Sergeant DeLuca goes down the line, pairing recruits, and there can be no mistake that he’s matching strong with strong, weak with weak, tall with tall. We have an uneven number of recruits, so he pairs Pedrón with Guardsman Bruno. At least we know his favorite.

“He’s sabotaging us,” Aldo whispers.

“For some reason, they need to get rid of some recruits.”

“Too many mouths to feed? I heard they’re going to assign uniforms today, which is great because I stink. Maybe they’re short on uniforms?”

“Maybe.” Or maybe Sergeant DeLuca is the assassin, and he wants as few prying eyes as possible while he . . . does whatever it is he’s doing.

Two of Valentino’s ducklings are up first. They’re both tall, broad shouldered, and fit. I anticipate they’ll have no trouble at all.

“Watch carefully,” I say to Aldo. “We might get an idea how to run the course ourselves.”

“My current idea is to pray and hope for a miracle,” Aldo says.

“That’s never worked for me,” I tell him.

DeLuca raises his hand to the sky. The boys stand before him, weight shifted to the balls of their feet, ready to take off.

“Oléeee, Ciénega del Sur!” someone yells from the audience, and the two boys wave merrily in response.

“You can do it, Beto and Juan!” calls Valentino to his friends.

DeLuca’s hand sweeps down, and the boys shoot forward, sprinting for the sway beam. They arrive at the same time, and for a split second they knock shoulders trying to climb on. Common sense prevails. One steps back, allowing the other a way forward.

He climbs on; the beam sways wildly. He crouches for a moment, adjusting his balance. Gradually he stands, arms out, and begins to creep forward.

“That’s it, Beto! You’ve got it!” Valentino yells.

When he’s halfway across, Juan loses patience and tries to mount the beam himself. It jerks sideways. Beto flails, tumbles to the ground.

A smattering of laughter hits us from the audience.

Beto climbs back on. Juan wisely chooses to wait this time. Slowly—too slowly—Beto makes his way down the beam. When he leaps off, the beam ricochets backward, bumping Juan in the chest hard enough that he plops in the sand.

More laughter does not prevent Juan from leaping to his feet and attacking the beam. He’s a little faster than Beto, a little lighter on his feet, and he makes it across in mere seconds while Beto urges his partner onward.

Juan hops off into the sand, and together he and Beto run for the giant cedar log.

Aldo whispers, “We’ll do fine on the beam. Better than Beto and Juan.”

I think he’s right. The next obstacle, though, will be another matter.

Juan and Beto crouch before the log, one at each end, and try to push it over. The log tips forward a tiny bit before rolling right back into place.

“If they’re struggling, there’s no way we’re going to budge it,” Aldo whispers.