"No, it is a poor village," Salazar said. "If it had a jail I would put you in it for tonight. But the leg irons are for your march."

"What march? We're just about marched out."

"Don't worry-we don't start until tomorrow," Captain Salazar said. "The women will give you lots of posole and you will have all night to rest."

"Oh, then we're off to Santa Fe?" Bigfoot asked. "At least we'll get to see the town."

"No, you are off to El Paso," Salazar said. "El Paso is in the south. You will never see Santa Fe, I am afraid."

"Well, that's a pity-I've heard it's a fine town," Bigfoot said. He was being very friendly-too friendly, Call thought. He didn't intend to be at all friendly to the man-it was clear to him that Salazar would kill them all in an instant if it suited his whim.

Gus amused himself, during his chaining, by looking over the women of the village. Several seemed disposed to be sympathetic, though none would raise their eyes for more than a second. Two or three of them resumed their cooking, which they did outdoors in round ovens. They were cooking corn tortillas. The smell was a torment to one as hungry as he was, but he tried not to show it.

Salazar turned to the militia, and pointed to a small adobe house.

"Put them in there," he said. "Lock the door and four of you stand watch-these are dangerous men. If you let them get away, I will tie your hang ropes with my own hand."

The little house they were shoved into had a door so low that Gus and Bigfoot had to bend almost to their knees to get through it. It was a single room with a mud floor and a small window with bars in it. There was nothing in the room-no pitcher, no bed, nothing. Neither Gus nor Bigfoot could stand erect. Call could, but when he did his hat touched the ceiling.

"They're a small people, ain't they?" Bigfoot said, settling himself in a corner. "I expect we could whip a passel of them, if we hadn't walked into a dern ambush."

"Salazar ain't timid," Call remarked. "He's got all these people scared."

"Well, all he talks about is hanging people," Gus said. He settled in another corner. They had been allowed a jug of well water; Gus remembered that posole had been mentioned, but two hours passed and no people arrived. The four guards were standing right outside the little window. They had lowered their muskets and were talking to three girls from the village. One of the girls was the pretty one Call had noticed while he was being chained. Though she chatted with the soldiers, the girl kept looking toward the hut where they were being held.

Gus, too starved to worry about being shot or hanged, finally lost his temper and yelled at the guards.

"We're Texas Rangers, we need to be fed!" he yelled. "Your own captain said to give us posole, so go get it."

"They don't know what you're talking about," Bigfoot pointed out. "They don't know the English language."

"They know what posole is," Gus declared. "That's not English, that's Mexican."

One of the soldiers went to a house not far away, and said something to an old woman. Soon, the old woman and another came and handed in three hot bowls of posole. When the Rangers emptied them, which they quickly did, the old women brought second helpings.

"See, it don't hurt to ask, even if you're in jail," Gus said. "They ain't allowed to just let prisoners starve."

"How do you know their rules-you ain't Mexican," Call said.

THOUGH Gus AND BIGFOOT had been in jail often, Call had never been locked up before-much less locked up and shackled. He found both experiences humiliating. More and more, he regretted laying down his arms. None of the Mexicans looked like good shots. The range was close, of course, but the more he thought over their surrender, the more he wished he had fought.

"I expect we'd have got at least half of them," he said.

"It don't matter if you got nine out of ten, if the tenth one killed you," Gus pointed out. "That was good posole. This ain't the worst jail I've ever been in. They don't feed you nothing half that good in the San Antonio jail."

"It'll take more than them ten Mexicans to round up Caleb Cobb," Bigfoot said. "I expect he'll show Captain Salazar a trick or two, if the boys ain't too starved to fight when the fight starts."

"This is just a mud building," Call sdd. "I imagine we could dig out, if we tried."

"Dig out and go where?" Gus asked. "We nearly starved getting this far. Besides, we're chained."

"I know enough blacksmithing to get these chains off in two minutes," Call reminded him. "I think we ought to try and escape. Somebody needs to warn the boys."

"I ain't going-let Caleb fight his own fights," Bigfoot said. "Those old women seem friendly. I'm tired from that long walk. I say we lay around here and eat soup for a day or two before we do anything frisky."

"There's a pretty girl or two in this village," Gus said. "Some of them might take pity on us and let us out."

"No, Salazar's got 'em buffaloed," Bigfoot said. A minute later, he fell asleep and snored loudly.

Call still smarted from the humiliation of being caught so easily. They had escaped some very skillful Indians, only to be captured by a motley crew of Mexicans with rusty muskets. He was annoyed with himself, because he had been resolved to practice careful planning and avoid traps, yet he had let the fatigue of their journey wear him down. Anyone ought to have known there might be soldiers in the town-yet, once again, he had failed in alertness.

"So far we've been a disgrace in every encounter," he told Gus, but Gus was not in the mood for gloomy military critiques.

"Well, but we ain't dead," Gus said. "We still have time to learn. I guess this ain't the part of New Mexico that's filled with gold and silver."

"I told you not to expect gold and silver," Call said.

Soon Gus, too, fell asleep, but Call couldn't. He stood by the little window most of the night, looking out. There was a high moon over the prairies. Now and then, the sheepdogs barked when a coyote came too close to the flock. The soldiers who were guarding them, all of them just boys, were playing cards by the light of a little oil lantern. They didn't look capable of killing anyone, unless by accident.

Toward morning the old woman came back, bringing them coffee. Call saw the pretty girl come out of a little hut with her water jar and go toward the well. Although he was in no position to say much to her, he had the urge to exchange a good morning, at least. He regretted that he didn't know more Spanish, though, of course, working for old Jesus, he had picked up a phrase or two. As the sunrose, he could see how small the village was-just a few low houses on the edge of the great wide plain.

Bigfoot woke and drank his coffee, but Gus McCrae slept on, stretched comfortably across half the length of the floor.

"I guess he'd sleep like that if they were about to hang him," Call said.

"Well, if they were about to hang him, he might as well snooze," Bigfoot said. "He could go from one nap right into the old nap you don't wake up from."

When the sun was well up the old woman came back, bringing them hot tortillas. The smell woke Gus; he sat up, looking half asleep, but he ate as if he were wide awake.

A little later, Captain Salazar rode along the one street, mounted on a fine black horse. His militia seemed to have increased during the night-some twenty-five soldiers stood at attention, awaiting his order.

Salazar rode over to their little window, and bent in the saddle to look in.

"Good morning, Senores," he said. "I hope you are all refreshed. We have a long way to travel."

"Well, we're getting a late start," Bigfoot said. "The sun's been up an hour. What's the delay?"

"You will see-I had to conduct a trial," Salazar said. "They're bringing the scoundrel now-as soon as we shoot him we'll be on our way."

"I ain't in the mood to see nobody shot. I think I'll just snooze some more," Gus said when Salazar passed on up the street. "I wonder what the fellow did."

Before Gus could stretch out, six soldiers came; one unlocked the door to their little prison. Again, Gus and Bigfoot had to bend nearly double to get out. Once in the street, Call saw that the whole town had turned out for the event that was about to take place. Salazar had ridden up to a little church and was waiting impatiently, now and then popping his quirt against his leg. The church was not much larger than some of the houses but it had a little bell on top and its walls had been whitewashed. Four soldiers came out, dragging a blindfolded man.

"Why, it's Bes-I wonder how they caught him?" Bigfoot said, recognizing the Pawnee scout.

Indeed, it was Bes-Das: barefoot, blindfolded, and with blood on his shirt.