“I don't know. They should be turning back if they think they're at the border. Maybe we haven't gone as far as we think. I just don't know.”

“We couldn't have passed them, could we?”

“I don't see how, but maybe we did. Maybe they cut off to the east, or went farther up into the mountains, thinking we wouldn't risk the flat land.”

Even though John was getting worse again, they kept walking the best they could. Tom walked behind John, grabbing him by the belt or shoulders when he started to slump or to drift off the trail. John was moaning and mumbling now, walking in his sleep. Tom grabbed him by the belt and pulled him back when he started to quickstep forward.

“Let me go,” John said. “I got to go see Ola.”

“Ola ain't here, John.”

“Up there. She's right up there. I got to go to her.”

“You can't go, John. She ain't here. You got to believe me.”

“No, Tom. She's here. She's right there. Right there by that bush. She's telling me to come to her.”

“You ain't going to Ola, John. Not while I'm here, you ain't.”

They kept walking. John stumbled several times, and once it took both Tom and Sisson to pick him up and get him back on his feet. By late afternoon they were spending more of their energy on keeping John moving than on moving forward.

“There,” Sisson said. “Up there. Smoke.”

“The army?”

“Shouldn't be. We're well into Mexico by now. It's likely a posse. Wootan, probably.”

“That son of a bitch just don't give up, does he?”

“Would you give up if it was him killed your brother?”

“No.”

“Well, there you go.”

Tom moved up, still crouching, keeping toward the ground, moving in short bursts, forward from one side to another, never in a straight line, always prepared to turn and run if he stumbled on the posse. He came up a low ridge piled with stones. The stones were loose and scattered, but he could see it was the remains of an old revetment, probably from the Indians, where they used to hide themselves from game that came through the low valley below.

The smell of smoke was strong, and Tom figured that he was right on top of the posse now. He got flat on his belly and crawled up, pulling himself with his arms. He didn't like moving this way, hands and face toward who knew what. He was glad it was still winter and the snakes and other menaces were still in hibernation.

He found a low spot in the stone wall, and he slowly poked his head between two rocks. There were a lot of them. Some milled around or sat in small groups, while others tended the fire. They were all alike in their khaki uniforms with the tall, peaked hats and the tan gaiters. He counted twelve, but there were certainly more.