Dead Man's Walk (13 page)

Louis. My pa was a trader on the Santa Fe trail, until he got murdered by a damn quick Mexican." "Why'd he get murdered?" Johnny Carthage asked.
"No reason, much--the quick Mexican got the drop on him and shot him dead," Roy said. "I went to Santa Fe three times when I was growing up." "Oh now, tell us about it," Gus said. "I hear there's gold and silver laying around for the taking." "You heard an idiot, then," Roy said.
"There's no gold, and you have to bargain hard for what silver you get. My pa did better with furs.
The mountain men show up pretty regular with furs, or they used to. I got married to Melly and quit the trading life." "Furs?" Gus said. "You mean like Long Bill's cap?" "Oh, that's just a rabbit skin--I wouldn't call that a fur," Roy said. "I mean beaver, mainly. There's no beaver down here--you wouldn't know what I was talking about." "Anyway, once we get there, we mean to annex New Mexico, I believe," Blackie Slidell said. "I expect the populace will be mighty glad to see us." "The hell they will; they hate Texans-- don't any of you boys have any experience at all?" Roy asked.
"Well, we ain't been to Santa Fe, if that's what you mean," Long Bill admitted.
"I guess Caleb Cobb wouldn't be leading an expedition all the way to Santa Fe unless he had his facts down." Roy looked at his wife in amusement. The little girl who had been frightened by the cyclone was still chewing on the hem of her dress. Two of the little boys were throwing rocks at one of the shoats, and the black rooster was still complaining.
"These men have been deceived," Roy said to Melly. "They think the Mexicans are just going to walk up and start piling gold and silver in their wagons, once they get to Santa Fe--if they get to Santa Fe. Caleb Cobb is a reckless rum-running scoundrel. What he'll do is get you all killed or captured, I expect.
"Of course, I doubt he can even find Santa Fe--maybe all that will happen is that you'll get lost," Roy went on. "Look for the Arkansas River, if you get lost up on the prairies. Once you find the Arkansas, you'll be all right." The Rangers rode off, leaving the little family to sort through their soaked possessions. The troop's mood was somewhat dampened by Roy's pessimism.
"I expect it was a lie," Gus said. "The man's a farmer. He probably never set foot in Santa Fe." "He sounded like he knew what he was talking about to me," Call said.
"No, you can't trust people from Missouri," Rip Green said.
"Why can't you? I'm from Missouri," Johnny Carthage said. "Missouri's as honest as the next place." "Why would the man lie?" Call asked.
"He's never seen us before." Matilda Roberts let out a hoot. "Gus wouldn't think that's a reason not to lie," she said.
"Gus lies all the time to people he's never seen before--gals, mostly." The remark caused Gus to blush--he had been thinking the same thing himself, though of course he would never have said it. One of the main troubles with women was that they were always saying things that ought not to be said. Of course he lied freely to impress the girls, but what business was that of Matilda's?
"Look yonder, ain't that Bigfoot's horse?" Blackie Slidell said. "That's his big sorrel, I believe." The mood of the whole troop lifted at the thought of joining up again with Bigfoot Wallace.
Shadrach was a commendable scout, more experienced than Bigfoot in the ways of the wilderness, but Shadrach was ill tempered, with a tendency to growl and snarl if approached when he wasn't in the mood for conversation. He didn't like to talk and had no interest in sharing his information with men who lacked his experience. He might help, if the mood struck him, or he might just ride away.
Bigfoot Wallace, on the other hand, loved to talk. He was a gifted explainer--once when a little drunk he had spent an hour lecturing Call and Gus on three sets of horse tracks they had come across. He told them everything he knew about the tracks--why he knew they were Mexican horses, how heavy the riders were, when the tracks had been made, and what, in his judgment, the condition of the animals was who had made the tracks. The two of them had gone off and located another set of tracks; they tried to apply a few of the things Bigfoot had taught them, but with poor success. About all they knew about their set of tracks was that they were horse tracks--as to the weight or nationality or general health of the men riding their horses, they could only speculate. In fact, they were so green when it came to tracking, that they couldn't even be sure anyone was riding the horses. They might merely have been horses grazing along. Of course, they both did know that the horses were unshod, but that was as far as their training took them.
"Maybe he's killed a wild pig," Gus said. "We could eat it." Bigfoot's horse was still quite a distance away--there was as yet no sign of the tall man himself.
"I'd rather he killed a fat doe, myself," Rip Green said. "I'd a bunch rather eat some tender venison than that old tough pig meat." "Them corn cakes don't stick to the ribs," Gus said. "Melly's pretty, though." "Yes, you were ready to run off with her, I noticed," Matilda said. Even though it had been dark, Gus's response to the young woman had not escaped her attention.
"Maybe that cyclone caught Bigfoot," Long Bill said. "That may just be his nag. He may have got blown away." "Not likely," Gus said. "I imagine he got down in a buffalo wallow, like we did." "There might not have been no buffalo wallow handy," Johnny Carthage said. "That twister might have caught Bigfoot out on the flat." The relief everybody in the troop had felt at the thought that they would soon have a reliable guide to lead them over the prairies to Austin went away, to be replaced by dread. The experience beyond the Pecos had left its mark on all of them-- even in the comparatively settled country between San Antonio and Austin, the Comanche and Kiowa lurked, running off horses and occasionally even beeves. The plain ahead of them, where they saw Bigfoot's horse, was wide and empty-- the last thicket that might provide cover was behind them, back near the smashed cabin. The sight of Bigfoot Wallace would have made every man feel a good deal more confident of reaching Austin alive.
"Dern, it's just his horse," Rip Green said. "I bet that storm spooked his sorrel, like it did our nags. Bigfoot's probably on foot, looking for his horse right now." They loped on across the wide prairie, which wasn't as flat as it looked. It rolled a little, and dipped. When they were a hundred yards from the sorrel horse they looked down into a little dip and saw the man they had been talking about: Bigfoot Wallace. He was kneeling by two blackened wagons, digging in the dirt with a large bowie knife.
"Now what's he doing digging, out on the prairie?" Long Bill asked. "Do you think he's digging for onions, or spuds of some kind?" Bigfoot stopped digging when he saw the group approaching. They all waved, even though they were a hundred yards away. Bigfoot didn't wave. He watched a minute, and then returned to his digging.
Call was a little ahead of the troop-- there was a smell in the air that Call had never smelled before, a burned smell with a sweetness in it like cooked meat sometimes had when the meat was fresh. When old Jesus roasted baby lamb in its skin it sometimes smelled like what they were smelling then.
Then, abruptly, Call saw what Bigfoot was doing--he stopped his horse, causing Gus, who was just behind him, to ride into him.
"Whoa, what is it?" Gus asked, confused for a moment.
"Bigfoot ain't digging onions," Call said.
"What is he digging, then?" Long Bill asked--he was too nearsighted to see clearly what young Call saw.
"He's digging a grave," Call said.
The Ranger troop approached, but too slowly to suit Bigfoot Wallace. He had already cut the blackened corpses of the two mule skinners loose from the wagon wheels where they had been tied. Though he had smelled burned human flesh before, he didn't like to smell it, and he was anxious to get the burying over with in case the Indians who had burned the two men chose to come back and try him.
"Are you men praying? If you ain't, get down and help me," he said impatiently.
"Oh Lord, look!" Rip Green said. He barely was off his horse before he began to puke.
Gus didn't dare look, really--he threw the briefest glance at the two blackened corpses and turned his eyes away. Even so, his stomach rose--he rode off a few steps, hoping to get the smell out of his nostrils before he had to dismount and puke like Rip.
Call got down and immediately began to help Bigfoot. He tried not to look at the two corpses but could not help seeing that their teeth were bared in the agony in which they died. There were ashes in front of the wagon wheels they had been tied to.
A twist of smoke still rose in front of the fires.
Call did have a good knife. Old Jesus had forged it for him, sharpened it carefully, and bound the handle with tight rawhide. Call dug hard-- it was the only way he could keep his mind off what had happened to the two men. One of the burned wagons was still smouldering. It was only then, when he glanced up, that he noticed that the prairie around the wagon was white: the two mule skinners had been hauling flour, and the Indians had ripped up the sacks and scattered the flour on the grass.
"Lordy, these boys weren't lucky," Long Bill observed philosophically, walking around the scene of the torture.
"Nope, and they weren't prepared, either," Bigfoot said. "I guess that old shotgun was the only weapon they had with them." He nodded toward the shotgun, which had been broken in two on a large rock that stuck up from the ground.
"I wouldn't set off with a load of flour and nothing to defend myself with except a fowling piece --not in this country," Blackie Slidell remarked.
"There's empty sacks in that other wagon that ain't too burned," Bigfoot said. "Go get a few, Gus, and roll these men in them. We need to move out. I make it about nine Indians that cooked these men, and one of them was Buffalo Hump." "Did you see him?" Johnny Carthage asked, turning white. All the Rangers touched their weapons, to make sure they were still there.
"No, but he's still riding that painted pony he rode that day he killed Josh and Zeke," Bigfoot said. "I studied his track, in case I ever had to fight him again, and his track is all around these wagons." "Oh, Lord--I was afraid it was him," Rip Green said. He was white and shaky.
Johnny Carthage knew a little cobbling. He had been offered a job making shoes in San Antonio. Looking at the two burned wagoneers, their bodies blackened and swollen, their teeth bared in terrible grimaces, he wondered why he hadn't had the good sense to take the job. Cobbling down by the San Antonio River had a lot to recommend it. It wasn't exciting, but neither would it expose you to the risk of being caught on the open prairie, roped to a wagon wheel, and burned to death. Of course, he could go back and take the job--the old cobbler liked him--but he was already a long ride out of San Antonio, and would run the very risk he wanted to avoid if he tried to go back alone.
"I wish there was more timber on this road," Blackie Slidell said. "I don't know if we could whip nine of those rascals if they came charging and we had nothing to hide behind." "Nine's about the right size for a raiding party," Bigfoot observed. He had about finished his digging. The grave wasn't deep enough, but it would have to do.
"Why?" Call asked.
"Why what?" Bigfoot replied. The youngster was a good digger, and besides, he was steady. Of all the troop, he was the least affected by the sight of charred bodies. Of course, Long Bill wasn't shaking or puking, but Long Bill was notorious for his bad eyesight. He probably hadn't come close enough to take a good look.
"Why is nine a good size?" Call asked, as Gus handed him an armful of sacks. He spread one layer of sacking over each man, and then rolled the bodies over and tucked another layer of sacking over their backsides. It was curious how stiff bodies got--the dead men's limbs were as stiff as wood.
"Nine's about right," Bigfoot said, impressed that young Call was eager to learn, even while performing an unpleasant task. "Nine men who know the country can slip between the settlements without being noticed. They can watch the settlers and figure out which farms to attack. If there's a family with four or five big strapping boys who look like they can shoot, they'll leave it and go on to one where there's mostly womenfolk." Matilda Roberts stood looking at the corpses as Call and Gus finished covering them with sacking. She recognized one of the men; his name was Eli, and he had come to her more than once.
"That nearest one is Eli Baker," she said.
"He worked in the flour mill. I know him by his ear." "What about his ear?" Bigfoot asked.
"Look at it, before you rake the dirt over him," Matilda said. "He got half his ear cut off when he was a boy--the bottom half.
That's Eli Baker for sure. We ought to try to get word to his family. I believe he had several young 'uns." "And a wife?" Bigfoot asked.
"Well, he didn't have the young 'uns himself," Matilda said. "I ain't seen him in a year or two, but I know he's Eli Baker." When the corpses were covered, everyone stood around awkwardly for a minute. The wide prairie was empty, though the tall grass sang from the breeze. The sun shone brilliantly.
Bigfoot took the stock of the broken shotgun and tamped the dirt solidly over the grave of the two wagoneers.
"If anybody knows a good scripture, let them say it," Bigfoot said. "We need to skedaddle. I'd rather not have to race no Comanches today--my horse is lame." "There's that scripture about the green pastures," Long Bill recalled. "It's about the Lord being a shepherd." "So say it then, Bill," Bigfoot said.
He caught his horse and waited impatiently to mount.
Long Bill was silent.
"Well, there's the green pastures," he said.
"That's all I can recall. It's been awhile since I had any dealings with scriptures." "Can anyone say it?" Bigfoot asked.
"Leadeth me beside the still waters," Matilda said. "I think that's the one Bill's talking about." "Well, this is a green pasture, at least," Bigfoot said. "It'll be greener, if it keeps raining." "I wonder why people want to say scriptures when they've buried somebody?" Call reflected to Gus as they were trotting on toward Austin.
"They're dead--they can't hear no holy talk." Gus had the scared feeling inside again. The Indian who had nearly brought him down with a lance was somewhere around. He might be tracking them, or watching them, even then. He might be anywhere, with his warriors. They were approaching a little copse of live-oak trees thick enough to conceal a party of Comanches. What if Buffalo Hump and his warriors suddenly burst out, yelling their terrible war cries? Would he be able to shoot straight?