his
“You know, I’m getting a little tired of nursemaiding injured renegades all the time,” I joked.
“Didn’t nobody ask you to jump in,” he replied.
“That all the thanks I get for saving your sorry ass?”
“Hell, there was only eight of them. Could’ve handled things myself.”
“Well, I’ll remember that the next time around.”
“
“Shoulder or no shoulder, you get to cook dinner tonight,” I said, throwing more wood on the fire. “What’s in those cans, anyway?”
Mason eyed the supplies carefully. “You’re in luck. We have a wide selection. Canned tomatoes and beans or canned beans and tomatoes.”
“I’ll have the beans and tomatoes,” I sighed.
“Good choice. As it turns out, they’re my specialty.”
“Didn’t expect to find you in these parts. Last I heard you were down around Zacatecas,” I said.
“My friends were for a while, but I had some personal business to attend to at the fort.”
“Anything to do with those drovers?” I asked.
“Nope. They was just a few mule heads that didn’t want to drink while there was a gentleman of color in the establishment.”
“Some folks are just downright impolite,” I replied.
“Truth is, I’m visiting a friend of mine, a sergeant with the Tenth Cavalry.”
“The buffalo soldiers? I didn’t think they were posted at Yuma.”
“They’re not,” he replied. “But my friend is with a special troop on detached duty.”
“Must be quite a friend for you to come this far out of your way just to say hello.”
“He is. His name’s Freeman, Nathaniel Freeman. After Pa escaped from the plantation he was slavin’ on, Nate helped him make his way into Mexico where he finally met my mama. Nate was real kind to me after they both died.”
“Sounds like a good man. So how come you didn’t end up joining the Army like him?” I asked.
Sonora ladled a thick mess of overcooked beans into my tin. As they dripped down onto the plate, he looked up at me and smiled.
“
I looked down at the glob on my plate, and then back up at him. “Of course,” I replied. “I understand… completely.”
Chapter Sixteen
During the ride to the fort the next day Sonora got to philosophizing on one of his favorite subjects, namely those who wanted to make him conform to their way of doing things.
“Ever notice how some folks are always tryin’ to tell you how to act?” he asked.
“Sure, there’s always someone like that around, so?”
“Well, it just seems to me that we was a country supposed to be formed by runaway folk, like them pilgrims. They just wanted to be left alone, ya know. Nowadays it seems like we got more political parties and do-gooder temperance groups telling us what to do, than we got people actually doin’ it. Hell, I even heard there’s some place in Kansas what won’t let you carry a gun in town. You hear about that?” he asked.
“Yeah, I did. They call it a deadline. Anyone passing over it has to check his guns with the sheriff or he gets arrested.”
“So what you think about that,” he asked.
“Well, I’ll tell you. My uncle Zeke used to be in the military for a while and studied a little law. According to him, we all got individual rights, you know, ones no one can take away. My uncle said that somewhere in the Constitution, or the Bill of Rights, or something, it says we all got a right to keep and bear arms.”
“Right, but what about those badges what try to take them away?”
“Uncle Zeke said there’s a part in there to protect us against a corrupt government. Funny thing, but he says the Constitution don’t actually grant rights…we already have them…it just spells them out clearly. Seems when the Constitution was written and they got to talkin’ about folks protectin’ themselves, they used a very specific word… infringement.”
“ ’Fringement? What’s that?”
“Zeke says it means the government can’t mess with your right to carry. ‘The right to bear arms shall not be infringed,’” I quoted.
“Well, some folk say that you can keep your gun, but just can’t wear it. Says it’s better for the town,” he pointed out.
“I once asked my uncle a similar question. He says the founding fathers didn’t set things up so our rights could be tromped on in the name of a supposed greater good for the majority. See if it’s an individual right, like the right to free speech or to protect your family or home, it’s still a right, regardless what the local star says. Funny thing, I hear the bank in that town you mentioned has already been robbed four times, and the sheriff never caught any of the robbers.”
“That figures,” Sonora remarked.
“Well, my point is in a town just across the state line they had a couple of stick-ups, but the townsfolk were all armed. The robbers didn’t even clear the main street before being caught.”
“Makes sense,” Sonora agreed. “You know someone’s got a gun an’ another ain’t, you gonna rob the one what ain’t.”
“Bet you dollars to donuts those that obey the deadline are all law-abiding citizens. You know…the kind you wouldn’t have to worry about anyway.”
“ ’Course they is. Hell, man, why do you think they call them outlaws,’ cause they don’t obey the law.”
“Well, someday I hope to hang my gun up, Sonora. But rest assured, when I do, it will still be hanging within reach.”
“You bet. By the way, you know that cayuse o’ yours is favoring his leg?” he added.
“I know. He’s been a little off all morning. Right front, I think.”
“Best have it looked at when we get to the fort.”
“I will. How far you figure we still got to go?”
Sonora squinted a little and rubbed his eyes. “Oh, about another two hours, Ah reckon.”
He was right as usual, almost to the minute. As we rode through the gate, a sentry quickly looked us over and waved us by. Sonora stopped to ask the private about his sergeant friend.
“Sorry,” the trooper replied. “I’m new on the post, don’t know everyone yet. You might ask over at the sutler’s store, though. By the way, your friend’s horse seems to be favoring his leg.”
“We know,” I answered. “You suppose someone here might be able to check him out?”
“That I can help you with. Doctor Chapman’s our vet’nry, and a good one to boot. Anyone can put a horse right, he can.”
“Thanks,” I replied as he pointed the way for us.
We looked for Dr. Chapman as instructed in the main horse barn. A long white jacket hanging on a nail identified the stall where we found him examining a large black gelding. The veterinarian was a tall, solidly built man with a full beard that was starting to gray. He wore a long church bell-shaped stethoscope around his neck, had his sleeves rolled up, and was using a large magnifying glass to inspect a horse’s right eye. A shorter, slightly balding trooper was busy writing something down in a small notebook while the doctor dictated.
“…small nebula in the temporal quadrant of the right eye and an active corneal ulceration in same location on the left. Eyelids, sclera, and pupillary reflex appear normal. Got all that, Corporal?”
