Ben brought Brutus to a stop a few feet from the bloody bodies of Morning Dew, Swan Woman, and Black Moon and looked down at them. Tears pricked his eyes. That wouldn't do, for he mustn't give a sign that he knew them. He blinked his tears away and focused on devising a plan that would give him a chance to kill the four men.
"Looks like you killed some Indians," Ben said, fighting the tightness in his throat.
The four men remained silent, staring at Ben's mutilated face. The sight of him had thrown some confusion into the group.
Finally a tall man with a full beard spoke. "We didn't mean to shoot the squaws, but they were too close to the buck and got in the way. Ruined the fun we could've had."
Ben saw a man lying on the opposite side of the camp. By his posture and a trail leading from him off through the grass, it appeared he had been dragged in from some other location and dropped on the ground.
"Looks like the buck got one of you," Ben said. Good for you, Black Moon.
"A tough son of a bitch. That Sharps bullet should'a killed him straight out."
"He's dead now," Ben said. "A bad-luck Indian."
"And sure an ugly one. Don't see how a man that ugly could have two such pretty squaws" The man was smirking as he looked into Ben's ugly face.
Ben read the man's insult. But that was nothing as compared to his hatred of the men for killing the Comanches. "Were some of those horses his?" Ben asked.
"Yeah, those five there. Fine animals too."
"Those are Valdes horses," Ben said.
"That's their brand, all right."
"That means the Indian was down south robbing the Mexicans. He must've killed a rich Mex, for that one saddle has a lot of silver on it. I bet he got more than just the horse and saddle. Did you search his pockets for gold coin? Even the squaws could have gold on them."
"Didn't think of that. I've never found coin on an Indian I killed." He motioned at the other men. "Have a look."
Three of the men went to the Comanches and began to search through their clothing.
The tall man seemed mesmerized by Ben's face. "Did you get that in the war?" he asked.
"Yes," Ben replied and grinned, his face twisting into a horrible mask with the action. "Would you like a souvenir from the war?" He moved his hand toward his hip pocket as if reaching for some object back there. His hand stopped at the holstered pistol on his side.
The man looked perplexed by the question. "What do you mean?"
"There was a hell'uva lot of death there." Ben pulled his pistol and shot the man in the forehead. Ben pivoted toward the remaining three men. He must quickly identify the man who would react most swiftly to the shot. A small, skinny man jerked around. In a fraction of a second he took in the situation and grabbed for his pistol. Before the man could touch his weapon, Ben shot him through the heart. He shot the third man as he looked up from Morning Dew's body.
The fourth man hastily stabbed his hands up above his head. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" he cried.
"Why not?" Ben asked, holding his pistol pointed into the man's face. "Why should I let you live?"
"I ain't done nothing to you. Nothing a'tall. Let me get on my horse and ride out."
"Why didn't you ride on by and let them safe?" Ben moved his free hand to indicate the three Comanches.
"They were just Indians."
"Yeah, they were. I knew them and was getting to like them. And I don't like you." Ben shot the man through the right eye.
* * *
Ben buried Black Moon, Morning Dew, and Swan Woman close together in graves he dug in the prairie sod. The bodies of the white men he left for the coyotes and buzzards.
He gathered the horses, now numbering thirteen counting the packhorses, and tied them in a line. He mounted Brutus, and sat looking down at the three graves. The Llano Estacado was a place where living things died by violence, and he had added to the violence. He heard the wind in the prairie grass and it was sighing, as if expressing shame at what he and Black Moon had done to the young Indian women. The awful episode of stealing the women, and by so doing being the cause of their deaths, had cut a hard groove in his mind, one that would never be eroded away by the passage of time.
A vast clarity came to Ben. God was a joker and had just played a big one. The man who cared the least about living was the one who had survived.
Evan Payson and John Davis entered Monroe, Louisiana, in early afternoon. Planning to catch a train west, they continued on directly across town to the station of the Houston & Texas Central Railroad. When they arrived, a train of four passenger coaches and two flatbed cars sat in front of the station house. The engine was quietly chuffing steam.
A Confederate lieutenant, with his left arm in a sling, was directing a squad of soldiers. He was small and thin and seemed hardly more than a boy. He had six soldiers helping wounded men to climb aboard the coaches. Four soldiers were loading freight, boxes, barrels, and crates onto the flatbed cars.
"The Army has taken over the railroad," John said to Evan, sitting beside him on the seat of the surrey.
"Looks like more wounded from Vicksburg are trying to get home same as we are," Evan said. "Pull up there by the lieutenant and let's talk to him about hitching a ride."
"Right," John said. He pulled the team of horses to a stop with the vehicle close to the lieutenant.
"Lieutenant, do you have room for two more on the train?" Evan called.
The lieutenant looked at Evan. He noted the slumped shoulders and sallow, bony face of the wounded man. The fellow appeared quite ill. He looked past Evan to John. "I'm taking only wounded soldiers," the lieutenant said.
"We fit that bill," John said.
"You two were at Vicksburg?"
"Yes, sir," John said. "I'm Corporal Davis and my leg's all smashed to hell. And this is Captain Payson, he took a bullet in the lung. Now don't ask what army he was with thought John. "We're both from El Paso."
"The train's crowded, but I think you can find space for yourselves someplace." He called out to a soldier near where the wounded were being loaded. "Sergeant, allow these soldiers from Vicksburg to go aboard."
"Yes, sir," replied the sergeant.
"How long before you pull out?" Evan asked the lieutenant.
"Probably half an hour. We're mostly loaded."
"Do you know where we can sell these horses and surrey?"
"See Ed Tomlinson. Three blocks that way." The lieutenant pointed with his good arm. "He's a horse trader. You should get a good price, for horses are scarce with so many being taken east by the soldiers going off to fight. Don't be gone long, for I'll not hold the train for you."