Chapter 13: 1885: U.S. Territory of New Mexico

By the time Marshal Garrison rhad eturned from his western border survey with Orrin Spencer and Jace Chee, and before his murder trial, Elfego and I had pretty much cleaned up the backlog of paperwork in the Marshals office.

General Lange was on a tour to visit the Socorro, Valencia, and Bernalillo County militias, more to keep an eye on things than for any organizational purposes. He wanted to assure himself that the highly active and oddly purposed efforts of the Grant and Doña Ana County militias were not spreading to their neighboring counties, counties also known to be more politically active and perhaps more apt to develop their own interests. The Rio Arriba County militia, on the other hand, seemed well-grounded in the intended purposes of the militias and had even been expanding its range of community assistance, such as helping rebuild a widow’s barn that had burned after being struck by lightning.

In Socorro County, Lange reported that he had joined a group of ten militiamen -- an equal number of Anglos and Mexicans -- in responding to a raid by some young Apache warriors along the Arizona border. The raiders had attacked a ranch not far from Alma, where more than forty people had been killed in an Apache raid in eighteen eighty.

Meanwhile, Marshal Garrison suggested that I go to Lordsburg at the end of Chee’s two weeks there, to accompany him, by train, to Las Vegas, where Felix Bannerman and Ferran Castellano would meet us. Chee would then spend a couple weeks with Bannerman. After his two weeks in the east central region, Bannerman would hand Chee off to Ruben Avila, in Las Cruces.

As Castellano was, himself, new to the job, he would not be providing any of Chee’s orientation. But Chee would spend one week with his soon-to-be brother-in-law, Frank Fitch, in Albuquerque, then two weeks at Santa Fe in court bailiff duties. That duty had been reduced with the hiring of a full-time deputy to work as the bailiff. Chee’s final week of orientation would be with Marshal Garrison. I would have no official role.

However, Garrison thought I could spend a few hours with Chee while in transit from Lordsburg to Las Vegas, to see how he was doing and answer any questions he might have, as well as to provide some of my own “words of wisdom,” as Garrison termed it. It was a lot of train riding, but it would suit my purpose as I wanted to meet with Colonel Westerly at Fort Union, to fill him in on the details of Major Dressler’s disappearance, details that I didn’t want to put in a letter or telegram.

I agreed to Garrison’s plan, but I asked for Elfego Baca to accompany me. To my thinking, Baca had the makings of a good full-time deputy marshal, for which he’d be eligible after he came of age next February.

I expected Garrison would be amenable to my request for Baca’s inclusion in my trip, as the federal court was in a month-long recess. The Marshal could have Arturo Sanchez, the bailiff deputy, assist him in the office. Sanchez was an able deputy, with years of experience in various county and town law enforcement jobs. His only deficit might have been that he was growing a little long in the tooth, his fiftieth birthday having passed last year.

Garrison and I were walking to the bakery for some breakfast pastries when I proposed Baca join me on the train trip.

Garrison said, “Baca, eh? Is he to be your next deputy candidate?” The Marshal was knew me too well.

I shrugged. “He seems pretty solid.” In turn, I suspected that Garrison also saw the young man’s potential. I noticed that he had been distraught during Baca’s trial.

“So you don’t want me to take him along?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

I realized that the childless Garrison may have developed a fatherly concern for Elfego.

“Put a ‘special deputy’ badge on him.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Baca and I set out on August thirteenth, a Thursday. The trip was overnight, with our departure from Lamy at seven-thirty and our arrival at Lordsburg just before nine o’clock the next morning. We’d have to change trains at Rincon to take the Southern Pacific train to Lordsburg. But it didn’t work out that way.

Our plans were changed somewhat, as General Lange would be meeting us in Lordsburg. He had completed his review of the three western counties. That resulted in further, unexpected changes.

On our outbound trip that first evening, about eleven-thirty, as planned, Elfego’s father, Francisco, boarded the train at Belen, where he was town marshal. He brought with him the picnic basket we’d been looking forward to. For the next hour and a half we enjoyed good food, some cool beers, and pleasant conversation. Francisco got off the train at Socorro, the county seat, where he had appointments in the morning.

Elfego and I let our full stomachs lull us to sleep as the train continued south.

I was awakened by the conductor.

“Marshal Becker? Marshal? Sorry to wake you. You had this telegram waiting at Cooke’s Springs.”

After changing trains at Rincon, I had gone back to sleep Now I was blinkingd up at the uniformed trainman and accepted the flimsy. “What time is it, please?”

He pulled out his watch. “It’s twelve after six, Marshal. We’re running on time. Our next stop is Deming, at six-fifty.”

“Thank you.”

Baca leaned forward from the seat behind me and looked at me intently.

I opened the envelope-folded form. It was from General Lange.

With Grant militia Spencer Chee in pursuit raiders east from Farewell Hill. Intercept from Deming.

I handed the message to Baca. After he read it and looked up, I asked, “Do you know where Farewell Hill is?”

“I know of a low butte called Soldiers Farewell. It’s part of a mountain spur that reaches south into the flats, maybe midway between Lordsburg and Deming, but closer to Lordsburg. I’d make it about ten or fifteen miles north of the tracks, maybe thirty or thirty-five miles from Deming. Are we going after them?”

“That seems to be what’s expected. We’ll have to rent a couple horses. I’m going to talk to the conductor.”

“Marshal, if these raiders are pushing it, then they’ll probably stop for water at a spring below Grandmother Mountain.”

“Where’s that?”

“About ten miles closer this way.”

“I wonder why they’re not headed south, toward the border?”

“Maybe they’re locals.”

I shook my head. “I reckon we’ll find out.” I flicked a finger against my cravat. “I’m gonna change out of these city duds in the privy, after I talk to the conductor.”

Baca nodded. “I’ll change now.”

An hour and ten minutes later we were riding west out of Deming, following the trail that we’d been told would lead to Grandmother Mountain spring.

The railroad tracks led off to the west-southwest, no doubt for the easier grades, as I could see mountain ridges just north of our due-west trail.

Neither of us had a bedroll, and our valises were tied atop the horses’ rumps, secured snug against the saddle cantles. I carried my Sharps in a covered leather sheath that could double as a saddle scabbard. Baca had a shotgun tied across his back. We both wore Colt Army forty-fours in belt holsters, though Baca wore his in an open holster on his hip while mine was in a flapped holster left of my navel. I also had my thirty eight in a shoulder holster, more-or-less concealed under my waistcoat. We’d rented canteens with the tack. The livery man had offered us his best horses, which seemed to be pretty good.

Now the question was, what were we up against?

I told Elfego that, as there were only two of us, I didn’t want to get in close with the raiders. My plan was to spot them at a distance, find cover, then use the Sharps to stop them, or at least slow thm down.

After the first half hour, I stopped us before crossing the low ridges that stretched down from the mountains. While Elfego held the horses, I’d approach the ridgeline on my belly and take a look down the other slope. If there was nothing of concern, we’d ride ahead.

About an hour in, Baca pointed to a gray rise in the distance and said, “I reckon that’s Grandmother Mountain.”

I began moving wide of the trail when we would approach a ridgeline, in case the raiders were close on the other side.

It was a half hour later when we spotted two riders coming on at a determined pace, still a mile down the slope of the ridge we were crossing.

Baca, sounding skeptical, said, “D’ you reckon that’s them?”

“Maybe. Seems like an unusually small raiding party.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“I should’ve brought my binoculars.”

“And a couple more deputies, and maybe some cold lemonade,” Baca said. I looked at him. He was grinning. “You were expecting a train ride, not a cross-country chase.”

I looked back at the two riders and said, “Next time, you bring the lemonade.”

We watched them for another minute and Baca said, “I’ve got an idea.”

Elfego rode slowly along the trail and over the ridgeline. He’d removed his badge and left his firearms with me. I was concealed amidst some rocks, about a hundred fifty yards away. I had the Sharps trained on the two men.

I heard Baca call, “Hola, chicos.” (Hello, fellas.) Then the conversation got quieter. Neither of the men, who appeared Mexican or maybe Indios, displayed a firearm. They were dressed in the white cotton clothing common among the pueblos and farms, though theirs seemed noticeably dirty. I figured we’d just stopped a couple local herdsmen or some such. The conversation went on for a couple minutes, with the men taking several looks back down the trail.

Then Baca turned my way and called, “C’mon down, Marshal,” in Spanish. He beckoned with his hand.

I sheathed the Sharps, but opened the snap on the forty-four’s holster. Then I mounted up and rode down to the trail.

The two men looked weary, and wary of me.

As I pulled up next to Baca, he gestured to each man in turn and said, in Spanish, “Marshal Becker, this is Señor Tomas Lopez and Señor Benito Aguilar. Señores, this is Marshal Judah Becker, sometimes known as the Seneca Sniper.”

Their faces lit up in recognition, and I felt the urge to kick Baca out of his saddle.

However, I said, “Mucho gusto, señores.”

Baca went on. “Señores Lopez and Aguilar have a gold claim on Farewell Butte, a claim they held with two other men, who are now dead. They say their partners were killed by the militia. One lived long enough to bring them word before he died. Now they are fleeing to their homes near Fort Cummings.”

Fort Cummings was about ten miles north of Deming, back in the direction from which we’d come.

I asked the men, “Is it a registered claim?”

Lopez said, “We registered it last month with the assay office in Deming.”

Baca commented, “The record must have just reached the county courthouse.” Silver City was the county seat.

Baca told me, “Their partners had gone to Silver City for supplies and they were waylaid after they left town.”

I asked, “Were your partners carrying any gold?”

Lopez shrugged. “Enough to purchase the tools and food.”

Aguilar kept looking back down the trail, I followed his glance and saw a rising cloud of dust beyond the next ridge.

Baca saw it too. “How do you want to handle this, Marshal?”

I looked over the miners’ horses. They were lathered and winded. I briefly considered exchanging horses with them, but that would have had the effect of putting Elfego and I on foot in the face of the approaching posse.

I asked Lopez, “How did you discover the gold deposit you’ve claimed?”

“My brother-in-law, who died to warn us, found some nuggets when he was moving his sheep to summer range.”

“No one else had staked the claim?”

Lopez shook his head. “He held the sheep there for two days while he searched. By the time they left, there wasn’t enough grass to hide a claim marker.”

Baca said, “General Lange’s message said they were pursuing raiders, not claim jumpers.”

A dark line of riders appeared on the ridge about two miles distant, a cloud of dust billowing behind them. They paused there. We were plainly visible to them and, from the blur of faces turned our way, we seemed to occupy their attention. After a moment, they came on. It looked to be maybe ten riders.

I said to Baca, “Take them over to those rocks where I’d set up, but stay mounted and in sight, unless they get by me. Then take cover. I’m going to ride down the trail a piece.”

“Let me come with you,” Baca all but demanded

I shook my head. “My intent is to look harmless. I’ll look less threatening on my own. Besides, General Lange should be with them.”

“Can you see him?”

“Not yet.” I looked at Lopez. “Go with Deputy Baca. Here, take my pistol.” I handed him the thirty-eight. Then I said to Baca, “Go on. I’ve done this before.”

They turned their horses toward the rocks where I’d initially been hidden and I urged my horse down the trail toward the oncoming riders. I checked to make sure my star was plainly visible on my waistcoat.

The riders continued on, now at a lope.

Within three minutes, they were close enough that I began to make out features. I could see no one I recognized, but they were bunched up and not everyone was visible, especially with the dust.

Then a man drew his pistol and fired at me and I heard Lange’s voice shouting through the noise of running horses, “Stop ... shoot the next ... who ... federal marshal.” A couple of the riders looked over their shoulders. Then I made out Orrin Spencer’s grim face behind the other men; he had his revolver in hand. General Lange pushed his mount through to the fore and he began speaking to the man next to him.

That man called out, “Prepare to halt. Halt.”

The troop of men came to a stop some ten yards from me. Lange and the militia leader rode toward me. I saw Jace Chee in the background with Spencer. Chee also held a pistol.

I touched the brim of my hat to Lange. “General,” I said.

“Marshal Becker, this is Lieutenant Gordon of the Grant County Militia.”

I nodded. “Lieutenant.” Gordon looked to be about thirty. He had a full, black beard.

“Marshal,” he said, with a suspicious tone.

Lange asked, “Are those some of the raiders?” He nodded toward the ridge behind me.

I replied, “That’s Deputy Baca with two men who say they own a mining claim on Farewell Butte and that some militiamen killed their two partners.”

Gordon snarled, “That’s a lie.”

I asked, “Are those the men you were chasing?”

“We are chasing Mexican raiders. That’s who killed the miners.”

“Where were the miners killed?”

“A couple miles east of Silver City.”

“How did you learn of the attack?”

“We were on a patrol and we heard the gunfire.”

I nodded. “My deputy and I left Deming a couple hours ago and haven’t seen any raiders. Those two men are the only riders we’ve come across, Your dust is the only sign of other riders we’ve seen.”

Gordon looked down then glanced back toward his squad.

He raised his head and turned to me. “The raiders must have headed south.”

Hooking a thumb over my shoulder, I asked, “Why did you think those men might have been the raiders?”

“Ah, well,” he stalled. “Theirs were the freshest tracks.”

“You tracked them from the attack site?”

“Um, ah, no.”

“Where did you find them?”

He glanced at his squad again, then said, “Ah, one of the Mex miners lived long enough to tell us where their claim was. We went there to warn his partners.”

“So what will you do now?”

“Reckon we’d best swing south and head back, see if we can pick up their trail.”

I nodded. “That would make sense.”

He looked toward the miners on the ridge, then said, “General, we’ll be heading back. Do you plan to come along, sir?”

“I don’t think so, Lieutenant. I have business to discuss with Marshal Becker. Good luck on your mission.”

Gordon saluted and Lange returned his salute, then Gordon rode back to the six-man militia squad, all wearing light-blue shirts, apparently by way of a uniform. As the militia rode off, Spencer and Chee rode over to join us.

“You’re the Seneca Sniper?” Chee asked.

Lange laughed. I asked Chee, “What brings that up?”

“I heard that Lieutenant Gordon tell the Corporal that’s who was questioning him. So is that you?”

“Yes, that’s what the newspaper said, so it must be true.”

Spencer asked Chee, “Didn’t Frank ever mention it?”

“Not that I recall.”

Lange, still chuckling, said, “Let’s go talk to the ‘raiders’.”

Baca was leading the two miners back to the trail and we reached them a couple minutes later.

We reverted to Spanish and, after the introductions, I asked Lopez, “How was it that the militia didn’t catch you at your diggings?”

“My brother-in-law sent them the wrong way, then they shot him and left him for dead. But he wasn’t, not yet.”

We gave all the horses an hour’s rest, giving most of our water to Aguilar’s and Lopez’s horses, then we rode slowly back to Deming, arriving just before one o’clock. During the rest break, the two miners had lamented the fact that they’d have to abandon the mining claim if they wanted to live.

At the livery in Deming, I pulled Aguilar and Lopez aside. I said, “I have an idea. This will sound strange, but hear me out. I will buy your claim, so it is in my name. Then I will lease it to you for a dollar a year, and whatever you dig up will be yours. We can find a lawyer here in Deming to draw it up that way.”

They both looked at me a moment, then Lopez said. “Benito and I must talk this over.”

I nodded and said, “We’re headed for that cantina,” I pointed. “Come join us when you’re ready.” Then I followed the others as they walked across the street and entered the cantina.

When I sat down at the table, Lange regarded me doubtfully, obviously having heard or suspected what I’d proposed to the miners ... He chided me. “So now you want to own a gold mine?”

I said, “I might as well trade on that silly Seneca Sniper reputation. Maybe it’ll scare the coyotes away. It’s just too bad about the other two men.”

Baca asked, “So you reckon it was the militia from the start?”

Lange nodded. “They were tryin’ to steal their claim. Kill them all and say that raiders had done it.”

“But wouldn’t the widows inherit the claim?”

Lange shrugged. “If it was me, I’d send the widows a bill for militia services, then offer to take the claim in payment.”

Chee asked, “A militia can do that?”

“This militia appears to be killing people. What would prevent them from sending a bill to some widows?”

The two miners had come in and heard the last part of the discussion.

Aguilar asked, “Why don’t you arrest them?”

Baca answered, “Because there would be no evidence for the court. The only witnesses are dead.

“But we know what Reynaldo saw. He told us before he died.”

Spencer said, “That’s called hearsay evidence, telling the court what somebody else said. Courts don’t accept that.”

“Why not?” Lopez demanded.

Spencer explained, “In a trial, the defendant has the right to confront those who testify against him. Hearsay puts another person in place of the actual witness, so the defendant would be denied his right.”

“But Reynaldo is dead.”

“And so he cannot be questioned. The defendant’s attorney night have questions you could not answer.”

“Like what?”

“Who fired their pistols? Was it just one man, or two, or three, and which men were those?”

Lopez looked frustrated.

Spencer said, “I understand why you don’t like it, but those same rights also protect you and your family if you are ever accused of a crime.”

“But I don’t commit crimes.”

“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be accused. That’s when those rights are most important -- when you’re innocent.”

Aguilar laid a hand on his shoulder. “Tell Marshal Becker what we decided.”

Lopez nodded, then turned to me. “We accept your offer to buy our claim, but we insist you take one dollar for every twenty dollars of profit.

I shook my head. “Give it to your partners’ widows.”

“We will divide the nineteen dollars four ways; the widows will receive their husbands’ share. You keep your one dollar in twenty.”

Lange said, “You should have it. That will lend legitimacy to the arrangement.”

“Fine then. We’ll have to find a lawyer after dinner.”

Spencer said, “There’s only one in town, but he’s good. And he’s a Saint.”

In the end, the attorney convinced me it would look more legitimate as a straight business deal if I paid some substantial amount for the mine, thus providing capital to the miners for equipment and supplies. Since we had no real knowledge of the mine’s potential, and since I was in for such a small share, we settled on two hundred fifty dollars. I wrote a draft on my account with the Bank of New Mexico which Lopez cashed at the Bank branch in Deming. Then he and Aguilar mounted their tired horses to ride home with the bad news of the two deaths.

The rest of us shared a late supper, then Lange, Chee, Baca, and I boarded the northbound train just before eight-thirty that evening. Spencer saw us off at the station and would return to Lordsburg on the six-fifty train the next morning. His three horses -- which he, Lange, and Chee had ridden -- would join a consignment of horses on a stock car bound for Lordsburg later in the day.

We were all fairly tired and, after some brief conversation, we each occupied a seat in the uncrowded coach and caught some shut-eye.

After a generally restful night, I woke for a nature call when we stopped at Albuquerque, at about a quarter to six. I had to wait until we left the station and the conductor had unlocked the door eo the privy, and when I came out, Oskar was waiting his turn.

We were riding in the rear coach and I went out on the back platform to enjoy the sunrise. Oskar joined me there. He offered me a cigar, but I declined. We both leaned on the rail as the train gained speed, despite the gradual climb toward Glorieta Pass, the series of canyons that crossed the Sangre de Cristos east of Lamy.

We were passing the Sandia pueblo when he asked me, “You’re not worried you’ve put yourself in the cross-hairs of the militia with the gold mine deal?”

I shrugged it off. “I don’t see why it necessarily would. It’s a straight-up business deal that actually works for all of us.” I grimaced. “I suppose they could read my real purpose in it, but it’s the kind of thing I’m supposed to be doing for the Governor.”

He snorted. “But not with your own money.”

“Maybe not, but imagine Feliza’s reaction when I tell her I’ve bought her a gold mine.”

He snorted louder. “She’ll skin you alive.”

“Yeah, but after that.” I grinned at him.

That made him laugh. He said, “That reminds me, we’re a day ahead of schedule. Shall we go home? Or do you want to go to Las Vegas for an extra day?”

“I vote for home. It will only add a couple hours to our train travel with the Rio Grande shuttle.”

Chee came through the door and asked, “Are we being followed?”

We both chuckled.

He said, “I’m hungry. When’s the next rations?”

I said, “We’ll be at Bernalillo in a few minutes. There’s usually a vendor or two on the platform.”

Lang reached into his pocket and extracted a silver dollar. He held it out to Chee. “Would you be good enough to get a couple things for each of us? Anything with a tortilla and some beans, for me.”

Accepting the coin, Chee asked, “Elfego, too?”

Lange nodded. “You bet. And some drinks, if the jars have lids.”

A one-quart Mason jar, with lid, cost ten cents, above the cost of the drink. But you could usually sell the empty jar to a vendor at another station.

Fifteen minutes later we were in our coach seats vigorously breaking our fasts. Taking a break between bites of bean, queso, and onion taco, I swallowed some molasses-sweetened spruce tea and said, “We’re a day ahead of our scheduled appointments in Las Vegas and Fort Union. General Lange and I have decided to spend tonight in Santa Fe, then resume our trip tomorrow. You two can come to Santa Fe or go on to Las Vegas, whichever you prefer.”

Baca asked, “What about my bail supervision?”

“I can write a letter for you to carry.”

“I reckon I’d rather not risk it.”

“I can understand that,” I said, nodding.

Baca turned to Chee. “What are you going to do?”

“Never been to Santa Fe.”

I laughed. “You’ve never been anywhere but the Navajo reservation before this month.”

He smiled. “So everywhere I go will be a new horizon.”

“You can stay with me,” Baca told him.

“I don’t want to put you out.”

“You will be my guest for the two bits my landlady will ask.”

“How big is your bed?”

“Not big, but my room has a divan, a, uh, couch. I often fall asleep on it. You can use the bed.”

“That is kind of you. I accept, with gratitude.”

I said to Chee, “After we finish eating, let’s have a talk. I’m supposed to be telling you about being a deputy.”

He said, “I’m finished now, Marshal,” at which point he pushed the end of a tortilla into his mouth.

“May I listen in?” Baca asked.

I wanted a few private moments with Chee. I said to Baca, “Give me a few minutes to get established with Jace, then you can join us.”

“Thanks, Marshal.”

“Let’s go over there.” I pointed to an empty section near the front of the coach.

After we settled in, I said, “I’m sorry we didn’t think of taking a day off sooner. You could have stopped off in Albuquerque with Frank.”

Chee shrugged and shook his head. “There’d be only half a chance he’d be in town. I’ve no problem with staying over at Santa Fe.”

“Well, there’s another hour to reach town on the Denver and Rio Grande.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Then excuse me if I ask a personal question: are you short of funds? How much do you have, if you don’t mind saying?”

““Frank sent me ten dollars for this travel. I still have seven dollars and forty-two cents.”

“That’s good, but when we get to the office, I’ll get Marshal Garrison to advance you five dollars against any receipts you collect. If you don’t spend it all, you can return what’s left before you head back to Gallup. And you know to have whichever Deputy you’re with pay for your train ticket to your next destination?”

It’s in the instructions Marshal Garrison had printed.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that list.

“So, do you have any concerns or questions for me.”

He shook his head and glanced over my shoulder. “None that Elfego couldn’t hear.”

I looked back to see Baca watching us. I waved him over.

As he settled in, Chee, who now had a notebook and pencil in hand, said, “I know what Frank and Mister Spencer carry in their saddle packs when they go out. How do you, or how did you, equip yourself when you were a deputy?”

Two days later, I asked Ferran, “Where are you headed next?” The six of us were sitting around a table in a cantina in Las Vegas, having finished supper and now were sipping mezcal.

“Santa Fe. It’s my last stop on the tour.”

“You’re not going to spend a couple weeks with Frank Fitch?”

“Nah. Marshal Garrison sent a wire, said Frank bein’ new to Albuquerque an’ all, he wouldn’t add another duty right now. It’s Santa Fe, then back to Taos for me. Besides, Irina, Marita, and Zeke are coming for a visit next week.” Irina was Ferran’s wife.

“Yeah, Feliza showed me Irina’s letter. Zeke’s supposed to bring my horses down. What are they doing with your kids?”

He grinned. “They’re staying at the rancho with Abuela and Abuelo.”

I chuckled. “They’ll give the Don a run for his money. So how did you like Roswell?”

“My butt hurts. There are no trains. You have to ride a horse everywhere.”

I laughed. “There’ve only been trains in New Mexico for hardly even five years. You got used to ‘em awful fast.”

“Yeah, but I’m younger than you, so they’ve been around a bigger part of my life.”

“Does that mean you’ll take the trains when you have to go from Taos over to Mora or Raton?”

“If a train goes there, I’m ridin’ it.”

“Good thing your father’s rich, because I think that approach will bankrupt the Marshals Office budget.”

“Papa’s not just rich, he’s powerful. He’ll see that there’s money in the budget earmarked just for my travel comfort.”

He had me laughing again. “Would he adopt me, then? I’m an orphan.” Pa had died in ‘eighty-one. My brother, Amos wrote that Pa just fell over dead behind the plow. He was fifty-nine.

“You’d have to learn Spanish.”

“But I speak Spanish.”

“I mean real Spanish, not that Texican bunkum.”

General Lange followed up on my orphan comment. “Have you ever been back to Ohio?”

I shook my head. “Not since ‘sixty-six, before we formed up at Baton Rouge. Furthest east I’ve been is Fort Ringgold, since then. Last time was in ‘seventy-four.”