by Gary Paulsen
“It's nothing. Nothing at all.” Francis pushed her hand away and tried to think.
What to do?
Bury the soldier and run. It came into his mind as if it had always been there. Hide your tracks and cut and run. Get out before somebody finds out what happened. No one knew his name.
No. He couldn't run from this. Not this. He had to setde it first or it would be hanging over his head for the rest of his life. He leaned against the wall and moments of all that had happened to him since he had lost his family came back to him in flashes. Kidnapped by the Pawnees. Escaping them with the help of the mountain man, Mr. Grimes. Jason Grimes had rescued Francis and had taught him most of what he needed to survive, yet they had parted. Parted ways because of a killing.
“Where is the army?” Francis asked The woman, who had gone back to work on her husband. “How far are they?”
“They are in Taos. Where the pig came from.”
“How far is this Taos place?”
“One day of walking not so fast.”
He thought about distances. You could walk thirty miles a day without working too hard. Walking not so fast might mean a lot less. Fifteen or twenty miles. An easy day on horses.
There it was then. He'd have to take the body and find the army and explain what had happened.
Stupid, he thought. No, much more than that. The man had come here alone to do a stupid, terrible thing, then had made it worse by shooting at Francis without thinking and Francis had made it worse by getting involved in the first place. I should have kept riding, he thought, not come when I'd heard the scream.
But he couldn't have done that either.
He beckoned to the woman to follow him outside. “Would you help me? I have to roll his body in his blanket and tie it over his horse.”
“Drag it out to the desert and leave for coyotes.
Francis shook his head. “No. I'll need to bring the body back to Taos.”
He started to untie the blanket from the soldier's bedroll on his saddle.
Crazy, all of it. Just plain insane.
As it turned out, they didn't have to go all the way to Taos alone with The body.
Loading it had been hard, but finally, with the woman and Lottie helping while Billy held the trooper's horse, they had boosted the dead man belly down over the saddle and tied him in with rope. The horse didn't like it much, didn't like the smell of death, and Francis had to keep him on a short lead as they left the adobe hut and headed south.
The country was dry but pretty. There were high bluffs on the left, and they had not gone more dian five miles when they came on a small settlement along a flowing river. There were no people evident, though there were tilled fields and some goats and pigs in pens. Francis stopped to water the horses. They could not set too fast a pace with the dead soldier's body bouncing across his horse. Several times Francis had a struggle to keep the trooper's horse from running away.
“It's spooky here,” Lottie said, and even Billy, who sometimes went two or three days without saying a word, said, “Ha'nts.”
Lottie took a deep breath and began, “I remember one time when Ma and Pa were both alive and we were back east somewhere, we were pulling the wagon and saw all kinds of shooting stars, and Pa thought they were spooky but Ma didn't and they had an argument about it that lasted nigh on three days …”
Carrying a body didn't help, Francis thought—it made everything spooky. He gigged the horses to get them going again; they thought they were going to spend the night in the settlement and were reluctant to leave. He had to kick with his heels and jerk on the horse carrying the body until he finally got them going. The mule came along peacefully, for which Francis was grateful.
Three miles out of the settlement, still a solid ten miles from Taos, they ran into the patrol of soldiers.
There were seven troopers and an officer leading. They came in from the west out of the desert, not on the north-south trail. Their mounts looked done in. Even at a distance Francis could see the horses wobbling, walking too loosely.
I could still run, Francis thought, watching them come toward the trail. We have good stock, fresh horses, and the mule would outdistance any horse alive. I could still run.
But he knew he wouldn't.
The troopers cut The trail half a mile and more ahead of them. They started to turn and head toward Taos. Then one of them saw Francis and called to the others, and they all turned and waited, not wanting to push their horses any more than they had to.
When Francis was still fifty yards away one of the men said, “Hey. He's pulling Flannagan's mount. I know the blaze and one white stocking. And there's a body on it!”
The patrol kicked their exhausted mounts into motion and approached Francis and the children with weapons ready. With a start, Francis remembered that he had never reloaded his rifle. He had been so distraught that he had forgotten all about it. Not that it would help him much with eight soldiers, all weapons ready. He'd be dead before be hit the ground.
“What is all this?” The officer asked, pulling up across the trail in front of Francis to block his way. As Francis stopped, the officer rode closer and looked under the blanket. “It's Flannagan all right. How did this happen?”
For once Lottie was quiet. Francis thought quickly. If he told the truth, would they just shoot him? Or should he lie now and tell the truth later, or would that make them even angrier?
He decided to tell the truth.
“I shot him.”
“You shot him?”
“Yes, sir. He was trying to force a Mexican woman and I surprised him. He drew his cap and ball and shot at me and I just pulled the trigger. I didn't want to shoot him. It just happened.”
“It just happened …”
“Yes, sir. In self-defense.”
“Self-defense …” The officer looked at the body on the horse again, then back at Francis. “Who arc you?”
“My name is Francis Tucket. Over a year ago I was with my family heading west on the Oregon Trail and T was kidnapped by Pawnees. I escaped and tried to head after them, and on the way I found these two young ones …”
The officer shook his head. “Just the name for now. And one more thing. We're still fighting the Mexicans. What are you doing here, in the middle of it?”
“I didn't know there was a war …” Francis told him how diey had hit the closed passes of the north and drifted south looking for a way through to the West.
“Some drift. You must have come five hundred miles.”
“Closer to six, I think. I've been keeping track by day.”
“Well, Francis Tucket, I'm going to have to take that rifle and put you under confinement until we can get to the bottom of this.”
Francis shook his head. “I'll take the confinement, but I can't give you my rifle.”
It was a tight moment. The rifle had been with him constantly, except for when the Indians had captured him and again when two men had surprised him sleeping. It was like an extension of his arm, his mind, and he had no intention of releasing it again, voluntarily or otherwise.
The officer moved to the side to give his troopers a clearer field of fire if they needed it. “[can't have a man under arrest with a loaded re …”
Francis nodded. “It's not loaded. I didn't reload it after I killed … after I fired it last.”
The officer thought, looking at Francis and the children, then nodded. “All right.” He turned in his saddle. “Sergeant O'Rourke!” Sir!
“Form an escort around the prisoners.”
“Sir!”
“Trooper Delaney!”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
“You will take the mount with Flannagan's body in tow!”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
The troopers moved their tired mounts to a line on each side of Francis and Lottie and Billy, who were still on the mule. The trooper named Delaney took the horse with the body from Francis and they all moved out. The officer started in the lead but soon droppe
d back alongside Francis.
“You say Flannagan was forcing a Mexican woman?”
Before Francis could answer, Lottie cut loose. She'd been silent all this while—–an unnatural state for her—and she blasted the officer.
“He was being ‘rageous, that soldier, simply ‘rageous. Rack home in Esther County they would have just taken him out and let the pigs eat him. Francis here saved that woman something awful and it ain't right you come along with all your guns and ‘rest him like he was bad. He isn't bad. He's good. And that man shot at him, look at his face, see? He saved us from a fate worse than death and he saved that woman the same way. Seems like you ought to give him a medal for shooting—”
“Lottie, hold it, all right?” Francis turned and held his finger to his lips. She stopped.
“She's something when she gets going, isn't she?” The officer smiled. “Reminds me of my sister. Always knows what's right and not afraid to tell you.”
Francis nodded. “She's right most of the time. Just sometimes she takes a while to get it all out.”
They rode in silence for a bit. Francis's horse fretted at walking slowly with the tired cavalry mounts, and the mule picked up on it and tried to get ahead. Francis had to fight him back.
“Mules,” The officer said. “Good until you need them and then they get stubborn.”
“This one is all right. They just don't want to go slow. Your horses are shot.”
The officer nodded. “We've been almost a hundred and fifty miles on this patrol. Looking for the Mexican Army. I told my commandant they had gone south but he still wanted to check to the north.”
Francis nodded. “I haven't seen any sign of an army.” He looked at the officer. “What's your namer
“Brannigan.”
Francis shook his head. “Brannigan, Flannagan, O'Rourke—-why all the Irish names?”
“We're an Irish militia out of Missouri, called up for the war. We're coming through here on our way south.”
“Why were we at war with Mexico?”
Brannigan snorted. “The truth is, we just want their land. They own the whole West, including California and up into the prairies, all of Texas. Those rubberneck politicians back east wanted it so they trumped up this war. It wasn't much of a war. But there are still skirmishes going on.”
More silence. Francis broke it this time. “What will happen to us?”
Brannigan shook his head. “I'm not sure. Flan-nagan is not from my troop. He's over at K Troop so I don't know much about him except that I've heard he's a bad one to …” He looked around at Lottie and Billy. “A had one to do what you caught him at. He probably deserved shooting ten times over. So I expect there won't be a problem. Srill, it's not my decision. The commanding officer will have to decide.”
“Oh. Well, I'm sorry I had to do it but the way it happened …” Francis trailed off”. In the distance he could see what looked like a large earth-colored building, or many buildings tied together, some on top of others. Like adobe huts stacked up.
“What's that?”
Brannigan squinted. “That's the Taos pueblo. Just on the other side is Taos. That's where we're going.”
“Who lives there?”
“The Taos Indians.”
“Indians?” Francis thought of tlie Pawnees, and then how he could load his rifle.
Brannigan saw the concern and chuckled. “They're not like the Plains Indians. These are more settled. They farm instead of roam and hunt.”
“More civilized?”
Another laugh. “In many ways they are far more civilized than we are …”
“Take him out and hang him.”
Francis stood, not believing, almost not hearing.
They were in the commandant's office in a building on the side of the central plaza. Except that to Francis it seemed more like a saloon. The room, the building, and the man sitting in front of him were entirely devoted to drinking. Botdes lined every shelf on every wall. There was a barrel of whiskey in one corner and a rack filled with botdes of wine in another.
Francis had seen men drunk before, and he'd seen men swill whiskey like water at the trading posts, but he had never seen anybody as drunk as the commandant. Or maybe he should say as drunk and still alive. The man wasn't sitting at his desk so much as weaving at it and his speech was slurred.
“I think, sir, that under the circumstances, we should waive …” Lieutenant Brannigan was standing next to Francis, and he spoke in a slow, measured tone. Lottie and Billy stood back by the door.
“Right now. Take him out in the plaza and hang him from one of those big cottonwoods out there.”
“But, sir …”
“No buts. What are the rules if a Mexican partisan kills a trooper?”
“Sir …”
“The rules?”
“Summary execution, sir.”
“And did this boy or did not this boy shoot and kill Trooper Flannagan?”
“Yes, sir, but …”
“By his own admission?”
“Yes, sir, but there were extenuating circumstances …”
“Doesn't matter. Take him out and hang him.”
“What about the children?”
“Hang them as well.” The commandant took a long swallow of something in a tin cup that looked and smelled like tequila. “Hang everybody in the plaza for all I care. It would clear the plaza of rift raff …”
He leaned back and closed his eyes and for a second Francis thought he was thinking. But his breathing grew regular, and after a few moments Francis realized he had passed out cold.
“Well,” Brannigan said in a low voice. “I thought that went well, didn't you?”
“Went well?” Lottie had been silent throughout, mosdy because she was in shock. She took a deep breath. “He's going to have us hanged. I wouldn't call that going very well for us. I'm never going to see eleven years old and you think that's a good way for things to go? I haven't even learned how to … how to do anything, and they're going to string us up. You call that going well? I don't think so. Going well would be if Francis took us out of here. I just wish he hadn't had to shoot that stupid soldier …”
“You're not going to hang.” Lieutenant Brannigan held his hand over her mouth. “He won't remember a thing he said tomorrow.” He turned to Francis. “Just keep her quiet now and let me handle this.”
He turned to the door and called, “Corporal Antrim, come in here, please.”
A redheaded trooper whose face was covered with freckles came into the office. “Yes, sir?”
“Commandant Donovan is napping, as you can see.
“Yes, sir.”
“He was very tired.”
“Yes, sir. He often is.”
Brannigan nodded. “Yes. He works very hard. But just before he went to sleep he disposed of the difficulty of The shooting of Trooper Flannagan. Since the situation was to all events and purposes a tragic accident, Commandant Donovan has decided to let The matter drop.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Flannagan will be buried with full military honors.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Write up a report tliat states what the commandant has done for his signature when he comes to … awakens, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That will be all, Corporal.”
The clerk left, and Brannigan looked at the commandant with open disgust, shook his head, and turned to Francis. “You mustn't think all officers are bad because of him. Some are very good at what they do. Well, he won't remember any of this. He'll think he made all the decisions himself when Corporal Antrim gives him the report to sign.”
Brannigan opened the door again and led them outside. It was late afternoon, coming in to evening, and the light filtered through the cotton-woods on the plaza in the center of town. The leaves were gone because it was fall, but the hazy light seen through the limbs had an eerie quality.
Francis shivered. For a few moments he'd actually thought he was going t
o be hanged. He could feel the rope tightening around his neck. He couldn't shake the feeling. “What happens to us now:
Brannigan stood by the horses with one hand on the mule's forehead, rubbing it idly. “You are free to go, and I do mean go. Flannagan was by all reports a complete scalawag, but he may have a friend or two who will think poorly of you for killing him. And it's best if the commandant never sees you again. No sense reminding him of what has happened.”
“I understand.”
“I will arrange for some grain for your stock and provisions for you. Then you just keep on going. Head south and west. In about thirty miles you'll come to a river, and you can follow it to Santa Fe. You will find the western trail you were looking for out of Santa Fe.”
“Is there danger from the Mexicans?”
Brannigan shook his head. “Not for you and the children. The fighting has moved to the south and we've been left behind to administer. Generally people have just gone back to living their lives—most of them didn't want the war in the first place and are glad to have it move on. Stick to the traveled roads and you'll be fine.”
He turned and pointed. “Take your horse and mule to the livery and freight area south of town and they'll give you some grain and food. Tell them Lieutenant Brannigan said to provision you.”
“Thank you—for everything.” They shook hands. Then Francis put the children on the mule.
“No trouble,” Brannigan said, as Francis mounted. “Flannagan brought it on himself. It's too bad you have to leave in a hurry. I think you would benefit from a visit to the Taos pueblo. They are a remarkable people. They have learned how to live and flourish in a place most people couldn't even pass through. You could learn much from them … Well,” he said, “good luck to you.” He saluted as they rode away. “Have all the luck there is …”
Francis wouldn't consider going out to the pueblo to visit the Indians. He knew that not all Indians were bad, that in fact most of diem were just decent people, but he had been captured by some, and held prisoner by some, and had fought some others in his mind, and he found that he was just more peaceful if he went his way and let them go theirs.
