They hurried for three miles and still weren't to the village. Just as they were about to get discouraged again, they came over a little rise in the ground and saw forty or fifty sheep, grazing on the plain ahead. A dog began to bark-two sheepherders, just making their campfire, looked up and saw them. The sheepherders were unarmed and took fright at the sight of the three Rangers.

"I expect they think we're devils," Bigfoot said, as the two sheep-herders hurried off toward a village, a mile or two away. The sheep they left in care of the two large dogs, both of whom were barking and snarling at the Texans.

"They didn't need to run-I'm just glad to be here," Gus said. In fact, he was so moved by the sight of the distant houses that he felt he might weep. Crossing the prairie he had often wondered if he would ever see a house again, or sleep in one, or ever be among people again at all. The empty spaces had given him a longing for normal things-women cooking, children chasing one another, blacksmiths shoeing horses, men drinking in bars. Several times on the journey, he had thought such things were lost forever-that he would never get across the plain to sit at a woman's table again. But now he had.

Call was glad to come to the village, too. He had been hearing about New Mexico for months, and yet, until they spotted the sheepherders, had not seen a single Mexican. He had begun to doubt that there were towns in New Mexico at all.

"I wouldn't mind stopping and cooking one of them sheep right now," Bigfoot said. "I guess that wouldn't be friendly, though. Maybe they'll cook one for us, once they see we ain't devils."

"They may think we're devils, even if we're friendly," Gus said. "I could use a barbering, and so could the rest of you."

Call knew he was right. They were filthy and shaggy. They had only their guns and the clothes they had on. And they were afoot. Who but devils would emerge from the great plain afoot?

They gave the sheep a wide berth-the big dogs acted as if they might charge at the slightest provocation; none of them felt in the mood for a dogfight.

"I have always wondered why people keep dogs," Bigfoot said. "Now, the Indians, they eat puppies, and a puppy might be tasty. But a big dog is only a step from being a wolf, and it's foolish to get too close to wolves."

The village consisted of about twenty houses, all of them made of brown adobe. Long before the three of them arrived, the whole village had gathered to watch their approach. The men, the women, and the children stood in one group, clearly apprehensive. One or two of the men had old guns.

"By God, I guess Caleb could conquer this state, if he gets here," Bigfoot said. "They don't even have a gun apiece, and I doubt they know how to shoot, anyway."

"Don't be talking of conquering them," Gus said. The mention of mutton had made him realize how hungry he was. He didn't want to lose his chance for a good meal because of any foolish talk about military matters. Let the conquering wait until they had eaten their fill.

"Wave at them, let them know we're friendly," Bigfoot said. "They don't look hostile, but there might be a show-off who wants to impress a gal. That's usually what starts a fight, in situations like this."

They walked into the village slowly, giving evident signs that their intentions were friendly. Some of the little children hid their faces in their mothers' skirts. Most of the women kept their faces down- only a few bold little girls stared at the strangers. The men stood still as statues.

"This is when I wish I was better at the Spanish lingo," Bigfoot said. "I know some words, but I can't seem to get my tongue around them right."

"Just name off some grub," Gus advised. "Frijoles or tortillas or cabrito or something. I'm mostly interested in getting a meal and getting it soon."

They walked on, smiling at the assembled people, until they were at the center of the little village, near the common well. A bucket of water had just been brought up-Bigfoot looked around and smiled, before asking if they might drink.

"Agua?" he asked. He addressed the question to an old man standing near the well. The old man looked embarrassed-he didn't raise his eyes.

"Certainly-you may drink your fill-it's a very long walk from Texas," a forceful voice said, from behind them.

They turned to see ten muskets pointed at them. A little group of militia had been hiding behind one of the adobe houses. The man who spoke stood somewhat to the side. He wore a military cap, and had a thin mustache.

"What's this? We just want a drink," Bigfoot said. He looked chagrined. Once again, they had been easily ambushed.

"You can have the drink, but I must ask you to lay down your arms, first," the large man said, firmly.

"Who are you?" Bigfoot asked. "We just walked in. We're friendly. Why point a bunch of guns at us?""I am Captain Salazar," the man said. "Lay down your weapons, and you will come to no harm."

Bigfoot hesitated a moment-so did Gus and Call. Although ten rifles were pointed at them, at a distance of no more than thirty feet, they didn't want to lay down their arms.

There was dead silence in the village for several moments, while the Rangers considered the order. Captain Salazar waited-he was smiling, but it was not a friendly smile. The soldiers had their rifles ready to fire.

"Now, this is a fine welcome," Bigfoot said, hoping to get the man into a conversation. If they talked a minute, he might ease off.

"Serior, it is not a welcome," Captain Salazar said. "It is an arrest. Please lay down your arms."

Bigfoot saw it was hopeless.

"If that's your opinion, I guess it wins the day," he said. He laid down his guns.

After a moment, Call and Gus did the same. A soldier ran over and took the weapons.

"Help yourselves to the water," Captain Salazar said.

"IF THAT'S THE SHOW, we might as well drink, at least," Bigfoot said. There were two stone dippers in the water bucket. He filled one, and offered the other to Gus. Call waited until they drank. The ten soldiers had not lowered their muskets. Though he was thirsty, he found it unpleasant to drink with guns pointed at him. While Gus and Bigfoot drank, he inspected the Mexican militia. They were a mixed lot-several were boys not older than twelve or thirteen, but two were old men who looked to be seventy, at least. None of them had the appearance of being formidable fighters-any three Rangers could have scattered them easily, had it not been for the awkward fact that they had the drop. Also, Captain Salazar knew his job and his men. Call knew they would have fired together, had he given the order.

"I am surprised you chose to make such a long walk, Senores," Captain Salazar said. "Very few people have walked across the llano. You may be the first, in which case you deserve congratulations."

He gestured to a blacksmith, who stood in front of one of the little shacks. The blacksmith had an anvil and a pile of chains.

"Put the leg irons on them," he said.

"Leg irons," Gus said. "I thought you said we deserve congratulations. Leg irons ain't my notion of congratulations."

"Which of us gets what he deserves in life?" Salazar said, smiling his unfriendly smile again. "I deserve to be a general but am only a captain, sent to this wretched village to catch invaders."

"Shoot them if they resist," he added, turning to the militia.

Call looked at Bigfoot, who was standing calmly by the well. He had mastered his anger and looked as calm as if he had been listening to a sermon.

"Do we have to do it?" Call asked. "I hate like hell to be chained."

"No, you don't have to do it," Bigfoot said. "But it's be chained or be shot. I'll be chained myself. I've been chained before. It ain't a permanent condition, like being dead."

"Your commander is wise," Salazar said. "I would rather feed you than shoot you, but I will shoot you if you don't obey."

"I'll go first, I've had more experience with chaining," Bigfoot said. He walked over, smiled at the blacksmith, and put one of his big feet on the anvil.

"Hammer careful," he said. "I'd hate it if you smashed my toes."

The blacksmith was a young man. He was very, very careful in his work and soon had leg irons on Bigfoot.

Captain Salazar came over and gave the irons a close inspection. It was obvious to Call that the man had made himself feared in the village. Though Bigfoot was calm during the chaining, the young blacksmith wasn't.

"These are important prisoners," Salazar said. "You must do your work well. If one of them escapes while they are in this village, I will hang you."

Call felt a rage building in him, as the young blacksmith tightened the iron around his ankle. He regretted laying down his gun. He felt it would have been better to die fighting than to submit to the indignity of chains.

None of the people in the village so much as moved during the whole procedure. The sheepherders did not go back to their sheep. Two old men with hoes stood where they were. The women of the village, many of whom were plump, kept their eyes downcast-yet once or twice, Call thought he saw looks of sympathy in the eyes of the women. One girl not more than twelve looked at him several times. She didn't dare smile, but she looked. She was a pretty thing, but the sight of a pretty girl could not distract him from the fact that the young blacksmith had just hammered an iron band around his leg.

"I guess this town ain't got no jail," Gus said, to Captain Salazar. "If it had one, I guess you'd just stick us in it."