Gone to Texas Read Online Free PDF Page A

been smoothed, and when Ellis raised his hands, he winced as the rough iron sawed into his skin. He mounted a horse with difficulty, cutting his wrists until they bled.
    When all were mounted, twenty cavalrymen herded them onto the Camino Real for the long ride to San Antonio. For a day they rode through pine woods before coming to the open prairies. The Royal Road was nothing but a trail traveled by pack trains, couriers, and occasionally by two-wheeled Mexican carts drawn by oxen.
    A week later, they forded the San Antonio River and stopped at the Presidio of Bexar, a large stone building in San Antonio’s Military Plaza. Towering over the village of stone and adobe houses was San Fernando church. The prisoners were ordered into the guardhouse for the night. Ellis heard the heavy bolt slam shut, barring the door.
    They were allowed to lounge around the plaza during the day, but were locked up at night. Ellis and Duncan walked slowly around the plaza, kicking at dried horse droppings and trying to keep the flies out of the wounds on their wrists. They passed Ephraim Blackburn and Joel Pierce sitting disconsolately on a bench. “I’d be willing to stay here five years if they’d let those two go,” Ellis said. He looked at his raw wrists. “That is, if they’d take these shackles off.”
    Three months passed, when orders arrived to take them to Mexico City. “I wonder what they can do to us there they can’t do here,” Ellis said.
    Day after day they rode south across deserts and through mountain passes. Ellis gingerly held up his wrists and blew away the flies. Most of the cuts had formed thick ugly scars, but a few places had little chance to heal. His muscles ached from the hours in the saddle; it seemed as if they were traveling to the end of the world and would never reach it. “I wonder if they’ll ever let us go,” he said somberly. “And if they do, if we can make it all the way back.”
    â€œNolan told us to fight to the death or they’d make us prisoners for life,” Duncan replied. “It sure looks like surrendering was a mistake.” He brushed the shoulder-length blond hair out of his tanned face with his manacled hands. His wrists were also scarred and raw.
    Finally they saw San Luis Potosí below them in the distance, surrounded by lush green fields and orchards. Shining white churches towered over the largest city Ellis had ever seen. He gazed in awe at the splendid buildings, forgetting for a few moments the oozing wounds on his wrists. He had little time to admire the city, for the cavalry stopped by a massive stone building and the sergeant ordered them to dismount.
    They were herded into the dark interior and turned over to sullen guards. The foul stench of urine, offal, and rotting food that struck his nostrils like a slap in the face told Ellis this was a dungeon. The guards led them down to the dimly lit lower floor, then divided them. Ellis, Duncan, Blackburn, Pierce, Luciano, and Danlin were shoved into a room that received a little light and air from a small grated window high in the stone wall. Fero, Cooley, Stephen Richards, Reed, House, and Waters were ushered into a similar room. Both rooms had heavy iron doors with small openings through which the guards handed them bowls of food and jugs of water. In one comer was a pile of dung left by previous prisoners. The stench was almost unbearable. “Thank God we’ll be here just one night,” Danlin said to Ellis.
    In the morning, Ellis watched impatiently for the door to open, but the guards merely handed them bowls of tepid water with a small piece of boiled chicken floating in each one. No soldiers came to take them on to Mexico City. Surely we’ll go on tomorrow, Ellis thought. They can’t just leave us here and forget us.
    On the third day, when the guard brought the food, Ellis asked in Spanish, “When do they take us to Mexico