by the turn of events. Staggering under the brave's weight, they carried him through the slimy mud of the yard, almost slipping and falling with their cargo more than once.

"Here," the woman gestured toward a cot against one wall close to the fire. The two men gratefully lowered their burden. The cot groaned at his dead weight. Reese stepped back out of the way as the woman looked over the young man. "Fool rangers," she said hotly, "stickin' their noses where they don't belong."

Parmalee wisely kept silent at this outbreak, Reese noted, and he decided to follow suit. The young girl elbowed past the two men, a bowl of hot water and some rags in her hands. "Excuse us, gentlemen," she growled in a tone similar to her mother's.

Sergeant Parmalee inclined his head toward the door. "Let's give the ladies some breathing room."

Reese followed him mutely. Once they were clear of the doorway, Parmalee turned toward Reese. "Bennett, everything is not what it seems here. What are two women and a boy doing out here with a Comanche brave?"

"About that, sir. I was tryin' ta tell you somethin' before they came in. That Comanch, he spoke Texican at me, sir, just as plain as we're talkin' right now."

"So he knows English. What of it?"

"No sir, I mean honest-to-goodness Texican. That feller talks like a born and raised white boy! Can't figure it," Reese finished and scratched the back of his head.

Parmalee questioned him further. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothin' in particular, jus' that he could speak English is all. That's when you came in, gun blazin'."

"What was supposed to do? There was a Comanche standing over you with a gun. Looked like what it looked like." Parmalee stuck his head back into the doorway, murmuring, "Looks like they're finishing up in there. I'll try to get things figured out."

Parmalee didn't specify whether Reese was supposed to wait outside or join him, so Reese compromised by standing just inside the doorway. He didn't want to miss out.

The sergeant started toward the women and the prone body of the Comanche, but was stopped when the boy stepped in front of him. Parmalee looked at him exasperatedly but stayed where he was. "Ma'am, I do wish you would explain the situation to me."

The woman was wiping her hands on a cloth. "It all seems plenty cut and dried to me, Ranger. You come here, acting like you own the place, and then start shootin' up my…son."

Reese couldn't see the Sergeant's face but could imagine the incredulity that was surely there. "Your son? But, how…?"

"I really don't think it's any of your business," the daughter chimed in. "He's my brother. Leave it at that."

Reese interjected his own argument. "You made it our business when put a horse with a US brand in your barn."

Parmalee gave Reese a quick glance who nodded quickly to confirm, but the woman's suddenly pale face gave undeniable testimony that his words were true. Parmalee turned back toward the woman and said, "Alright, I will overlook your first story as the ramblings of a lonely prairie woman if the next tale you tell is the right one. I am sure the cavalry would be very interested to hear it."

She stared in him in shock and worry but was snapped out of her trance when the brave moaned from the bed. She slumped onto a three legged stool next to the boy's head, which now had a slightly bloody bandage wrapped around it. "Fine," she said, wringing the cloth in her hands. "Idabelle, Joey, go outside and milk the cows." Any protest they had was silenced by one look. They left, both carrying wooden buckets. "There," she pointed toward the kitchen chairs, "sit." Reese and Parmalee sat, silent, waiting.

"My name is Ellen. My husband was named Joseph. Nigh on 10 years ago he was killed by a Comanche raidin' party. It happened just a month before my youngest was born. Me an' my girl were at my folk's house at the time, so we were spared. We came back to find the place burned and poor Joe just laying there on the ground, arrows stickin' out of him. We were grieved, to be sure, but what grieved me most was that my oldest, a boy of 9, was nowhere to be found. Our neighbors figured him to be taken captive to be adopted into the tribe." Her hand was rubbing the brave's arm, gently. "I laid awake every night just prayin' that boy was safe and loved, even if it were by some other woman besides me." She paused, her eyes fixed on the brave's face. "Then, as if the Lord answered, Wasápe appeared. He was lost, confused, and…he's the same age of my lost boy."

Parmalee leaned forward. "Ma'am, you can't honestly believe…."

She cut him off. "Yes, I know he's not my blood," she snapped. "You think a mother would forget the face of her own son? Not in a lifetime." She stroked the boy's head. "But he's just how I imagined he would look: tall, strong, brave. It all just fits so perfectly. It's like he found his way back to us."

"Ma'am, I understand how you feel, but there is a remarkable difference between your son and this boy, being that he is a Comanche and your son was—is not."

She glared down her nose at him. "Are you blind as well as dense, Ranger?" It was at this moment when Reese noticed that the sun was peeking through the clouds, causing a few rays to shine through the open window onto the brave's head. What he saw took him by surprise. The boy's presumably black hair was in actuality a dark brown with sunrays reflecting off lighter strands. The effect was not lost on Parmalee, for he said, "Oh…I see." A frown crossed his features. "However, this does not change the fact that he assaulted a Texas Ranger as well as stole a cavalry horse, which I assume he took when he jumped a reservation." He pulled his fugitive book out of his pocket. "In fact, a rather recent entry here describes a young buck who meets this one's description to a T." He stood, his 6'6" frame seeming to fill the room. "I'm afraid Ranger Bennett and I will have to take him, white or not."

Ellen's face blanched, then reddened. She too got up from her seat, an action that was mirrored by Reese. "Now see here, if you think I will let you drag off an injured man, you are ten kinds of crazy…."

"Fine," Parmalee said, and crossed the room in two strides to push her aside.

"What…," she sputtered.

"I wouldn't dream of having a man with such an injury on my conscious. That is why we will stay here until he recovers adequately. Then we will drag him off. But until that time…." Parmalee's handcuffs appeared from his pocket. He snapped one bracelet around the brave's wrist and the other around the frame of the cot. "This ought to hold him for now." He then relieved the prisoner of his knife and signaled Reese to remove the rifle from above the fireplace. Ignoring the protesting woman, Parmalee ordered Reese to follow him outside.

"Bennett, we'll take turns on guard duty. Soon as the buck can stand up without falling over we are going to the nearest army post we can find," Parmalee stated.

Reese nodded. "Yessir, Sarge. I'll go on in and sit with him now, if you like." Parmalee gave him the go ahead, so Reese cautiously reentered the cabin and moved a chair against the wall, facing the door. To his relief, the woman appeared to be elsewhere. The turn of events were all so confusing for him, so he was glad for a chance to just sit a spell and try to muddle through it all. However, the time seemed to stand still after just a few minutes of contemplation, so Reese pulled out his own copy of the fugitive handbook. Every ranger was assigned a book and was required to keep it up to date himself as well as study it frequently. Reese's was actually another ranger's copy who had recently "retired", so the entries were relatively current. Reese figured that with the recent war the crime rate would have been down during the war years. However, they were not, so it took him about 10 pages before he found a reference to the Comanche brave. "Huh," he remarked to no one in particular, "this was scratched in here close to two years ago." If he was the same Indian mentioned here, did this mean that he had been living with these folks all this time?

Reese pondered this for some time, but soon gave up on this as well. Thinking too long and hard made his head hurt. Looking through a few more pages, he crossed off a few he knew to be either captured or dead. Reaching the last page, his eyes fell on the last entry. It was dated only a month ago. It described a young man wanted for stage robbery. His appearance was similar to just about every other man in the book: dark, blackish hair; blue eyes; medium height; lean, hungry build. The description reminded Reese of himself, but this hombre was probably close to 15 years younger as well as from the Panhandle country, a place Reese had never been. He could hardly make out the handwriting of the fellow's name. He squinted and held the book a tad closer. "Jeff…Herger? Naw, can't be right…."

He looked up when he heard a sound, his hand going automatically toward his right hip. Through the door, he spotted the young boy peeping in. He smiled at the child, saying, "Well, hello there, sonny. What's your name?"

"Joey," he said, displaying a cross posture. He entered the cabin, going to a spot near the prone man's head. "This here's my brother, Wasápe. But when he was white he was called Joey, too."

"Two brothers named Joey? I guess they run out of names out here. Well, Joey is a fine name, no mistake."

The boy nodded his head before saying, "Are you going to take Wasápe away?"

Reese nodded his head a bit glumly. "I'm afraid I have to, Joey."

"But why? He never hurt nobody!"

"Not that he told you about, sonny, but he's a Comanche. That's what they do in their free time," Reese said. "You ought to know that."

"Since my pa was killed by them, is that what you mean?" Joey's eyes were full of fire. "They took my brother too, but they didn't kill him. And one day he's gonna come back!" He looked down at Wasápe. "Maybe he already has."

Reese tried to be stern and gentle at the same time. "I'm sorry, sonny, but no matter who this fella was before, he's Wasápe now. And Wasápe's a Comanche with an itchin' for killin' white folks, understand?"

"NO!" Joey yelled, "I don't believe you! He's the nicest brother in the whole world! You can't take him, I won't let you!"

At this moment, Ellen and Sergeant Parmalee entered. Reese could tell that they had been talking, for Ellen's face was red and puffy, like she'd been crying, and Parmalee looked as though he had just drank a gallon of alkali water. Joey's desperate eyes met his mother's. "Ma, tell 'em they can't take him away! Tell 'em!"

Ellen's hand came to rest on her boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, honey, but there ain't nothin' we can do. These rangers are just trying to do what's best for everybody, including Wasápe."

Parmalee kept a respectable distance and spoke to the boy. "Joey, you and your family have kept Wasápe a secret for a long time, which is very brave. He needed a home, and you were kind enough to let him in yours. But he had to stay a secret because you couldn't let your neighbors know about him, because they would get upset. Your mother has told me that she hasn't let any of your friends come over, not even for a little while, the whole time Wasápe has been here."

"Honey," Ellen interjected, "if anybody were to see Wasápe, he might get hurt. That's why he has to hide all the time and never gets to go anywhere. It was hurting him, Joey. He needs to be with other people besides us. He needs to go home."

"But this is his home!" Joey wailed, his little heart breaking. "I found him that day, and he could have killed me, but he didn't! That's because he's my—"

"No, Joey, he is like a brother, but your brother is dead. He's gone forever."

"You're lyin'! He is my brother, I tell you!" With that, he ran from the house. Ellen made to go after him, but then stopped, her hand over her mouth in grief. She sat down at the table. "Seems like just when things start goin' right for a spell, they just get a dozen times worse." She shook her head. "What was I thinking letting a white Comanche come into this family? Didn't I know something like this would happen?"

"Sarge," Reese said, "couldn't we just, uh, sort of overlook this little matter? I mean, this fella ain't exactly doin' any harm out here. We could just take the horse back and say we just found him wanderin' loose! And nobody'd have to know better."

Ellen smiled, but her eyes were sad. "Thank you for being so thoughtful, Mr. Bennett. You Rangers really aren't that bad. But Wasápe shouldn't have to spend his life hiding from the world. He should be free to roam and do what he pleases." She cautiously looked at Parmalee. "Sergeant, what will the army do to him?"

Parmalee leaned forward, his elbows on the back of a chair. "Well, ma'am, I suppose they will send him back to the reservation, but there might be some…punishment first."

Her back straightened abruptly. "Punishment! What do you mean?"

"Well, the facts don't lie, ma'am. He stole a horse and assaulted a soldier. The least I could expect would be...," he winced before saying, "…federal prison."

Both Ellen's and Reese's jaws dropped, but Reese knew he should not be so surprised. He was headed down a similar road before joining up with the Rangers. However, this just did not seem fair. As far as he was concerned, Wasápe's crime spree had ended just as it had started. "Sarge, will the state pen even take a Comanche buck?"

Parmalee nodded grimly. "It has been known to happen before, but as Miss Ellen has been so kind to point out, he is indeed white. So, it really doesn't matter."

After more discussion that mostly went in circles, the matter was put to rest. Parmalee and Reese were going to have to take Wasápe in, and more than likely he would be sentenced to jail time…if he was not hung. However, the court would more than likely go easy on him since he had been "brainwashed" by the Comanches.

Ellen stroked Wasápe's arm one last time before going outside to be alone. Parmalee watched her admiringly. "Quite a woman," he murmured. Then, turning toward Reese, he said, "Bennett, I'll take first watch. You go on out to the barn and get some shut eye."