Dead Man's Walk

“Ceremony! ceremony! Those men weren’t nothing but scared,” Bigfoot said. There were floating bodies and swirls of blood all over the surface of the green water. John Green, a short Ranger from Missouri, managed to wrest a sabre from one of the cavalrymen, but when he tried to stab the soldier he missed, and stabbed the horse in the belly. The horse reared and fell, smashing John Green-and the soldier he had tried to stab; the horse continued to flounder, but neither John nor the soldier rose again.

“Monsieur, I have no bugler, as I said,” Major Laroche remarked, watching them coolly. “My men are soldiers and they smell blood. It would take a ca

Across the river, Call and Gus could see men ru

Finally, when all the Texans were dead, the Mexican troops began to return. Some had gone almost a mile west of the river, in their pursuit of the Texans. Some were still in the water, stabbing or shooting at any white body that seemed to have life in it. Major Laroche looked at the sun, and finally rode his horse down to the river. He didn’t yell or gesture; he merely sat there, but one by one, his men noticed him. Slowly, they came to themselves. One or two looked embarrassed. They looked to the east bank, and saw that only a few Texans were left alive. A young soldier had just thrust his sabre into one of the floating bodies—Call knew the man only as Bob. The sabre stuck in Bob’s breastbone, and the young cavalryman was unable to pull it out. He yanked harder and harder, lifting Bob’s body completely out of the water at one point. But the sabre was stuck—he could not pull it free, and he was aware that the Major was watching him critically as he smoked.

“Poor Bob, he’s gone, and that boy can’t get him off his sword,” Bigfoot said. He walked down to the water, and motioned for the soldier to pull the body to shore. Nervously, the young cavalryman did as Bigfoot asked. The body trailed a ribbon of blood, which was quickly carried downstream.

When the soldier drew the body to shore, Bigfoot took it and carried it a few yards up the bank. He motioned for Call and Gus to come help him, and they did. The young Rangers held the cold body of the dead man steady—Bigfoot carefully put his foot on the dead man’s chest and, with a great heave, pulled the sabre out.

“Why, that wasn’t near as hard as getting that Comanche lance out of your hip,” Bigfoot observed. He handed the sabre to the young soldier, who took it with a hangdog look.

Major Laroche slowly rode his horse across the river, looking upstream and down, as he counted the corpses. Then he rode up on the west bank and began to bring back his soldiers. As they rode back across the river, they swished their bloody sabres in the water before shoving them back in their scabbards. While they were crossing, the horse with the sabre stuck in its belly floundered out of the river and stumbled past Call and Gus. Call made a lucky grab, and pulled the sabre free. For a moment, looking at the bodies of his friends dead on the far bank or in the river, he felt a rage building. Four Mexican soldiers were in the river, coming right toward him; Call looked at them, the sabre in his hand. The soldiers saw the look and were startled. One of them raised his musket.

“Don’t, Woodrow,” Gus said, as another of the soldiers lifted his gun. “They won’t just whip you this time. They’ll kill you.”

“Not before I kill a few of them,” Call said.

But he knew his friend was right. The Mexican cavalry, led by the stern Major, was coming back across the Rio Grande. He could not fight a whole cavalry without giving up his life. The rage was in him, but he did not want to give up his life. When the Major rode up, Call held the sabre out to him; the Major took it without comment.

Gus was looking across the river. The Mexicans had made no effort to bring back the bodies of the dead Texans—some of those killed in the river had floated downstream, almost out of sight. Jackie Buttons’s body was stuck on a snag, near the far bank. Jackie floated on his back, the green water washing over his face.

“I’ll miss Jackie,” Gus said, to Matilda. “He was slow at cards— maybe that’s why I liked him so.”

Matilda was still naked, mud on her legs. “I wish I’d never looked, when the killing started,” she said. “I don’t like to look at killings, not when it’s boys I know.”

“Matty, I don’t either,” Gus said. He was wishing that the body of Jackie Buttons would come loose from its snag and float on down the river. He had often cheated Jackie at cards—-not for much cash, but steadily, over the months of their travels—now, he regretted it. He knew Jackie Buttons was a little slow minded—it would have been better just to deal the cards fairly. Perhaps, now and again, Jackie would have won a hand or two.

But he had not dealt the cards fairly, and in all their playing, Jackie Buttons had not won a single hand. Now he never would, because he was floating on his back in a river, water coursing over his dead eyes and through his open mouth.

“Oh, dern,” he said, and began to cry. He cried so hard he knelt down, covering his face with his arm. He was hoping that when he looked up again the body of the comrade he had cheated would be gone.

Matilda came out of her trance, and put her hand on Gus’s shoulder.

“Are you crying for one of them, or for all of them?” she asked.

“Just for Jackie,” Gus said, when he was calmer. “I cheated him at cards. He wasn’t no cardplayer, but every single time I played him I cheated.”

“Well, Jackie won’t mind now,” Matilda said. “But you ought to stop dealing them cards so sly, Augustus. Someday you’ll meet somebody who’ll be as quick with a gun as you are with an ace.”

“No, I won’t,” Gus said. “I’m always slyer than anybody, when it comes to cards.”

Matilda looked over at Call—he had given up his sabre, but not his rage. He looked as he had looked the day he turned the General’s buggy over, in order to get at Caleb Cobb.

“I’ll be glad to get you boys home,” she said. “Woodrow’s a fighter and you’re a cheat. If I can just get you home, I don’t want to hear of you joining no expeditions.”

Gus sat down by the water’s edge—he suddenly felt very tired.

“All right, Matty,“he said.

“Get up, let’s go—the Major’s waiting,” Matilda said. The Mexican cavalry passed so close that water from the horses’ legs splashed on them.

Gus didn’t think he could get up; his legs had simply given out. But Matilda Roberts offered her strong hand—Gus took it, and got to his feet. Call was still standing as if frozen, looking at the corpses in the river.

“I don’t expect there’ll be no burying,” Bigfoot said, as Gus and Matilda came up.

His guess was right—there was no burying.

Woodrow Call stood where he was, looking at the blood-streaked river, until the dark men came to tie his wrists and lead him away.

MAJOR LAROCHE WAS A believer in cold-water bathing. He himself bathed every morning at dawn, in the Rio Grande. Three cavalrymen were required to shield him with a ring of sheets, while he sat in the icy river, breathing deeply. When he finished he insisted that each horse be led into the river, where they could be brushed until their coats shone. Often, while the horses were being brushed, the Major would mount and practice with his own fine sabre, slashing at cactus apples while racing at full speed.