Chapter 3

I arrived at the troop gate well before sunrise. I was used to working in the fields, and any daylight not spent working was wasted time. If you could see what you were doing, you had better be doing it.

When I arrived, there were three others. There were also two horses tied up on the rail to the side of the gate. I knew that it might be insulting to check out someone’s horse. But I did look them over from a polite distance. One of the horses was in good shape. I could see that she was a mare with a racer’s legs. The saddle and bridle had been taken off, and she was tied off with a hackamore. I could also see that she had been brushed down, and based on what I had already seen, I was sure that a curry comb had also been run over her. An oat bag hung from her head.

Seated with his back against the adobe wall was a figure. He was covered by a Pendleton trade blanket and wearing a black wide-brimmed hat. The only thing I could see was the eyes. I could see that they took note of my arrival. I assumed he was the mares rider.

The other was best described as a nag well on his way to the glue factory. Sway backed and with a head drooping almost to the ground. There was no saddle, and you could see the dried sweat on his flanks. All in all, a miserable looking animal. I was almost tempted to see to his basic needs. But again, that could be a dangerous thing. A lot of men resented any attention paid to their horses or women. Best to stand back and let things take their course.

The other two people were seated at a resting spot to the side of the gate. There was a water trough and an arbor-covered seating area. There were several tables and benches surrounding a chiminea that had a cheery blaze going.

In the next 30 minutes, the crowd grew. Some showed up individually. Some showed up with family. One showed up with a pair of girls. They arrived by a buggy, obviously from Wilcox. I saw the logo for the Wilcox livery. The girls were giggling and hanging onto their companion from both sides.

Watching all this was the pair of sentries that stood on the wall over the gate. Most of their time had been spent watching. But occasionally, they would quietly speak to each other and laugh.

Eventually, the crowd grew to 30 candidates. a couple of them were girls. The family and friends stood off to the side. Some of the women were quietly crying. Others stood by with pride in their eyes, as did most of the fathers.

Just as the sun was coming over the eastern horizon, three troopers came through the gate. Like Master Sergeant Baumgarten, these men were immaculately dressed. Their boots and buttons were shining in the dawning sun. The creases in the uniforms knife sharp.

One of the group stepped forward. His voice carried throughout the area, not a shout or a yell, but it projected and cut through all other conversations.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” He paused while the assembled crowd quieted down.

“If you please, we need to get started on today’s activities. We will give you 10 minutes to say your goodbyes. At which time we ask you to leave. Our time is short, and we have a lot to do today. So please say your goodbyes. Thank you.”

He then stepped back and joined his companions. As a group, they stood in front of the gate. Their hands clasped behind their backs and feet shoulder-width apart.

My family had stayed home at my request. We had said our goodbyes the previous night. My mother had prepared a special meal for us. All my favorites. We had talked and told stories. After dinner, some of our neighbors had briefly stopped by to wish me luck and good fortune.

I had been surprised when both the Hernandez and later the Martinez adults showed up with their daughters. Dressed in their best. Wilma Hernandez was shy. She had always been the younger shrinking violet at Sunday school. And that night was no different.

It was suggested that we sit on the porch and enjoy the evening breeze. Wilma sat with her hands and eyes on her lap. Her cheeks were bright red.

“Wilma, are you unhappy? is there a problem?”

She quickly looked up at me. “No, No, Jesus. There is no problem.”

“I am glad, Wilma. I’ve always thought of you as a friend. I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt you.”

She sputtered and stammered, and her eyes returned to her lap, saying nothing.

“Wilma, I am going to be gone for a while. Maybe a long time. With your permission, I would like to write to you occasionally. Just to let you know what I am doing where I am. Would that be alright?”

While I was speaking, her eyes slowly lifted to me. I could see the confusion and wonder in her eyes. “You ... want to write to ME?”

“Of course, You are my friend. We grew up together went to school together. Why wouldn’t I want to keep our friendship?”

“I ... I...”

“But if you’d rather I didn’t...”

“NO,” she exclaimed, “I mean no. It would be alright if you wrote to me. I would like to read about your adventures. To keep our friendship.”

“It’s a deal then. I’ll write to you, and you can write to me about your adventures, OK?”