The two Comanches sang all night and in the morning took pains to paint themselves correctly.

They wanted to look like proud Comanche warriors when they rode into the camp amid the Yellow Cliffso, the camp of the hundred caves, where Ahumado had his stronghold.

Kicking Wolf was just about to mount the Buffalo Horse when he felt a change come. The sun had not yet struck the cliffso to the south; they were still filled with blue light. Three Birds had just finished painting himself when he felt the change.

Sometimes, hours before a storm, the air would begin to change, though there was no sign of anything to fear.

That was how the air changed in the long canyon.

"I think he is here," Kicking Wolf said, coming over to Three Birds.

Just then Three Birds saw a rattlesnake without rattles going under a rock near where they had their blankets. He knew then that Ahumado must be near. He wondered if Ahumado's powers were such that he could turn himself into a snake and come near to spy on them. It might even have been Ahumado who crawled under the rock near where the blankets were. He didn't mention his suspicion to Kicking Wolf, though--Kicking Wolf didn't believe that people could turn themselves into animals, or vice versa, though he admitted that such things might have been possible in the old days, when the spirits of people had been more friendly with those of animals.

Then the Buffalo Horse snorted, and swung his head. He looked around the canyon, but didn't move.

"I don't want to camp in any more canyons," Three Birds observed--he was about to outline his objections when he turned and saw an old man sitting on a high rock a little distance behind them. The rock and the man were in shadow still; it was hard to see them clearly. He sat cross-legged on the rock, a rifle across his lap.

When the light improved a little they saw that he was as dark as an old plum.

Kicking Wolf knew that he was in great danger, but he also felt great pride. The old man on the rock was Ahumado, the Black Vaquero. Whatever his own fate might be, he had completed his quest. He had stolen the Buffalo Horse and brought him to the great bandit of the south; he had done it merely for the daring of doing it. If a hundred pistoleros rose up in the rocks and killed him, he would die happy in his courage and pride.

"I have brought you the Buffalo Horse," Kicking Wolf said, walking closer to the rock where the old man sat.

"I see him," Ahumado said. "Is he a gift?" "Yes, a gift," Kicking Wolf said.

"He is a big horse," Ahumado said.

"I shot him once but the bullet only scratched him. Why did you bring him to me?" Kicking Wolf made no answer--there was no answer that could easily be put into ^ws. He knew that at home, around the campfires, the young men would sing for years about his theft of the Buffalo Horse and his inexplicable decision to take him to Ahumado. Few would understand it--perh none would understand it. It was a thing he had done for no reason, andfor all reasons andfor no reason. He stood on his dignity as a Comanche warrior.

He would not try to explain himself to an old bandit who was black as a plum.

"I will take this horse and the other one too," Ahumado said. "You can go home but you will have to walk until you get to Texas. Then you can steal another horse." Kicking Wolf picked up his weapons. He and Three Birds started to walk out of the canyon past where Ahumado sat. But when Three Birds moved Ahumado made a motion with his rifle, pointing it directly at Three Birds.

"Not you," he said. "Your friend can go but you must stay and be my guest." Three Birds didn't argue. What had happened was exactly what he had expected would happen. He had come to Mexico expecting to die, and now he was going to die. He was not upset; it was a moment he had been waiting for since the shitting sickness killed his wife and his three children. He had wanted to die then, with his family, but his stubborn body had not wanted to go. But some of his spirit had gone with his wife and his little ones and he had not been able to attend much to the things of the world, since then. Now he had had a good journey with his friend Kicking Wolf--they had travelled together to Mexico. He did not want the evil old man to do bad things to him, but, as to his death, that he was at ease with. He immediately stretched up his arms and began to sing his death song.

Though Three Birds wasn't upset, Kicking Wolf was. He did not like the disrespectful tone the old man had used when he addressed Three Birds. Even less did he like it that Ahumado meant to keep Three Birds a captive.

"This man helped me to bring you the Buffalo Horse," he said. "He has come a long way to bring you this gift." Ahumado kept his rifle pointed at Three Birds. It was clear that he had no interest in what Kicking Wolf had just said.

Kicking Wolf was very angry. He had half expected to die when he had decided to bring the Buffalo Horse to Mexico. He knew that Ahumado was a very dangerous man who killed on whim, that death might be waiting for him in the canyon of the Yellow Cliffs. Besides, Three Birds had talked of little else on the trip except his conviction that Ahumado would kill them.

What he had not expected was that he would be spared and Three Birds taken. It angered him so that he had a notion to put an arrow through the old bandit immediately. Did he think a Comanche warrior would simply surrender his friend to torture and death? By that one stroke Ahumado made him seem a fool, the very thing Three Birds had been telling him he was, all the way south.

To make matters worse, Three Birds accepted the decision. He was already singing his death song and his eyes were looking far away.

As Kicking Wolf was about to draw his bow he saw three pistoleros to his left--they rose out of the rocks with their rifles pointed at him. Three more rose behind Ahumado.

"In my country rocks grow men," Ahumado said.

Kicking Wolf dropped his weapons and made a gesture of surrender. He could not simply walk out of the canyon and leave Three Birds to his death. If it was to be death for one, it would be death for both. But Ahumado made a gesture with his hand and several horsemen rode out of the rocks swinging horsehide ropes. Kicking Wolf tried to run but before he could escape three lassos caught him. The horsemen began to drag him over the rough ground, out of the canyon. He could not see Three Birds for the dust his own body raised as the men spurred their horses and pulled him faster. They pulled him through a field of big rocks. Then his head hit one of the big rocks, which sent him into a black sleep. But, even as he sank into the darkness he thought he heard someone singing a death song.

When Buffalo Hump came into the big store in Austin, some of the warriors had found an old woman upstairs and had pulled her and had thrown her down the steps. Now they were dragging her through some white flour. They had killed the old man who owned the store with one of his own axes and had used the axe to chop open a couple of barrels of white flour. Some of the young warriors had never seen white flour and took delight in throwing it in the air and covering themselves with it. They also liked dragging the old woman through it while she shrieked.