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 Big-foot'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."