A soldier got up from the place where his comrades lay and came toward the clump of oak trees where the horses were hidden. I don't think he saw me. He came slowly, dragging a rifle behind him.
I still did not see the lancers. The gringos were far across the meadow. They seemed to be getting ready to climb the hill that was covered with cactus. I watched the soldier coming toward me. He had lost his hat and there was a gash on his forehead.
The soldier didn't see me until he was standing under the first of the oak trees, looking at the horses. He was trying to decide which horse to take.
He stood glancing around. He must have felt that someone was there because when he saw me sitting on my horse under the oak, he didn't act surprised. He lifted the rifle he had been dragging and held it in both hands.
He cleared his throat and said, "Get down." He spoke Spanish, but poorly.
I held tight to the lance with its tip of Toledo steel. I had no other weapon except a small blade strapped to my leg. I could not use the lance if I dismounted, for it needed not only a thrust but the speed of my horse behind it.
"Get down," the gringo said once more.
He backed off two long steps and raised the rifle. We looked at each other. He had a thin mouth and a snubbed nose and hard blue eyes.
I wheeled Tiburón. I crouched low behind his shoulder and swung behind the nearest tree. Then, as the rifle exploded, a shot tore into the branches over my head. I set the spurs and the lance.
Tiburón bolted forward. The lance struck the gringo in the shoulder and he fell backward against the trunk of a tree and lay still. I got off my horse. The gringo was breathing. The gash on his forehead no longer bled.
All the gringos had left the meadow and were climbing the hill, but our lancers were nowhere to be seen. I was alone with a wounded man. There were many others who were wounded lying in the meadow.
The young soldier was tall but he was not heavy. Still, I could not hope to lift him onto a horse or hold him there if I did. I stood looking down at him. His eyes were closed. He looked very young, as if he should be home somewhere and not lying wounded here, in a strange meadow.
A cannon went off from beyond the meadow, in the direction of the hill that was covered with cactus. Another shot was fired. The sound of moaning came from the meadow as the sun rose and the mist burned off. My horses grew impatient.
When Don César Peralta rode up, I was still standing there by the wounded gringo, unable to decide what it was best to do.
Don César glanced at the soldier. "One more," he said, and looked at me for a moment. "There is good news and news that is not good. Your father was knocked from his horse. The horse was killed. Another is needed."
We selected the biggest of the seven horses and I put my saddle on him and we crossed the meadow to a wooded barranca, where my father lay. He was not able to stand or talk and his eyes were closed. Four of the men lifted him to the gelding's back and we took him out of the draw. We went back to the clump of oak trees. The gringo had not moved.
"We will make a travois," Don César said, and he sent two of the vaqueros off to cut strong saplings. "Don Saturnino cannot stay here in the open. Dos Hermanos is close."
The vaqueros made a travois of sapling boughs and two ponchos stretched over the frame. With riatas they made a makeshift harness and fastened the travois to the saddle on one of the horses.
"You can ride the gelding as far as the river," Don César said. "I will send some of your vaqueros ahead to Dos Hermanos and have them return to the river in an ox cart, which can be used for the rest of the journey. The fighting is over. We will keep the gringos on the hill for a night or two, but we cannot keep them there any longer. We have won the battle, not the war. But we have shown them that we are not old women, which is a thing of importance."
While they were placing my father on the travois, I went over to where the soldier lay. His eyes were closed but he was still breathing. The lance wound in his shoulder bled slowly.
I went back and spoke to Don César. "I will take the gringo also," I said.
He was surprised. "Take him where?"
"To Dos Hermanos."
"For what reason?"
"Because he is wounded and may die."
Don César pointed to the meadow. "There are many there who are already dead and others who will die. We will take him there and leave him for the gringos. They will appear at nightfall, in the darkness."
I looked at Don César. "I take the soldier also," I said. "I take him to Dos Hermanos."
"Santa Maria," Don César said. He shook his head and muttered a curse under his breath that I was not meant to hear. But he went with the vaqueros and helped them to lay the gringo on the travois.
A cold wind was blowing when we started for the river. Three vaqueros went with me. One I sent ahead to carry the news to Dos Hermanos. My father did not know that he lay on the travois close beside the young soldier.