Keeping prone made it difficult to maintain a straight line. He could pick out landmarks like trees and rocks, but they were only close ones, and then he would have to find a new one and hope that he was maintaining a relatively straight line. His hands were numb now, his thin leather work gloves wet with snow and freezing against his skin.

Sisson called out again, louder this time, and Tom yelled back for Sisson to stay where he was and keep calling out. The sound was clear, but it still echoed off the rocks, and then, through the trees ahead, he saw the small flicker of light. It came and went, and he knew it was fire, their fire, inside a ring of rocks, the flames jumping up, then falling back down. He put his head down and kept crawling.

Next to the fire, which they had to keep small, Tom dried an article or two of clothing at a time—his gloves first, then his shirt, and after that his socks and shoes. There was not enough time or fire to dry or warm them completely, and he wouldn't be able to avoid the chills of the night, only lessen them.

“He came awake,” Sisson said, nodding to John asleep in his blanket at one end of the fire. “He was clear. He wanted to know where you were, and then he wanted to go after you. Clear as could be. Like he wasn't sick at all.”

“Maybe the fever broke?”

“Might have. Wouldn't count on it, though.”

“I don't count on nothing. We get through these mountains, though, we're in for a clear run to Mexico.”

“Tom? What are we going to do down in Mexico? There's a million vaqueros down there. Ain't a lot of need for cowboys in Mexico.”

“Guess that's right. I been thinking that maybe we could hook up with Villa, do a little fighting against the government down there.”

“Villa is a son of a bitch.”

“Well, that Zapata fellow, he seems pretty good. He's little folks like us.”

“Yeah, but he's way down to the south. It's a big country, Mexico.”

“But it's a good country. I don't know a soul who wants me dead down there. Mexico is going to be good for us. Any country that hates its government seems like a good place to me.”

“Unless the government wins.”

“Ain't going to. It's going to be good in Mexico. It's Mexico for us and us for Mexico.”

“You're the boss, I guess.”

“Sí. El jefe.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

1918

McBride knew who it was even before the door fully opened. Frank Haynes marched straight to McBride's desk and dropped the papers onto the desk.

“We're going up,” Haynes said. “And I do mean ‘we.’ You been deputized by the US marshal. Kane, too.”