Chapter Eight

When Dusty looked into the wagon, he saw the original four prisoners sitting on both sides with Joe lying in the middle face down.  Dusty grabbed Joe’s boot and shook it, but there was no movement.  Joe felt it, but lay still, hoping they’d leave him alone.  He knew the longer he could rest, the better off he’d be.

“Nolan, if you want him to work in the mine, how come you darn near killed him?” chuckled Dusty.

“Oh, he ain’t close to dead,” said Nolan, looking in the back of the wagon.  And he ain’t fooling anyone into thinking that he ain’t listening,” he said more loudly to make sure Joe could hear him.  He tossed a pine cone at Joe’s back, causing Joe to flinch.  “See, he’s awake. He’s never been a prisoner before, so he has to be taught who’s the boss.  When a man first comes to prison, you have to break him.   He won’t give you any more trouble after you do.”

Joe lay silent in the back of the wagon, holding his hands to his chest to try to stop the bleeding.  He knew he had some open wounds on his back, but he had no idea just how bad it was.  Regardless, it burned.  He knew it would burn worse tomorrow from sweating in the desert heat.  Still, he needed to try to block out the pain so he could think. Perhaps the best thing he could do as long as he was with Nolan was to keep quiet and do what he was told.  Maybe another chance to escape would present itself at the mine.  Even so, if the mine was deep in the desert, he’d have no place to go. He wouldn’t survive on his own in the desert without food, water and shelter.  Fighting back tears, he admonished himself for starting to feel hopeless, vowing for his eyes never to look like the others.  They’ll come for me.  They’ll follow the tracks, and they’ll come for me.  I just have to hold on.

Joe lay still while Nolan’s men broke camp.  When the wagon lurched forward, he was surprised that he and the other four men weren’t herded out to walk.  Then he thought that Nolan might not do anything more to him for fear the army wouldn’t want him, and Nolan wouldn’t get paid.

The interior of the wagon began to lighten as morning approached, and it didn’t take long to feel the heat of the sun, even underneath the canvas.  It would soon feel like an oven in the wagon.  Joe hoped Nolan would give them water and let them walk.

When the wagon came to a stop, Nolan did order them out, but the outside air wasn’t as welcoming as Joe had hoped.  With no tree cover, no shadows, and the reds and tans of the soil reflecting the heat, the outside was just as sweltering as the inside.  He had already begun to sweat before he was out of the wagon, and though he could still hold his hands against his chest to protect them, sweat was rolling down his back and into the wounds caused by the whip, burning and stinging.

The captives were given their water, dried meat and bread.  “Nolan, ain’t we gonna tie ‘em to the wagon,” asked Scully, smiling expectantly at Joe.

“Look around you,” said Nolan.  “If they try to run, where they gonna go?  Besides, making ‘em walk across Death Valley is worse than anything I can do to ‘em.  We’ll wait here for the army escort.  Can’t do anything else besides make ‘em walk anyway without the soldiers mouthin’ off to the captain.”

Joe looked around.  There was nothing but miles and miles of…nothing, except for the mountains in the distance that were just higher elevations of nothing.  He sat down right where he was, hoping that it wouldn’t be long before the army escort arrived.  He had come to the conclusion that the sooner they got to the mine, the better.  At least he’d be deep in the earth where it was likely to be cooler.

An hour passed, and the sound of horses carried on the hot air from off in the distance.  A cloud of dust could be seen slowly getting bigger and bigger until the dust fell down upon them like rain.  A total of eight soldiers had appeared when the dust had settled.

One of the men dismounted and walked around the prisoners.  He was a sergeant based on his stripes.  He stood staring at Joe.  “Nolan, what’s this?”

“An able body, Sir.”

“Looks like a broken body to me.   What happened to him?”

“Well, Sir, he was a newer prisoner, and the way it was explained to me, he hadn’t learned his place.”

The sergeant scowled at Nolan.  “These wounds are fresh.  What did he do to deserve a whipping?”

“He tried to escape.  He got no less than he would’a got back at the prison.”

“I’m not a prisoner.”

“What did you say, son?”

Joe’s head had been hanging, but he raised it and looked straight ahead of him.  “I said I’m not a prisoner.”

“Where’s your paperwork, Nolan,” asked the sergeant, glaring.

“Right here in the wagon.”  Nolan took a piece of folded leather out of the jockey box and handed it to the sergeant.

The sergeant looked at the paperwork and turned around and counted.  “Five.  And five you have.”  He called up one of the soldiers.

“Yes Sir,” said the young man, saluting.

“Dress this man’s wounds.  And take those shackles off his wrists.  He won’t do the army any good if he dies from infection.”

Nolan stepped forward warily.  “Uh, Sergeant, this boy’s a bad one.  Are you sure you wanna take off his chains?”

“Nolan, you know as well as I that he’s not going anywhere out here.  Not unless he has a death wish.  Now get these men water.  We’ll be moving out as soon as he’s bandaged.”

Spitting on the ground at Joe’s feet, Nolan turned to his men.  “You heard the sergeant.  Get ‘em watered.”

“When did you get whipped?” asked the soldier tending Joe’s wounds.

Joe turned to see his face.  It was a boy’s face, probably still a teenager.  “Last night.  I tried to get help from the sheriff in Aurora, but apparently, he’s a friend of Nolan’s.  I’m not a prisoner.  Nolan’s prisoner died, probably at Nolan’s hand.  He had to have five, so he took me off my family’s ranch.”

“Mister, I don’t need to hear your story.  It don’t make no difference.  The army’s not particular about who does the diggin’, and the Captain…he don’t want any trouble.  Trouble tends to disappear a might quickly.  You wanna stay alive, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

Joe shook his head and looked away.  “Who’d want to stay alive to be a slave in a mine?”

“You’d be surprised how many men do just that.  I guess they figure the real Hell is worse than the one they’re in.  I’m done here,” said the soldier as he stood up, nodded to the sergeant and went back to his horse.

“Alright men.  On your feet.  We’re expected at the mine by tomorrow evening, and we have a lot of desert to cover.”

Three soldiers and the sergeant rode ahead, followed by the wagon and Nolan’s men.  Next were the five prisoners, and last were the other four soldiers.  The other four captives had been unchained from each other, and their wrist shackles had been removed.  They walked haphazardly behind Nolan’s men.  Joe walked further off to the side to avoid the dust kicked up by the wagon and the horses.  No one seemed to care.  There really was nowhere to go.