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out the pulp after awhiles that hole fill up with watery juice.
It tastes bad, but it’s wet.”
Taylor peeked over the rim. “You take my carbine and
watch out for me.” Taylor looked down at Pope again.
“After I cut the cactus, I gonna see if I can sneak out to
that dead horse. Might be some hardtack in the saddlebags.
Ammo, too.” With that, he hoisted himself out of the gul-
ley bottom and crawled out into the desert.
I touched June’s head and rubbed my fingers through
her dirty corn-silk hair. She moved close to Pope. His chest
rose and fell in shallow breaths. June took the old soldier’s
hand in hers and began to hum. The melody of her favorite
hymn carried only a few feet and wisped away into the hot
desert night.
False dawn had turned the dark shadows gray, when
Taylor slipped back into the gulch. He had the dusty sad-
dlebags and a battered canteen with him. “Canteen’s ’bout
half full. God watchin’ over us, He is. Found some food in
these bags, too. We save the good water for Top Sergeant.
We get some for ourselves from the cactus I cut.” He raised
one hand to his mouth, bit down on a cactus spine stuck in
the meaty part of his palm, and tugged it out with his teeth.
“Taylor? What about”—I chose the word for the
question—“Apaches?”
“No sign at all. Like they disappeared. But—” He
looked down at Pope. “There’s wolf tracks not ten yards
from here.”
I touched the pistol in my belt. One silver bullet would
not be enough.

“He’s burning up with fever,” June told me. She raised
her arm to shield her eyes from the noontime sun. Pope

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