Dead Man's Walk

The Major looked at the dark men who trotted beside the horses. He said something to them—one of the dark men immediately went to the pack mule and came back with a handful of rawhide thongs.

“Tie him first,” the Major said, pointing at Bigfoot. “Then tie the one who turned over the General’s buggy. Which is he?”

Salazar gestured toward Call. In a moment, two of the dark men were beside him with the thongs.

Bigfoot had already held out his hands so that the men could tie them, but Call had not. He tensed, ready to fight the dark men, but before his rage broke Bigfoot and Salazar both spoke to him.

“Let it be, Woodrow,” Bigfoot said. “The Major here’s ready to shoot you, and it’s too nice a morning to get shot.”

“He is right,” Salazar said.

Call mastered himself with difficulty. He held out his hands, and one of the dark men bound him tightly at the wrists with the rawhide thongs. In a few minutes, all the Texans were similarly bound.“Perhaps you should chain them, too,” Salazar said, with a touch of sarcasm. “As you know, Texans are very wild.”

Major Laroche ignored the remark.

“Where is the rest of your troop, Captain?” he asked.

“Dead,” Salazar said. “The Apaches followed us into the Jornada del Muerto. They killed some. A bear killed two. Six starved to death.”

“But you had horses, when you left Santa Fe,” the Major said. “Where are your horses?”

“Some are dead and some were stolen,” Salazar admitted. He spoke in a dull tone, not looking at the Major, who sat ramrod stiff on his horse.

When all the prisoners were bound, the Major turned his horse. He looked down once more at Captain Salazar.

“I suggest you go home, Captain,” he said. “Your commanding officer will want to know why you lost half your men and all your horses. I am told that you were well provisioned. No one should have starved.”

“Gomez killed General Dimasio, Major,” Salazar said. “He killed Colonel Cobb, the man who led these Texans. He is the reason I lost the men and the horses.”

Major Laroche curled the ends of his mustache once more.

“No officer in the Mexican army should be beaten by a savage,” he said. “One day perhaps they will let me go after this Gomez. When I catch him I will put a hook through his neck and hang him in the plaza in Santa Fe.”

“You won’t catch him,” Call said.

Major Laroche looked briefly at Call.

“Is there a blacksmith in this village?” he asked.

No one spoke. The men of the village had all lowered their eyes.

“Very well,” the Major said. “If there were a blacksmith I would chain this man now. But we ca

Salazar had not moved.

“Major, I have no horses,” he said. “Am I to walk to Santa Fe? I am a captain in the army.”

“A disgraced captain,” Major Laroche said. “You walked here. Walk back.”

“Alone?” Salazar asked.

“No, you can take your soldiers,” Major Laroche said. “I don’t want them—they stink. If I were you I would take them to the river and bathe them before you leave.”

“We have little ammunition,” Salazar said. “If we leave here without horses or bullets, Gomez will kill us all.”

The priest had come out of the little church. He stood with his hands folded into his habit, watching.

“Ask that priest to say a prayer for you,” Major Laroche said. “If he is a good priest his prayers might be better than bullets or horses.”

“Perhaps, but I would rather have bullets and horses,” Salazar said.

Major Laroche didn’t answer. He had already turned his horse.

The Texans were placed in the center of the column of cavalry— the cavalrymen behind them drew their sabres and held them ready, across their saddles. Captain Salazar and his ragged troop stood in the street and watched the party depart.

“Good-bye, Captain—if I was you I’d travel at night,” Bigfoot said. “If you stick to the river and travel at night you might make it.”

The Texans looked once more at the Captain who had captured them, and the few men they had traveled so far with. There was no time for farewells. The cavalrymen with drawn sabres pressed close behind them.

Matilda Roberts had not been tied. She passed close to Captain Salazar as she walked out of the village of Las Palomas.

“Adios, Captain,” she said. “You ain’t a bad fellow. I hope you get home alive.”

Salazar nodded, but didn’t answer. He and his men stood watching as the Texans were marched south, out of the village of Las Palomas.

MAJOR LAROCHE MADE NO allowance for weariness. By noon, the Texans were having a hard time keeping up with the pace he set. The pause for rest was only ten minutes; the meal just a handful of corn. The mule that the villagers had so carefully provisioned had become the property of the Major’s cavalry. The Texans hardly had time to sit, before the march was resumed. While they ate their hard corn, they watched the Mexican cavalrymen eat the cheese the women of Las Palomas had provided for them.

Gus was puzzled by the fact that a Frenchman was leading a company of Mexican cavalry.

“Why would a Frenchie fight with the Mexicans?” he asked. “I know there’s lots of Frenchies down in New Orleans, but I never knew they went as far as Mexico.”

“Money, I expect,” Bigfoot said. “I never made much money fighting—I’ve mostly done it for the sport, but plenty do it for the pay.““I wouldn’t,” Call said. “I’d take the pay, but I’ve got other reasons for fighting.”

“What other reasons?” Gus asked.

Call didn’t answer. He had not meant to provoke a question from his companion, and was sorry he had spoken at all.

“Can’t you hear? I asked you what other reasons?” Gus said.

“Woodrow don’t know why he likes to fight,” Matilda said. “He don’t know why he turned that buggy over and got himself whipped raw. My Shad didn’t know why he wandered—he was just a wandering man. Woodrow, he’s a fighter.”

“It’s all right to fight,” Bigfoot said. “But there’s a time to fight, and a time to let be. Right now we’re hog-tied, and we ain’t got no guns. This ain’t the time to fight.”

They marched all afternoon and deep into the night, which was cold. Call kept up, though his foot was throbbing again. Major Laroche sent the dark men ahead to scout. He himself never looked back at the prisoners. From time to time they could see him raise his hand, to curl his mustache.

In the morning, there was thin ice on the little puddles by the river. The men were given coffee; while they were drinking it Major Laroche lined his men up at rigid attention, and rode down their ranks, inspecting them. Now and then, he pointed at something that displeased him—a girth strap not correctly secured, or a uniform not fully buttoned, or a sabre sheath not shined. The men who had been careless were made to fall out immediately; the Major watched while they corrected the problem.

When he was finished with his own troops, the Major rode over and inspected the Texans. They knew they were ragged and filthy, but when the Frenchman looked down at them with pitiless eyes they felt even dirtier and more ragged. The Major saw Long Bill Coleman scratching himself—most of the men had long been troubled by lice.

“Gentlemen, you need a bath,” he said. “We have a fine ceremony pla

“What kind of ceremony would that be, Major?” Bigfoot asked.

“I will let that be a surprise,” Major Laroche said, not smiling.

Gus had taken a strong dislike to Major Laroche’s ma