He leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. And we will be the ones who will divide the spoils. There will be a section of land for every man in my company. Fine grassland. Some of the finest in the world. A land rich in minerals, in gold and silver I would say beyond the wildest speculation. You're young.
But I dont misread you. I'm seldom mistaken in a man. I think you mean to make your mark in this world. Am I wrong?
No sir.
No. And I don't think you're the sort of chap to abandon a land that Americans fought and died for to a foreign power. And mark my word. Unless Americans act, people like you and me who take their country seriously while those mollycoddles in Washington sit on their hindsides, unless we act, Mexico—and I mean the whole of the country—will one day fly a European flag. Monroe Doctrine or no.
The captain's voice had become soft and intense. He tilted his head to one side and regarded the kid with a sort of benevolence. The kid rubbed the palms of his hands on the knees of his filthy jeans. He glanced at the man beside him but he seemed to be asleep.
What about a saddle? he said.
Saddle?
Yessir.
You dont have a saddle?
No sir.
I thought you had a horse.
A mule.
I see.
I got a old hull on the mule but they aint much left of it. Aint a whole lot left of the mule. He said I was to get a horse and a rifle.
Sergeant Trammel did?
I never promised him no saddle, said the sergeant.
We'll get you a saddle.
I did tell him we might find him some clothes, Captain.
Right. We may be irregulars but we dont want to look like bobtails, do we?
No sir.
We aint got no more broke horses neither, said the sergeant.
Well break one.
That old boy that was so good about breakin em is out of commission.
I know that. Get somebody else.
Yessir. Maybe this man can break horses. You ever break horses? No sir.
Aint no need to sir me. Yessir.
Sergeant, said the captain, easing himself down from the desk. Yessir. Sign this man up.
The camp was upriver at the edge of the town. A tent patched up from old wagon canvas, a few wickiups made of brush and beyond them a corral in the form of a figure eight likewise made from brush where a few small painted ponies stood sulking in the sun.
Corporal, called the sergeant.
He aint here.
He dismounted and strode toward the tent and threw back the fly. The kid sat on the mule. Three men were lying in the shade of a tree and they studied him. Howdy, said one.
Howdy.
You a new man?
I reckon.
Captain say when we leavin this pesthole?
He never said.
The sergeant came from the tent. Where's he at? he said.
Gone to town.
Gone to town, said the sergeant. Come here.
The man rose from the ground and ambled over to the tent and stood with his hands resting in the small of his back.
This here man aint got no outfit, said the sergeant.
The man nodded.
The captain give him a shirt and some money to get his boots mended. We need to get him somethin he can ride and we need to get him a saddle.
A saddle.
Ought to be able to sell that mule for enough to get him one of some kind.
The man looked at the mule and turned back and squinted at the sergeant. He leaned and spat. That there mule wont bring ten dollars.
What it brings it brings.
They done killed another beef.
I dont want to hear about it.
I caint do nothin with em.
I aint tellin the captain. He'll roll them eyes around till they come unscrewed and fall out in the ground.
The man spat again. Well, that's the gods truth anyway.
See to this man now. I got to get.
Well.
Aint nobody sick is they?
No.
Thank God for that.
He stood up into the saddle and touched the horse's neck lightly with the reins. He looked back and shook his head.
In the evening the kid and two other recruits went into town. He'd bathed and shaved himself and he wore a pair of blue cord trousers and the cotton shirt the captain had given him and save for the boots he looked a new man altogether. His friends rode small and colorful horses that forty days ago had been wild animals on the plain and they shied and skittered and snapped like turtles.
Wait till you get you one of these, said the second corporal. You aint never had no fun.
These horses is all right, said the other.
There's one or two in there yet that might make ye a horse.
The kid looked down at them from his mule. They rode either side like escorts and the mule trotted with its head up, its eyes shifting nervously. They'll all stick ye head in the ground, said the second corporal.
They rode through a plaza thronged with wagons and stock.
With immigrants and Texans and Mexicans and with slaves and Lipan Indians and deputations of Karankawas tall and austere, their faces dyed blue and their hands locked about the shafts of their sixfoot spears, all but naked savages who with their painted skins and their whispered taste for human flesh seemed outrageous presences even in that fabled company. The recruits rode with their animals close reined and they turned up past the courthouse and along the high walls of the carcel with the broken glass imbedded in the topmost course. In the Main Plaza a band had assembled and were at tuning their instruments. The riders turned down Salinas Street past small gaminghouses and coffee-stands and there were in this street a number of Mexican harness-makers and traders and keepers of gamechickens and cobblers and bootmakers in little stalls or shops of mud. The second corporal was from Texas and spoke a little Spanish and he meant to trade the mule. The other boy was from Missouri. They were in good spirits, scrubbed and combed, clean shirts all. Each foreseeing a night of drink, perhaps of love. How many youths have come home cold and dead from just such nights and just such plans.