Dead Man's Walk (51 page)

"There's the firing squad. We should have run with the boys, when they charged up the river." Bigfoot looked at the soldiers, and drew the same conclusion.
"If we wasn't chained up at the ankles we might jump the wall--one or two of us might make it out, but I figure they'd run us down in a day or two. Or them dogs would eat us." "Me, I'd just as soon be shot as to be eaten by a damn bunch of curs," Long Bill said.
"Oh, they ain't going to shoot us--we're supposed to be marched to Mexico City," Gus said. "This here's just a show of some kind, for that big Mexican." Call was skeptical.
"They don't need a priest and a firing squad if it's just a show," he said.
When the last Texan was barbered, they were lined up behind the tables where the basins sat. Then the stools were removed, and all but one of the tables.
Major Laroche stepped crisply toward them, carrying an earthen jar. He sat the jar on the table. It had a cloth over it, which he did not at first remove.
"At last we come to the moment of our ceremony," he said. "You are all guilty of attempting to overthrow the lawful government of New Mexico. By the normal laws of war you would all be shot. But the authorities have decided to be merciful." "Merciful how?" Bigfoot asked.
"Some will live and some will die," the Major said. "There are ten of you, not counting the woman. The woman we will spare. But the ten of you are soldiers and must take the consequences of your actions." "Most of us already have," Call said. They were going to shoot them all--he was sure of that. He saw no reason to stand there and listen to a French soldier make fancy speeches at them, for the benefit of a fat Mexican.
The Major paused, and looked at him.
"We started from Texas with nearly two hundred men," Call said. "Now we're down to ten. I'd call that punishment--I don't know what you'd call it." "That is but the fortunes of war, Monsieur," Major Laroche said. "Here is how our ceremony will work. In the jar I have placed before you are ten beans. Five of them are white, and five are black. Each of you will be blindfolded. You will come to the bowl and draw a bean. The five who draw white beans will live. The five who draw black beans will die. We have a priest, as you can see. And we have a firing squad. So, gentlemen, who would like to be the first to draw a bean?" There was a pause--Gus and Long Bill glanced at Bigfoot Wallace, but Bigfoot had his eyes fixed on the nearest soldier with a musket. He was not thinking about white beans or black--not yet.
He was thinking that he might try to grab a musket, shoot the Major or the fat alcalde, and try to get over the wall with a few of the boys. The leg irons were the deuce to cope with, but if a few of them could get over the wall with a musket or two, at least they would have a chance to die fighting. He didn't trust the Mexicans, in the matter of the beans. It might be that all the beans in the bowl were black--it was probably just a ruse to give them hope, when there was no hope.
Call didn't trust the beans either, but he didn't intend to stay like a coward and wait for someone to move--so he stepped forward, in front of the table that held the bowl. A soldier with a black bandana in his hand stood near the table.
"Ah, good--our first volunteer," the Major said.
He looked for a moment at the soldier with the bandana.
"Be sure that you blindfold him well," the Major said.
The bowl with the beans in it had a white cloth over it. The soldier came up behind Call and put the bandana over his eyes; he pulled it tight and knotted it quickly in place. The soldier knew his job--Call couldn't see a thing. The bandana let through no light at all.
The blindfold alone did not satisfy Major Laroche. He picked up the jar of beans, took the cloth off it, and walked around behind Call.
"A blindfold can slip," he said. "I am going to hold the jar behind you, just below your left hand.
When you are ready, reach in and pick your bean." Call felt his hand bump the side of the jar.
He didn't know what to expect, but he put his hand in the bowl anyway. It occurred to him that it was just a trick of some kind. There could be spiders or scorpions in the bowl--even a small snake.
Bigfoot had pointed out to him that the smallest rattlesnakes were often the deadliest. Perhaps the firing squad was just for show.
Immediately, though, he realized that his suspicions were foolish. In the bottom of the bowl were a few beans. There was no way to choose between them so he took one, and pulled his hand out of the bowl. The soldier immediately began to untie the blindfold.
"You were brave enough to start, Monsieur, and your courage has been rewarded," Major Laroche said.
Call looked in his palm, and saw that the bean was white.
"You will live," the Major said. "Step to the side, please. We need another volunteer." Bigfoot Wallace immediately stepped forward.
Call's luck had persuaded him that there really were beans in the brown jar. He abandoned his plan to try and steal a musket and leap the wall.
Mostly, through the years, in situations that were life and death, his luck had held. Call had drawn a white bean; he might also. There was no point in flinching from the gamble.
Bigfoot had a head to match his more famous appendages. The blindfold, which had been easy to knot around Call's head, would barely go around Bigfoot's. By pulling hard, the soldier assigned to do the blindfolding could just get the ends of the bandana to meet, but he could not pull it tight enough to knot it.
"We should have cut your hair, Monsieur Wallace," the Major said. "The blindfold won't fit you." "I can just squinch up my eyes," Bigfoot said. "The beans are behind me, anyway. I can't see behind myself." "Maybe not, but rules are rules," the Major said. "You must be blindfolded." He motioned to another soldier, who held the other end of the bandana--the two soldiers pressed the blindfold tightly against Bigfoot's eyes.
"I couldn't see a bolt of lightning if one was to strike right in front of me," Bigfoot said.
"The bowl is below your left hand," Major Laroche said. "Please draw your bean." Bigfoot took out a bean, and held it in his palm. Even before the soldier dropped his blindfold he heard a cry from one of the ladies who sat with the alcalde. When he looked in his palm, he saw that the bean was black.
"The count is one and one," Major Laroche said.
One of the ladies sitting with the alcalde had fainted at the sight of the black bean. Two of the other women were fanning her. The alcalde paid no attention to the women. He did not seem very interested in the Texans, or in the drama of life and death that was unfolding in front of him.
A boil on his hand seemed to interest him more. He picked at it with a tiny knife, and then wiped it with a fine white handkerchief.
Bigfoot looked at the bean in his hand, and then put it in his pocket. Two soldiers moved him a short distance, in the direction of the wall where the firing squad waited. Bigfoot glanced back at his comrades, the Texans still waiting to draw.
"Good-bye, boys--I guess I'll be the first to be shot," he said.
As he waited, he pulled the black bean out of his pocket several times and looked at it. In his years on the frontier he had been in threat of his life many times, from bullets, tomahawks, arrows, lances, knives, horses, bears, Comanche, Apache, Kiowa, Sioux, Pawnee --yet his life had finally been lost to an unlucky choice of beans, in the courtyard of a leper colony in El Paso.
The Rangers still waiting were stunned.
Bigfoot, more than any other man, had led them to safety across the prairies. He had outlasted their commanders, and taught them the tricks of survival. He had helped them find food, and had located rivers and water-holes for them.
Yet now he was doomed.
"Bye, Matty," Bigfoot said, waving to Matilda. Then he had a thought.
"Will you sing over me, Matty?" he asked.
He remembered that his aunts had sung beautifully, back in old Kentucky, long ago.
"I'll sing a song for you--I'll try to remember one," Matilda said. "I'll do it--you were a true friend to my Shad." Don Shane stepped up next, and drew a black bean. Silent as usual, Don didn't speak or change expression. Quartermaster Brognoli, who was still glassy eyed and whose head still jerked, stood at attention while being blindfolded; he drew a white bean. Joe Turner, a stocky fellow from Houston who spoke with a slow stutter, came next and drew a black bean. He and Don were marched over to stand with Bigfoot. Brognoli moved over and stood with Call.
Gus stood by Long Bill Coleman.
Wesley Buttons stood with two cousins named Pete and Roy--no one could remember their last names. Neither Wesley, nor Pete, nor Roy, seemed inclined to advance to the table where the jar waited. Long Bill turned, and looked at Gus.
"Well, do you want to go and draw?" he asked. He himself was not anxious to step forward and be blindfolded, but the Texans' ranks were thinning. A turn could not be avoided much longer.
Gus knew he ought to take a bold approach to the gamble ahead--the sort of approach he had always taken at cards or dice. But this was not cards or dice--this was life or death, and he did not feel bold. He looked at Matty, who was crying. He looked at Major Laroche, and at the fat alcalde, who was still picking at his boil.
"Woodrow went first, maybe I'll be the last," Gus said.
"I expect you're hoping somebody will use up all them black beans before you get there," Long Bill said. "The way I count it there's two of them damn black ones left." Gus didn't answer. He felt very frightened, and a good deal annoyed with Woodrow Call, for being so quick to volunteer. If he himself had been given a moment to steady his nerves, he might have gone first and drawn the same white bean that Woodrow drew. Woodrow Call was too impatient--everyone agreed with that.
Wesley Buttons went next, while Long Bill was thinking about it; he drew a white bean --Gus and Long Bill were both chagrined that they had not stepped forward more quickly. Now Wesley was safe, but they weren't.
Long Bill felt a terrible anxiety growing in him; he could not stand the worrying any longer.
He bolted forward so quickly that he almost overturned the table where the jar with the beans sat.
"Calm, Monsieur, calm," the Major said. "There is no need to bump our table." "Well, but I'm mighty ready now," Long Bill said. "I want to take my turn." "Of course, you shall take your turn," the Major said.
The blindfold was tied in place, and the bowl moved below Long Bill's left hand. He quickly thrust his hand into the bowl and felt the beans. Before he could choose one, though, an anxiety seized him--it gripped him so suddenly and so strongly that he could not make his fingers pick out a bean. He froze for several seconds, his hand deep in the jar. He wondered if black beans felt rougher than white beans--or whether it might be the other way around.
Major Laroche waited a bit, then cleared his throat.
"Monsieur, you must choose," he said.
"Come. Be brave, like your comrades. Choose a bean." Desperately, Long Bill did as he was told--he forced his trembling fingers to clutch a bean, but no sooner had he lifted it free of the pot than he dropped it. The soldier with the bandana bent to pick it up. Then he took the blindfold off, and handed the bean to Long Bill--the bean was white.
Pete went next; he turned his blindfolded face up to the sky as if seeking instruction, before he drew. He didn't seem to be praying, but he held his face up for a moment, to the warm sun.
Then he drew a black bean.
That left two men: Gus, and the skinny fellow named Roy.
At the thought that he might be the last to draw, which would condemn him for sure if Roy was lucky enough to draw a white bean, Gus jumped forward almost as quickly as Long Bill had. When he put his hand in the jar he realized that the Mexicans had not been lying about the number of beans. There were only two beans left--one for him, and one for Roy. One had to be white, the other black. He pushed first one bean and then the other with his finger, remembering all the times he had thrown the dice. He always threw quickly--it didn't help his luck to cling to the dice.
He took a bean and pulled his hand out, but when the soldier removed the blindfold, he could not immediately bring himself to open his eyes. He held out his hand, with the bean in his palm--everyone saw that it was white before he did.
Roy went pale, when he saw the white bean in Gus's palm.
"I guess that does it for me," he said quietly, as if speaking to himself. But he went through the blindfolding calmly, and drew the last black bean; then he walked with a steady step over to join the men who were to die.
Gus stepped the other direction, and stood by Call.
"You shouldn't have waited so long," Call told him.
"Well, you went first, and nobody told you to," Gus said, still annoyed. "There were five black beans in there, when you went, and there wasn't but one when I went. I figure I helped my chances." "If I had had a weapon I wouldn't have stood for it," Call said--their five comrades were even then being marched toward the wall where the firing squad waited.
As he watched, the same soldier who had blindfolded them as they drew the beans went over with five bandanas and soon had the unlucky Texans blindfolded--all, that is, except Bigfoot Wallace, whose head, once again, was too large for the blindfold that had been provided.
Major Laroche, annoyed by the irregularity, yelled at one of the soldiers behind the alcalde, who hurried into the building, followed by one of the shrouded figures. A moment later the soldier came back with part of a sheet, which had been cut up to make a blindfold.
"Monsieur Wallace, I am sorry," the Major said. "A man doesn't like to wait, at such a time." "Why, Major, it's not much of a thing to worry about," Bigfoot said. "I've seen many a man die with his eyes wide open. I guess I could manage it too, if I had to." The men who were to live were marched over and offered the chance to exchange last words with those who were to die--but in fact, few words were exchanged. Bigfoot handed Brognoli a little tobacco, which he had accepted from one of the men in the oxcart. Joe Turner was shaky--he gripped Call's hand hard, when Call reached out to exchange a last shake.
"Matty, have you picked a song?" Bigfoot asked. "I expect a hymn would be the thing--I don't know none myself, but my ma and her sisters knew plenty." Matilda was too choked up--she couldn't reply. Now five of the ten boys were to be shot-- soon there would be no one left at all, of all the gallant boys she had set out from Austin with.
Gus, likewise, was tongue tied. He looked at Roy, at Joe, at Don Shane, at Pete, and couldn't manage a word. He shook their hands--since they were in leg irons already, Major Laroche had decided that their hands did not need to be tied. The five who were to live waited a moment in front of the five who were condemned, thinking they might want to send messages to their loved ones, or exchange a few last words, but the five blindfolded men merely stood there, silent. Pete turned his face to the sky, as he had just before drawing the black bean.