Read Dead Man's Walk for Free Online

allowed his accomplished scouts to choose a route.

It was Shadrach who took them south, into the lonely country of sage and sand, where the two boys were now crouched behind their chaparral bush. In San Antonio there had been talk that war with Mexico was brewing--early on, the Major had instructed the troop to fire on any Mexican who seemed hostile.

"Better to be safe than sorry," he said, and many heads nodded.

In fact, though, the only Mexican they had seen was the unfortunate driver of the donkey cart. In the western reaches, no one was quite certain where Mexico stopped and Texas began. The Rio Grande made a handy border, but neither Major Chevallie nor anyone else considered it to be particularly official.

Mexicans, hostile or otherwise, didn't occupy much of the troop's attention, almost all of which was reserved for the Comanches. Call had yet to see a Comanche Indian, though throughout the trek, Long Bill, Rip Green, and other Rangers had assured him that the Comanches were sure to show up in the next hour or two, bent on scalping and torture.

"I wonder how big Comanches are?" he asked Gus, as they peered north into the silent darkness.

"About the size of Matilda, I've heard," Gus said.

"That old woman ain't the size of Matilda," Call pointed out. "She's no taller than Rip." Rip Green was the smallest Ranger, standing scarcely five feet high. He also lacked a thumb on his right hand, having shot it off himself while cleaning a pistol he had neglected to unload.

"Yes, but she's old, Woodrow," Gus said. "I expect she's shriveled up." He had just consumed the last of his mescal, and was feeling gloomy at the thought of a long watch with no liquor. At least he had a serape, though.

Call had no coat--he intended to purchase one with his first wages. He owned two shirts, and wore them both on frosty mornings, when the thorns of the chaparral bushes were rimmed with white.

Just then a wolf howled far to the north, where they were looking. Another wolf joined the first one.

Then, nearer by, there was the yip of a coyote.

"They say an Indian can imitate any sound," Gus remarked. "They can fool you into thinking they're a wolf or a coyote or an owl or a cricket." "I doubt a Comanche would pretend to be a cricket," Call said.

"Well, a locust then," Gus said.

"Locusts buzz. You get a bunch of them buzzing and it's hard to hear." Again they heard the wolf, and again, the coyote.

"It's Indians talking," Gus said.

"They're talking in animal." "We don't know, though," Call said. "I seen a wolf just yesterday. There's plenty of coyotes, too. It could just be animals." "No, it ain't, it's Comanches," Gus said, standing up. "Let's go shoot one. I expect if we killed three or four the Major would raise our wages." Call thought it was bold thinking. They were already a good distance from camp--the campfire was only a faint flicker behind them. Clouds had begun to come in, hiding the stars. Suppose they went farther and got caught? All the tortures Bigfoot had described might be visited on them. Besides, their orders were to stand watch, not to go Indian hunting.

"I ain't going," Call said. "That ain't what we were supposed to do." "I doubt that fat fool is a real major, anyway," Gus said. He was restless. Sitting half the night by a bush did not appeal to him much.

It was undoubtedly a long way to a whorehouse from where they sat, but at least there might be Indians to fight. Better a fight than nothing; with no more mescal to drink, his prospects were meager.

Call, though, had not responded to the call of adventure. He was still squatting by the chaparral bush.

"Why, Gus, he is too a major," Call said. "You saw how the soldiers saluted him, back in San Antonio." "Even if he ain't a major, he gave us a job," he reminded his friend. "We're earning three dollars a month. Long Bill says we'll get all the Indian fighting we want before we get back to the settlements." "Bye, I'm going exploring," Gus said.

"I've heard