The cattle rushed toward the fresh water, bawling and shoving. Cries from cowboys filled the air along with the sounds of bovine. "Don't let them rush it!" "Get those stragglers!" "Watch that you don't tip the chuck wagon into that wash!"

A little man in a flat brimmed hat and beard hauled up on the reins. "Tip the wagon?! Why, I've been driving a team long before you were you born, you whippersnapper!"

"Now, now, Wish, take it easy," a pleasant-faced youth with blue eyes said plaintively. "I'm just watching out for you, that's all."

"Just watching out for your stomach, that's what, 'cause who would feed y'all if I ended up smashed in a gully?"

"I reckon I could take a crack at it, Mr. Wishbone," a boyish voice chimed in earnestly.

"Shut up, Mushy!"

"Yessir, Mr. Wishbone. I'll be real quiet."

G.W. Wishbone rolled his eyes. "And you, Rowdy Yates, you better find me a suitable crossing if you want any fresh biscuits tonight!"

The cowboy grinned broadly. "Aw, Wish, since when have your biscuits ever been anything but?"

"Well." The man's bearded chin jutted another inch in the air. "That's more like it. Now, quit jawin' and get a move on!"

"Yes sir!" The lanky cowboy spurred his frisky sorrel forward, away from the herd, parallel to the gully where the creek ran.

It wasn't before long when Rowdy found what looked to be a nice place for the wagon to cross. It looked as though someone had knocked down the banks on both sides, a past trail drive maybe. He trotted Fox down to the creek to give the horse a much-deserved drink. Ol' Wish could wait a few minutes longer.

A snap of a branch behind him drew his eyes up from his horse and his hand to his gun. Heart hammering in his ears, he sighed in relief when he saw that it was only a rawboned mustang. Stepping out of the saddle, Rowdy reached out to the horse, surprised when it stood tamely. At this point he noticed a loose rope tied around the buckskin's neck. He recognized the style of knots instantly…Comanche! Rowdy gulped, suddenly anxious to be away. He turned back to Fox, intent to return to the herd and safety—

"Howdy."

Rowdy nearly jumped a foot in the air. There before him stood an unarmed white man. He was a few inches shorter than Rowdy and was roughly the same age. He relaxed a notch before answering. "Howdy yourself. Mister, you better get out of here. See this horse here?"

"Well, of course. What about him?"

The man did not seem to be concerned at all. Rowdy tried to explain the situation. "This horse looks to me to be a Comanche's. There's bound to be a buck that rides him nearby. If you want, you can follow me back to the herd I'm with. We need to warn them!"

"There's no need to worry, friend. This is in fact a Comanche's horse."

"How—how do you know that?" Rowdy was getting uneasy, like there were eyes on him. He looked around nervously.

"I know it because the Comanche is a friend of mine…and he's standing right there."

Rowdy whipped around. No wonder he felt he was being watched, because, sure enough, a Comanche brave stood at a short distance from him. Rowdy pulled his gun instantly. "Now, hold on, both of you. I don't know what's goin' on, but I think I'll feel a lot better if you both put your hands up in the air and step together."

The white man was standing in Rowdy's periphery, so he attempted to angle himself so he could see both of them clearly. "I don't want any trouble. Like I said, I'm with a herd. They're gonna come lookin' for me if I don't show up."

The white man raised his hands before stepping closer to the Comanche. "Now, who said anything about trouble? Me and my friend have been following this creek for days trying to keep from starving to death. We don't have but the one horse between us."

Rowdy didn't know if he should believe him, but that beguiling face was making it difficult to not, and despite the Comanche's muscular build, his face had a clear and unthreatening look. Rowdy was slightly surprised when the man spoke. "If it makes you feel any better, I haven't been with the Comanches for years…and my folks were white."

This Rowdy believed. The man really didn't have the face of a Comanche; the clothes and hair just made the rest of him look the part. "Well…if you wait here, I can go get my boss. He'll talk to you."

"Thank you," the shorter one said. "But I think we'll come along. Won't hurt Buck if we ride him double just for a short while, will it?"

"Reckon not, Chad."

The bigger man jumped up first before grabbing Chad's arm to help him up. "Lead on, friend," Chad said, his mouth fixed in charming smile like it was the only shape it knew how to make.

"What is Mr. Favor gonna say when I ride in with these two strays?"

"Where in the blue blazes did you find them?"

Rowdy winced. Yep, Mr. Favor wasn't exactly pleased. "Well, boss, I just couldn't just leave them out there. Besides, they're harmless."

"Harmless!"

"Well, yeah. They both had the drop on me, but they didn't do nothin'."

"You almost make me wish they had…," Mr. Favor muttered darkly. He took in the two strangers wolfing down some leftovers like they hadn't eaten in days…and maybe they really hadn't. He said to Rowdy, "You and your strays….Well, nothing can be done for it now. We are short handed. See if either of those…gentlemen know anything about herding beeves."

Rowdy grinned. "Thanks Mr. Favor, they'll do just fine."

"We'll see."

Rowdy went over to the two men. The smaller man, the one the other called Chad, had finished eating. Rowdy poured him a cup of coffee. "Thanks," the man said jovially. "Can't say the last time I had good coffee." He took a sip and grimaced. "Well, coffee, anyway."

"Wish sometimes don't clean out the grounds from the last pot. Says it makes the coffee go further. Just don't let him hear any whining or you'll be wearing that coffee instead of drinkin' it."

The two shared a light chuckle. Rowdy poured himself a cup and sat on a stump. He sipped at the brew, his blue eyes studying the two men. They were as different as night and day. Chad was classy, used fine English, and moved with an air of confidence that was common in people who had complete surety in themselves. He was wearing what appeared to have been a gambler's attire with fine slacks, a frilly shirt, and a silk vest. All were in terrible condition. A dapper hat sat on the back of his head, wavy brown-black peeking from under the crown. A week-old beard covered the man's face, but Rowdy could tell it was smooth and young without the lines common to men who spent time outside. This man had the mark of being a town dude, born and bred.

Anything said about Chad would essentially be the opposite if compared to his companion. Except for the fact that they appeared to be a similar age and their hair was almost the same color, these men had almost nothing in common. Wasápe, Rowdy thought his name was, was perhaps one of the most muscular men the cowboy had ever seen. The man's build reminded Rowdy of a poster for a circus man who could bend bands of steel. He wasn't particularly taller than average, at least in comparison to Rowdy himself, but he looked as though he probably outweighed any man in camp by at least 40 pounds of muscle. He was wearing typical Comanche regalia and a deadly knife in a sheath on one leg. His long hair was in two braids, giving any person the impression he was 100 percent red man. However, he himself had told Rowdy what the young man could plainly see now. That bronze skin was dark because of time outdoors, not bloodlines.

The man must have felt Rowdy's gaze, for their eyes met. Rowdy felt pulled into those eyes, so dark and mysterious. They were framed by fine lines that told of many long hours spent squinting in harsh Texas sun. If either of the two would make it as a working cowhand, this was probably the one.

They maintained eye contact for an immeasurable amount of time before someone said, "Alright, give it up, mister. Your eyes will dry up and turn to dust before you can get ol' 'Sápe to blink."

Rowdy jumped, startled, noticing Chad's grinning face. Rowdy rubbed his chest in a nervous gesture. "Uh, right. Mr. Favor wanted me to ask you what kind of experience y'all have."

Chad responded first. "Well, speaking for myself, I have not exactly spent much time in this type of work, but I consider myself to be an adequate rider and marksman." Chad did have a horseman's narrow hips and lean muscular build, and those slender fingers were like that of a gunman.

Rowdy nodded before turning to the other. "I reckon I don't have to ask about your skill with horses…but I have to ask how much experience you have with, uh…."

"I'm not much with guns, if that's what you're gettin' at," Wasápe said, coolly. "Funny how they don't encourage target practice out on the reservation."

Rowdy felt embarrassed again. "Well, nothin' like experience to teach a man." His mind made up, he fetched the account book from the wagon. "Y'all have to tell me your names, so I can put them in this here book." He squinted at them, suddenly uncertain. "You ain't wanted for nothin' are you?"

Chad laughed, maybe a bit too loudly. "No, nobody wants us for anything, right, pard?" Wasápe said nothing, his face like stone. "Heh, heh," Chad laughed, elbowing his friend in the side. "Quit teasing the man! We are the most law-abiding citizens this side of the Mississippi! Sign us up!"

Rowdy raised an eyebrow but flipped through the ledgers until he came to the crew roster, licking the pencil's end. "Your name is…."

"Chad Cooper, that's C-H-A-D C-O-O-P-E-R, pleased to meet you."

Rowdy mouthed the letters as he wrote them out. He looked up to Wasápe, but before the man could speak for himself, Chad butted in. "How would you spell your name, 'Sápe?"

The big man looked between the two that were staring at him expectantly. "I…don't rightly know. Never had cause to write it out before, not like I could, no-how."

Rowdy instantly felt bad for him, for he looked so dismayed. Chad rescued his friend, a moment which warmed Rowdy's heart. "Say, pard," Chad began, almost gently. "Remember how you were telling me that you recalled your old name, the one you had before you became a Comanche?" Wasápe nodded. "How about using that? I bet it would be a heck of a lot easier for poor Mr. Yates here to write."

"But Chad, I only can recollect the first part. Folks have family names, don't they? I ain't got one."

"That, my friend, is easy to fix. Out here in the wide open, people pick their names all the time."

"Don't seem right, just usin' some name that don't mean nothin'."

"Well, pick one that means something! I once knew this man who named himself after the town he was born in. Uh, 'Johnny…Yuma…?' Something like that."

Wasápe shook his head, deep in thought. "I gotta put something, mister," Rowdy said.

Wasápe looked up, his expression sad. "Make it Joe…Joe Riley."

"Joe Riley!" Chad exclaimed. "Where did that come from? Though I do like the sound of it."

"Joe's my real name, Chad. As for Riley…well, that was the family name of somebody I used to know."

"I bet it was a woman! I knew it all the time, Wasápe, I mean Joe, is a lady's man. Yessir!"

Rowdy ignored the ejaculating gambler and wrote the name in the ledger. "There," he turned the book around to face the newly named man. "How's that look?"

Joe Riley squinted down at the page. "Looks…right."

Gil Favor rubbed his chin in disgust. After a few weeks on the trail, the hands were due a trip into town. He hated letting these fools run off and waste their earnings, but what could he do? He watched the men as they gussied themselves up, combing their hair and breaking out clean shirts.

"Here I am, Mr. Favor." Gil's eyes were drawn forward to meet those of young Chad Cooper, the man Rowdy had found wandering with an enigmatic companion almost three weeks ago. Both men had surprisingly settled into the life as trail hands rather quickly, though not without a bit of trouble. The one called Joe Riley wasn't quick to anger, but when it came, an old silver-tipped grizzly didn't hardly have teeth as sharp. Cooper riled much more easily but could talk himself out of hairy situations with that silver tongue. The man in question was waiting expectantly in front of his boss, his weight shifting back and forth.

"Fifteen dollars, Cooper. If I were you, I'd spend that money on some trail clothes that actually fit you and a rig of your own so I don't have to worry about you losing one of mine. I'll spot you if the cost's too high until next payday."

Both of the new men had been using borrowed rifles and pistols for protection, but Favor figured they could find some suitable outfits for themselves. He doled out the greenbacks and watched the younger man's face light up. "Wishbone will accompanying you to be sure you head straight to the mercantile. Can't have your outfitting bankroll getting taken at the poker tables before you buy what you need."

Favor tried not to smile too obviously as Cooper's face fell. He glumly stuffed the money into his pocket before turning away. Last to receive money was Joe Riley, formerly known as Wasápe. He still looked very much like a Comanche, making Favor uneasy. Though they were a distance from Comanche territory, most folk had more than a general idea what the tribe looked like. There could be trouble in town. Favor decided to just come out and say what was on his mind. "Howdy, Riley. Got fifteen dollars coming. I reckon you heard what I told Cooper. Same goes for you…and I have some clothes you can borrow to wear into town so you won't get into any trouble…and a hat to cover that long hair."

Riley had come a long way since first joining up. At first the men had been distant, uneasy at his Indian looks. Soon, all of those feelings were trampled with the dust of the drive. Hard work drove men together. Besides, Joe, though at first guarded and quiet, had a keen sense of humor and could often be heard joking with Chad or Mushy, even with Wishbone. The old man had formed a fierce protective attitude toward Riley and would berate any of the other hands for giving him a hard time.

"That's alright, boss. I'll manage," Riley said. He looked relaxed about the whole thing, but Favor knew that it had been a long time since the boy had seen a real town.

"Alright, but Wishbone will be there if you need any help with anything."

Riley nodded before turning on his heel to follow after Cooper, that panther grace carrying his muscular frame silently over the dry ground.