THEY WALKED over the prairie, Tarrant, Peregrino, Rufus trailing a step or two behind. Light spilled out of vastness, a measure of warmth lifted from soil. Dry grass rattled. Camp and buildings soon vanished among the tall tawny stalks. Smokes continued in sight, rising straight and slow toward the vultures.
Revelation was strangely subdued. Or perhaps it wasn’t strange. They had waited so long. Tarrant and Rufus had felt hope grow into near certainty while they quested. Peregrino had nurtured an inner peace to which any surprise was like a passing breath of air. Thus he endured his loneliness, until he outlived it.
“I was born almost three thousand years ago,” Tarrant said. “My friend is about half as old.”
“I never counted time until lately,” said Peregrino. They might as well use that name, out of the many he had had. “Then I guessed five or six hundred years.”
“Before Columbus— What changes you’ve seen!”
Peregrino smiled as a man might at a graveside. “You more. Have you come on any like us, besides Mr. Bullen?”
“Not quite. A woman once, but she disappeared. We’ve no idea whether she’s still alive. Otherwise, you’re my first since him. Did you ever?”
“No. I tried but gave up. For all I knew, I was solo. How did you get on my trail?”
“That’s kind of a story.”
“We got plenty time.”
“Well—“ Tarrant drew a tobacco pouch from his pants and, from his shirt, the briar pipe it would have been unwise to smoke before Quanah. “I’ll start with Rufus and me arriving in California in ‘49. You’ve heard about the Gold Rush? We got rich off it. Not as miners, as merchants.”
“You did, Hanno,” said the Van at his heel. “I tagged along.”
“And damn useful you’ve been, hi more tight spots than I can list,” Tarrant declared. “Eventually I dropped from sight for a few years, then showed up in San Francisco under my present alias and bought a ship. I’ve always favored the sea. By now I own several; the firm’s done right well.”
Having loaded his pipe, he laid fire to it. “Whenever I could afford to, I’ve hired men to look for signs of immortals,” he proceeded. “Naturally, I don’t teS them that’s what they’re after. By and large, those of our kind who survive must do it by staying obscure. These days I’m an eccentric millionaire interested in lineages. My agents figure me for an ex-Mormon. They’re supposed to locate—oh, individuals who seem much tike others that dropped from sight earlier, and are apt to appear carrying a pretty fair grubstake—that sort of thing. What with railroads and steamships, I can at last spread my net across the world. Of course, it’s not that big yet, and the mesh is awfully coarse, which may be why it’s caught nothing except a few that turned out false.”
“Until today,” said Peregrino.
Tarrant nodded. “A scout of mine, exploring around Santa Fe, caught rumors about a medicine man among the Comanches, who didn’t really belong to them—the description sounded like a Sioux or a Pawnee or what’ever—but he’d gained a good deal of authority and … he’d been heard of elsewhere, earlier, several different times and places. Not that any civilized person had pieced this together. Who’d take the fancies of savages seriously? Uh, pardon me, no offense. You know how whites think. My agent didn’t suppose it was worth pursuing. He noted it in a couple of sentences in his report just to show me how industrious he was.
“That was last year. I decided to follow it up myself. Lucked out and found two aged people, an Indian and a Mexican, who remembered— Well, it seemed, if he existed, he’d joined Quanah. I hoped to find the Comanches in winter quarters, but as was, we had to track them.” Tarrant laid a hand briefly on Peregrine’s shoulder. “And here we are, my brother.”
Peregrino halted. Tarrant did. For a space they looked into each other’s eyes. Rufus stood aside, bemused. At last Tarrant formed a wry grin and murmured, “You’re wondering whether I’m a liar, aren’t you?”
“How do you know I speak truth?” the Indian replied as low.