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blood
spilled this day and a lot of it was his own.
    The
rope was spinning above his head faster and faster as he glared at
his chosen target. He unleashed the rope and watched its twirling
loop encircle the neck of the closest of the painted ponies. He
pulled on the rope and watched its loop tighten around the horse’s
neck.
    Slowly he began to draw
the creature towards him.

CHAPTER SIX
    It was
known as Devil’s Pass. It had earned the name long before any of
the men who rode across its blazing-hot sand between the high,
narrow canyon walls were born. Even the once numerous Apache knew
better than to spend too long in the place which, it was said, had
been created by the Devil himself to capture lost souls.
    For this was a place
where nothing lived for long. It had a thousand ways to kill and it
had used them all on the unwary.
    Situated less than a score of miles away from the Seventh
Cavalry’s most westerly outpost, Fort Dixon, Devil’s Pass was the
only direct route to Waco from the north. Yet even so, few ventured
into its deadly canyons which stretched for scores of lifeless
miles. There were safer routes that encircled the entire region and
had dozens of smaller trails leading to various other towns
situated on the edge of the territory.
    But
for all its hidden dangers, Devil’s Pass still provided a short cut
to those who dared to enter its unforgiving canyons. There was
always someone either ignorant or foolhardy enough to risk his life
by venturing into it.
    The
nervous platoon seldom rode into Devil’s Pass, because of its
deadly reputation, but on this day, it had done so. For some reason
that only Captain Hugh Wallis was privy to, they had been ordered
to ride straight through its winding hot canyons.
    Each man in the cavalry
wondered why. What could be so important? Only Wallis knew the
answer and he was saying nothing.
    His orders had been
sealed when they had left Fort Dixon. He had been instructed not to
open them until he had led his men to the mouth of the great
canyon.
    Whatever were the
details contained in the orders, Wallis had done exactly as they
commanded. He had then folded up the two pages and placed them in
his breast pocket.
    He did not reveal
anything to the men in his command. But each of them knew that it
had to be very important for him to be leading them into this
place. Something was brewing and they could taste it on the dry
sand that blew into their mouths as they teased their mounts
on.
    But what?
    The
soldiers rode in columns of two and totaled more than eighty in
number. A supply wagon brought up the rear of the column and had
massive water barrels strapped to its sides. Fort Dixon had ensured
that Wallis and his men were well prepared for the mission they had
been given.
    Wallis
was a seasoned officer who had been stationed at Fort Dixon for
nearly a decade. He had the reputation of being a hard man and a
cruel taskmaster, yet his men were loyal. For some men can muster
loyalty in their troops by example. Wallis was such a man. They
knew that he was one of that rare breed of commanding officers who
led from the front.
    It had
been nearly three hours since the cavalry had entered the dry
canyon. For all of that time, they had seen nothing living except
the vultures that floated on the hot thermals above
them.
    For
most of their number, this was the very first time that they had
even come close to Devil’s Pass, let alone ridden into it. Yet none
of them were afraid because Captain Wallis showed no
fear.
    He was the yardstick by
which they measured everything. As long as he remained at the head
of their column, then everything ought to be OK. It was a simple
logic.
    The
soldiers moved slowly behind Captain Wallis, who sat astride his
tall gray charger. He dictated the pace and they followed. As
always, they trusted the experienced officer. For he was not a man
to sacrifice the lives of his enlisted men.
    Sergeant Hanks spurred
his weathered mount until it drew level with Wallis