Dead Man's Walk

“Why, it’s the size of a house,” Gus said. He had never imagined a weed could grow so big. It hurtled by the company, rolling over and over, as fast as a man could run. From time to time it hit a bump or a small rock and sailed into the air. Soon it was a hundred yards to the south, and then it vanished, obscured by the blowing dust.

“Let us have no more talk of bears,” Salazar said, looking at Gus.

They marched late into the night, with only a few bites of food. In San Saba the men had been given gourds, to use as water carriers —some of them had already drunk the last of their water, while others still had a little. The temperature had dropped and all the men longed for a fire, but there was nothing to burn, except the branches of a few thin bushes. The Texans gathered enough sticks to make a small blaze and were about to light it when Salazar stopped them.

“No fires tonight,” he said.

“Why not?” Gus asked. “I’d like to warm my toes.”

“Gomez will see it if he is still following us,” Salazar said.

“Why would he follow us—he’s done got our donkeys and most of our food,” Bigfoot asked.

“He might follow us to kill us,” Salazar replied.

“He could have killed you last night and he didn’t,” Bigfoot said. “Why would he walk another day just to do what he could already have done?”

“Because he is an Apache, Serior,” Salazar said. “He is not like us. He may have gone home—I don’t know. But I want no fires tonight.”

By midnight, the cold had become so intense that the men were forced to huddle together for warmth. Even huddled, they were so cold that several of them ceased to be able to feel their feet. Joh

“Dern this leg,” he whispered. “Dern this leg.”

Then he opened the knife, and put the blade against his throat— but the blade was so cold that he withdrew it. He began to sob, at the knowledge that he hadn’t the strength to push the cold knife blade into his throat and cut. It meant he would freeze, but he could not do it amid the Rangers, because they would insist on making him go on. They would not accept the fact that he didn’t want to live anymore.

Joh

Of all the Texans, only Matilda Roberts was awake. At night she had taken to sleeping between the two boys, making Call turn historn back to her so she could warm it. Gus slept on the other side, squeezed up against her as close as he could get. Both boys slept, but Matilda didn’t. She saw Joh

Even so, it was hard to listen to the scraping of his poor leg, as he dragged himself over the hard ground, into the icy night. But the scraping grew faint, and then very faint. Soon she could hear nothing but the breathing of the two boys who slept beside her. Since the day when Caleb Cobb had struck his foot with the rifle barrel, Call had limped almost as badly as Joh

Joh

Desperate for the warmth, he opened his little knife again and clutched it tightly, meaning to plunge it into his neck, where the great vein was. But before he could grasp the knife tightly enough in his shivering hands, he looked up and saw a shadow between himself and the starlight. Someone was there, a presence he felt but could not see. Before he could think more about it, Gomez struck. Joh

Gomez wiped his knife on Joh