“I am a minister,” the man replied. James noticed for the first time that he wore a leather patch over one eye. “My first concern is for healing lost souls. But from time to time I have been called upon to help heal wounded bodies. Let me see what the trouble is here.”

He tore Shipman’s shirt open. “If that bullet had gone an inch or so farther to the inside, the best I could do now would be to pray for the young gentleman’s soul. But let us see if we may give the Lord some help here.”

He bade Shipman drink some more of the whiskey. “Ordinarily I do not hold with spiritous liquors, and this smells particularly vile, but there are times when it has its uses. Drink all you can, young gentleman. The less you know about what I do here, the better for you. I shall return.”

He went on to treat other wounded while Shipman drank himself into a stupor. When he came back he heated the blade of a long, thin knife over an open fire and probed the wound, seeking the bullet. Shipman cried out and fell unconscious. James decided the minister would do better to confine his doctoring to horses; with just one eye he probably could not see what he was doing, anyway. But after a minute that seemed an hour, the minister brought out the lead ball that had done the damage. He poured into the wound the whiskey that Shipman had not already drunk.

“He has a good chance now that the bullet’s out of him,” the one-eyed man said. “That is, if he does not take blood poisoning. But he’s going to be a long time getting back to the man he used to be. He will need the Lord’s blessing and a lot of care. I shall seek the blessing, but the care will be up to you and his family.”

“He’s got no family that I know of.”

“Then the responsibility falls upon your shoulders, young gentleman.”

You don’t know how much I’m responsible, James thought.

The minister looked at the long crease across James’s arm. The blood had long since congealed and dried. “It would appear you could use a little attention yourself.”

“I’ve had yellowjackets sting me worse than this. Go see after them that needs you, preacher. And thanks.”

The minister moved away to do his work upon other wounded. From a distance James watched him cut away part of a shattered leg. He tried again to retch, but nothing was left in his stomach.

James did not go into the fortress; he did not want to leave Shipman that long. He took it for granted that the scene inside was as terrible as the one outside, for several who went to see came back white-faced and shaken.

The Mexican commander Ugartechea surrendered his sword to Austin and Brown. A night of fierce hostilities seemed to have burned away most of the enmity on both sides. The surrender was cordial enough. The Mexicans were allowed to retain their sidearms and personal property upon Ugartechea’s promise that they would leave Texas. They were to take their wounded with them, but they would bury their dead here.