“It’s a disgrace to run like that,” he said. “We’ll never live this down.”

“The war’s just starting, Billy,” Joe said, not much agitated by his friend’s ill-temper.

“That’s my view, too,” Tully said. “That old man gets more contrary every year.”

“I’ll stop his contrary if he comes near me again,” Billy said. “I’ll put him where the tall nigger put Jerry.”

The Arroyo del Macho offered few comforts to the traveler, but the panic of the morning and the hard flight had exhausted me; I slept deeply for a few hours and awakened unwillingly because of some commotion around me. I assumed we were under attack and tried to spring up, but my joints wouldn’t respond; the syrup of my heavy sleep seemed to have stuck them together.

“That’s all right, Sippy,” Tully Roebuck said reassuringly. “It’s just Hank Leedy—he made it through.”

Hank Leedy was an earnest young buffalo hunter, inclined to solemnity. Back East his type was common in the Presbyterian ministry. It seemed he had tumbled right into the gully where we slept.

He had ridden across the prairie on Bonaparte, who stopped at the head of the gully and commenced a loud braying, to the annoyance of several of the men.

“Shoot that damn donkey, he’s ruint my dream,” Happy Jack Marco said.

“What was it a dream of?” Simp Dixon asked.

“It was a dream of a whore,” Happy Jack replied.

Hill Coe and Joe Lovelady were more interested in Hank Leedy’s story than in Happy Jack’s interrupted dream.

“I stole the Tulip’s donkey, that’s why I got through,” Hank said.

“Where’s the rest of the boys?” Tully asked.

“Dead, I’m sure,” Hank Leedy replied simply.

“We thought we could make it across in the darkness, but the tall nigger trailed us.”

“That devil—how many did he get?” Billy asked.

“Why, Bill, he got us all, for don’t you see I’m dying?” the young man said calmly.

“Dern, I didn’t—it’s pitch-dark,” Billy said apologetically.

“I seem to see a light—I suppose it’s heaven,” Hank said. “Would you ask that feller who can write to pen a note to my sister? Just tell her my luck held—she’s quite religious.”

“I don’t seem to recall where your sister lives, Hank,” Joe Lovelady said.

“Oh, Little Rock, Arkansas—just Jenny Leedy,” Hank said. “I hope you’ll bury me well, boys, so the critters won’t disturb me.”

He died a little before dawn. When it grew light we saw that he had been shot through the lungs. La Tulipe’s donkey was covered with his blood.