The July sun blazed down from a sky bleached to a shimmering gray by the intensity of its rays. The flat Llano Estacado fumed and hot updrafts soared. No bird rode the elevators of wind rushing skyward, nor did any animal of the ground venture out, but instead they hid in their cool burrows, or in the shade cast by the few stunted bushes. Only the five horses moved on all the broad land, and their gait was a slow walk.
Riders were mounted upon three of the horses, and they sat with bodies drooping and shoulders hunched against the scorching heat. The two remaining horses were pack animals. The riders were two days west of Abilene.
"Goddamn, it's hot," John said as he wiped sweat from his face with a bandana.
"Even for Texas," Evan added. "We need to find shade and get out of the sun."
"The Colorado River shouldn't be far ahead, maybe ten miles," Ben said. "There'll be plenty of shade there, and fresh water from the springs along the riverbank.
"You up to it, Evan?"
"Do I have a choice?" Evan said.
The men fell silent, locked within the realm of their own private thoughts.
* * *
The blood red sun was sinking into the bottomless pit behind the rim of the world when the three riders reached the Colorado River. They guided their mounts and the packhorses out onto the bank above the river and surveyed the quarter-mile-wide valley of the river below them.
The Colorado was a blue-green strip of water meandering back and forth as it made its way south down the valley. One loop of the river was but a few hundred feet in front of the men. Several oxbows, abandoned meanders of the river, partially filled with aged, stagnant water, lay here and there on the flat bottomland. Broad expanses of dark green marsh areas of willows, sedges, and tall, rank grass crowded each other for growing room in the low, wet spots. On the edges of the marsh where the sites were slightly drier, large cottonwoods grew. The periphery of the green oasis of the river was dotted with huge walnut trees.
"This Colorado River sure ain't big as the one in the Arizona Territory," John said.
"You've seen that one?" Ben asked.
"Yep. About seven years ago. It's wide and deep enough for big steamboats to come up from the ocean and the Gulf of California to Arizona City."
"What were you doing there?" Ben asked.
"Another fellow and I went there to work in the silver mines near Arizona City. I want to tell you we saw something strange. The town's ferry slides on a long steel cable that's stretched over the river. The ferry can be made to cross the river just by being angled this way and that way against the current. The river water hitting the slanting side of the ferry just simply pushes it back and forth from one bank to the other."
"I've heard about that ferry," Ben said.
"Let's not sit here in the sun and talk," Evan said. "There's shade under that big walnut tree."
He reined his mount to the side toward the tree. The horse had taken but two steps when one of its front feet broke through the crust of the bank and the animal went to its knees.
* * *
The wild boar slept soundly on the cool, damp earth in the shade of the hollow beneath the undercut river-bank. He was big and black, and at the moment his nose was twitching and moving up and down with his dreaming, as if he were rooting for a tasty, buried tidbit.
A piece of dirt broke loose from the roof of the bank overhang above the boar and fell to strike him on the side of the head. He grunted in a coarse bass tone and his ears flared. He jerked to consciousness and his head rose to look at the ceiling. Something large and heavy was shaking the ground directly over his head. More clods showered down upon him from the dirt roof.
The boar came to his feet in one swift movement. He snorted loudly in alarm.
The leg of a horse crashed through the thin, weak top of the bank overhang and landed upon the boar. His snort changed to a shrill squeal and he flung himself into open sunlight. He had no thought of direction or destination. He only knew safety lay elsewhere. With his short, muscular legs driving like pistons, he raced away plowing through the marsh grass of the river bottom.
Ben yanked his rifle from its scabbard and snapped it to his shoulder. He tracked the running hog in the grassy vegetation of the marsh. The front sight settled on the animal and then the rear sight came into alignment. He fired.
The black boar felt the pain from the strike of the bullet and that served to drive him to greater exertion. But something was wrong; the sturdy legs that had never failed him began to fail him now. They swiftly weakened, and instead of tearing through the tough grass, became entangled in it. He went down hard on his stomach.
He tried to rise, but could not. He tried to look around, but could not lift his head. The world around him faded and then went black forever.
* * *
"Fresh ham for supper," John yelled gleefully.
"A damn fine shot, Ben." John uncoiled his lariat. "I'll get him," he said.
He cautiously walked his cayuse out into the mud and grass. With a deft toss of the lariat, he snared the boar's snout just above the tusks, tightened the loop there where it would not slide loose, and dragged the body to the dry land.
"We have a shady camp and fresh meat," Evan said in a pleased voice.
"We're in Comanche territory," Ben said. "That shot could've been heard. I'll find a high spot and keep watch for a while."
"I'll carve out a big piece of ham from that boy and cook up the best feast you fellows ever had" John said.
* * *
The lookout point Ben had selected was downwind of the fire John had kindled and the aroma of the cooking ham came to him. The smell of the food made his mouth water. It also caused a pleasant mood to come over him for soon he would be eating with John and Evan, two men for whom he had a strong feeling of comradeship. It was good that he had found them, soldiers who had been wounded terribly in war like himself and now showed no revulsion at sight of his horrible face.
"Meat's ready," John called.
Ben came down from the raised point of land and joined with Evan, who had lain resting under a tree, and they went together to take seats on the ground where John had spread the food.
"That looks great," Ben said. "And I'm damn hungry."
John had taken provisions from the packsaddles, and now in addition to a huge chunk of roasted ham steaming and dripping juice, there were hot bread canned peaches in heavy syrup, cheese, and tins of sardines.
"Hurry up and hand me one of those tin plates," Evan said to John.
The men loaded their plates with thick slices of ham, cut with their belt knives, and sardines, wedges of pan bread, and cheese. The sweet peaches went for dessert. They ate heartily.
"The leg hurts, eh?" Ben said.
"Yeah, now and again," John said as he rubbed his damaged, badly scarred leg. "A cannonball exploded and a piece of it like to rip my leg off here just above the knee."
He looked at Ben. "Godawful thing to see one of your legs just barely hanging on."
The men had swum and bathed and now sat on flat rocks near the river's edge with their feet in the cool water. Evan had not swum, but only bathed and now slept on the grass beneath one of the trees growing several yards back from the river.
"You're lucky to still have a leg with that kind of wound" Ben said.
"It was a hell of a bad one, all right, with the flesh ripped and torn and the broken ends of the bones sticking out, but it wasn't luck that I still have it," John replied still massaging his leg.
He looked at Evan lying in the grass on a blanket. "Wasn't luck at all. Evan saved it for me."
"How so?"
John turned back to Ben. "Well, several hundred of us tried to break out of Vicksburg through the Yankees' lines when they were shelling the hell out of us. We thought that with all the dust and smoke in the air and the wind blowing it back over their lines, and with all the noise, that we could maybe make it past them. That's when I was hit. Yankees took me prisoner. I come to with a couple of their surgeons having me on a table and getting ready to cut my leg off."
John chucked a thumb in Evan's direction. "Then this other surgeon comes in. He takes a look and says to the others, let's try to save this fellow's leg. That was Evan, the youngest one of them. This head surgeon says that it'll never heal right and that it'll get gangrene. Evan says, if it does, then we'll cut it off. He really said amputate, but that means the same damn thing. I was one sick fellow, but I saw the others didn't like Evan bucking them. They said, you go ahead and try to save it, and they both left. And by God, Evan did save it and I didn't get gangrene."
"Some story. I didn't know Evan was a surgeon."
"The best Grant had in his army. I heard that the general had given orders that if he was ever wounded that only Evan should doctor him."
John extended his leg and looked at it. "With a wooden leg, I'd have a hell of a time getting a woman. Now with this leg, even if I limp, I think one would marry me. Hell, by using my leg I'll probably get to walking even better than I am now."
An embarrassed flush swept over John's features and he looked quickly at Ben's scarred face. "I'm sorry I said that, that about getting a woman."
"It's all right," Ben said, hiding his emotions. "I hope you do get a good woman."
"How'd you get yours?"
"A cannonball saw me as a target and hit me," Ben said shortly. "Do you think Evan would operate on my face?"
John looked doubtful. "He had me give away all his surgical instruments. Damn fine steel set too. Told me he made an oath that never again would he cut on a man. Still, you might ask him. The worst he can say is no. If he did agree, you'd be getting the best there was."