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[Concluding chapter four]
He didn’t bother calling the roll; whatever the men might be feeling, he was pretty sure there would be no desertions while the column was still in Canada. A glance at the faces looking up at him in the fading light—he’d ordered all to dismount while he remained in the saddle—assured him that the full company was here.
“I would like to apologize,” he began softly. “I have apparently not been clear in my instructions, and for that I am sincerely sorry.” Now he raised his voice a little, but maintained the cool, steady tone.
“Allow me, gentlemen, to redress that failing.
“You are soldiers now,” he said. “You may not wear uniforms, but soldiers you are nevertheless.” He fixed his gaze on one of the younger men, presumably one of those who had refused to put on his disguise. “What does it mean to be a soldier? It means that you no longer have the freedom of action you are used to. Not so long as you are under my command. You are not free to question my orders, or to refuse to follow those with which you think you have any dispute.” He spat out the words: “You will do as you are told!”
Now he relaxed a bit. “I am disappointed with those of you who have served with me before.” There weren’t many in this company, true, but those few should have been a better influence. “You know what is expected of you; you should have made this apparent to your fellows.” Walker gestured along the westward road. “There are soldiers not an hour down that road whose job it is to prevent you from doing your duty. We do not want to fight, not yet. It is of vital importance that we move past that fort without drawing any suspicion upon us. I want anyone looking at our movements to see nothing more than a train of men and women—men and women!—moving toward the Texas crossing. In order for this ruse to work, you must do your part.”
With slow deliberation Walker drew a pistol from his coat. “I do not expect to have to talk with you this way again. I want you to know that the next time this happens I will not explain myself, nor will I ask for any explanation from you. What I will do is find those who have disobeyed my orders and subject them to military justice. As God is my witness, I will not have my orders disobeyed again!”
He stared at the men, one at a time, and found them unwilling to meet his gaze. That was good; they should be afraid of him. “Mister Baylor,” he said, “I want to talk with you further. Come with me. The rest of you, prepare yourselves to move.”
“I’m sorry, Colonel,” Baylor said as the others dispersed. “It won’t happen again.”
“I cannot afford to take that chance,” Walker said. “We can’t risk any further delays or disruptions. We are a small band, Mister Baylor, attempting a remarkable feat—the kind of achievement that would leave Xenophon himself grasping for superlatives.” He waited, but Baylor showed no sign of having understood the reference. “I am sorry, young man,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “but I am going to have to replace you in this temporary command. You may return to your section and your duties leading those men. I thank you for your work today.”
Baylor stared at him for a moment, and Walker could see—in his eyes, in the veins and chords in his neck—the anger the younger man fought to suppress. He’d been warned that Baylor was possessed of a temper, and had hoped that his elevation to a higher level of responsibility would make a better man of him. No man’s temper is a match for my determination, thought Walker, and he fixed his stare on the younger man, who promptly looked away.
“Don’t be upset or angry, son,” Walker said. “If there’s a fault, it is mine. I asked too much of you too soon. But you will have the opportunity, very soon, to prove yourself.” Baylor swallowed hard, then nodded. “Good fellow,” Walker said. “Now go, and get your men and wagon ready to move. We are racing the sun now.”
When Baylor left—shoulders still slumped, Walker noted disapprovingly—Walker sought out another lieutenant. John Pickett was older than Baylor, and like Fontaine he’d served the Holy Roman Empire as well as surviving Lopez’s Cuban expedition. Walker knew him only by name—he’d served directly under the Spaniard in Cuba rather than under Walker’s command—but he claimed to be familiar with the forested country near the Sabine, and that was knowledge that Walker needed right now more than he needed any personal guarantee that a temporary substitute for Nelson would be a capable leader.
“What I want you to do, Mister Pickett,” he told the man after informing him of his temporary promotion, “is to separate the horse-strings from the mules and wagons. You will take the horses through the woods until you are well past the fort. I trust you are comfortable enough with the route that you can find your way even in dusk or darkness?”
“Don’t worry about me, Colonel,” Pickett said. “I know this country better than I know my own face.”
“I’ll be satisfied if you know it better than the Mounted Police who might be looking for us. I will lead the wagons myself, along the road past the fort. You will rejoin the road as soon past the fort as you think is safe, and will catch up to us as quickly as possible. I intend to camp for the night as close to the river as I can.”
There will be no fires tonight, he decided as Pickett ran to assemble men and horses. As punishment for their insubordination, the men would not have a hot supper. Perhaps that would teach them the value of discipline.
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