Dead Man's Walk

“At least we’ve got the horses,” he remarked. “We can eat the horses, like we done before.”

“I expect the Mexicans will eat the horses,” Gus said. “They ain’t our horses.”

Call found hobbling on his frozen feet very difficult, yet he preferred it to lying in the wagon, where all he had to think about was the fire across his back. He could not keep up, though. Matilda and Gus offered to be his crutches, but even that was difficult. His wounds had scabbed and his muscles were tight—he groaned in deep pain when he tried to lift his arms across Gus’s shoulders.

“It’s no good, I’ll just hobble,” he said. “I expect I’ll get quicker once I warm up.”

Gus was nervous about bears—he kept looking behind the troop. He didn’t see any bears, but he did catch a glimpse of a cougar— just a glimpse, as the large brown cat slipped across a small gully.

Just then there was a shout from the column ahead. A cavalryman, one of the advance guard, was racing back toward the troop at top speed, his horse’s hooves kicking up little clouds of dust from the sandy ground.

“Now, what’s his big hurry?” Bigfoot asked. “You reckon he spotted a grizzly?”

“I hope not,” Gus said. “I’m in no mood for bears.”

Matilda and Shadrach were walking with the old Mexican, Francisco. They were well ahead of the other Texans. All the soldiers clustered around the rider, who held something in his hand.“What’s he got there, Matty?” Bigfoot asked, hurrying up. “The General’s hat,” Matilda said.

“That’s mighty odd,” Bigfoot said. “I’ve never knowed a general to lose his hat.”

Two MILES FARTHER ON they discovered that General Dimasio had lost more than his hat—he had lost his buggy, his driver, his cavalrymen, and his life. Four of the cavalrymen had been tied and piled in the buggy before the buggy was set on fire. The buggy had been reduced almost to ash—the corpses of the four cavalrymen were badly charred. The other cavalrymen had been mutilated but not scalped. General Dimasio had suffered the worst fate, a fate so terrible that everyone who looked at his corpse bent over and gagged. The General’s chest cavity had been opened and hot coals had been scooped into it. All around lay the garments and effects of the dead men. Both the fine buggy horses had been killed and butchered.

“Whoever done this got off with some tasty horse meat,” Bigfoot said.

Except for the burned cavalrymen, all the dead had several arrows in them.

“No scalps taken,” Bigfoot observed.“Apaches don’t scalp—ain’t interested,” Shadrach said. “They got better ways to kill you.”

“He is right,” Salazar said. “This is the work of Gomez. For awhile he was in Mexico, but now he is here. He has killed twenty travelers in the last month—now he has killed a great general.”

“He wasn’t great enough, I guess,” Bigfoot said. “I thought he rode off with a skimpy guard—I guess I was right.”

“Only Gomez would treat a general like this,” Salazar said. “Most Apaches would sell a general, if they caught one. But Gomez likes only to kill. He knows no law.”

Bigfoot considered that sloppy thinking.

“Well, he may know plenty of law,” he said. “But it ain’t his law and he don’t mind breaking it.”

Salazar received this comment irritably.

“You will wish he knew more law, if he catches you,” he said. “We are all in danger now.”

“I doubt he’d attack a party this big,” Bigfoot said. “Your general just had eleven men, counting himself.”

Salazar snapped his fingers; he had just noticed something.

“Speaking of counting,” he said. “Where is your Colonel? I don’t see his corpse.”

“By God, I don’t neither,” Bigfoot said. “Where is Caleb?”

“The coward, I expect he escaped,” Call said.

“More than that,” Gus said. “He probably made a deal with Gomez.”

“No,” Salazar said. “Gomez is Apache—he is not like us. He only kills.”

“He might have taken Caleb home with him, to play with,” Long Bill suggested. “I feel sorry for him if that’s so, even though he is a skunk.”

“I doubt Caleb Cobb would be taken alive,” Bigfoot said. “He ain’t the sort that likes to have coals shoveled into his belly.”

Before the burials were finished, one of the infantrymen found Caleb Cobb, naked, blind, and crippled, hobbling through the sandy desert, about a mile from where the Apaches had caught the Mexicans. Caleb’s legs and feet were filled with thorns—in his blindness he had wandered into prickly pear and other cactus.

“Oh, boys, you found me,” Caleb said hoarsely, as he was helped into camp. “They blinded me with thorns, the Apache devils.““They hamstrung him, too,” Bigfoot whispered. “I guess they figured he’d starve or freeze.”

“I expect that bear would have got him,” Gus said.

Even Call, beaten nearly to death himself, was moved to pity by the sight of Caleb Cobb, a man he thoroughly despised. To be blind, naked, and crippled in such a thorny wilderness, and in the cold, was a harder fate than even cowards deserved.

“How many were they, Colonel?” Salazar asked.

“Not many,” Caleb said, in his hoarse voice. “Maybe fifteen. But they were quick. They came at us at dawn, when we had the sun in our eyes. One of them clubbed me with a rifle stock before I even knew we were under attack.”

For a moment he lost his voice, and his ability to stand. He sagged in the arms of the two infantrymen who were supporting him. The leg that had been cut was twisted in an odd way.

“Fifteen ain’t many,” Gus said. He didn’t like seeing men who had been tortured, whether they were alive or dead. He couldn’t keep his mind off how it would feel to have the tortures happen to him. The sight of Caleb, with his leg jerking, his eyes ruined, and his body blue with cold, made him want to look away or go away— but of course he couldn’t go away without putting himself in peril of the Apaches and the bears.

“Fifteen was enough,” Bigfoot said. “I’ve heard they come at you at dawn.”

Captain Salazar was thinking of the journey they had to make. He kept looking south, toward the dead man’s walk. The quivering, ruined man on the ground before him was a handicap he knew he could not afford.

“Colonel, we have a hard march ahead,” the Captain said. “I’m afraid you are in no condition to make this march. The country ahead is terrible. Even healthy men may not survive it. I am afraid you have no chance.”

“Stick me in a wagon,” Caleb said. “If I can have a blanket, I’ll live.”

“Colonel, we ca

“I won’t be left,” Caleb said, interrupting the Captain. “All I need is a good doctor—he can fix this leg.““No, Colonel,” Salazar said. “No one can fix your leg, or your eyes. We can’t take you across the sands—we have to look to ourselves.”

“Then send me back,” Caleb said. “If I can be put on a horse, I reckon I can ride it to Santa Fe.”

There was anger in his voice. While they all watched, he managed to get to his feet. Even crippled he was taller than Salazar—and he was determined not to die. Call was surprised by the man’s determination.

“If he’d been that determined to fight, we wouldn’t be prisoners,” he whispered to Gus.

“He ain’t determined for us … he’s determined for himself,” Gus pointed out.

Salazar, though, was out of patience.

“I ca

“I’ll take that chance,” Caleb said.

“But I won’t take it, Colonel,” Salazar said, drawing his pistol. “You are a brave officer—it is time to finish yourself.”

The troops grew silent, when Salazar drew his pistol. Caleb Cobb was balanced on one leg; the other foot scarcely touched the ground. Call saw the anger rise in his face; for a second he expected Caleb to go for Salazar. But after a second, Caleb controlled himself.