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The only member over which we had any control was the head; and this, thanks to the flexibility of our necks, we could turn about, so as to see what was going on in front or on either side of us. As soon as we were fairly staked down, I had the curiosity to raise my head and look around me. I found that I was "rear rank, right file," and that my file leader was the ci-devant soldier O'Cork.
I might be killed in the attempt; that was likely enough; but I knew that death could not come in a worse shape than that in which I was to meet it on the morrow. Weapon or no weapon, I was resolved to escape, or die in attempting it. I saw them untying O'Cork. He was to run first.
I asked this question, and was soon enlightened. He had been a soldier in a frontier post, one of Uncle Sam's "Sky-blues." He had got tired of pork and pipe-clay, accompanied with a too liberal allowance of the hide. In a word, Barney was a deserter. What his name was, I know not, but he went under the appellation of O'Cork Barney O'Cork. A laugh greeted his answer to the hunter's question.
We, too, came in for a share of their curiosity; but O'Cork was "the elephant." They had seen hair like ours oftentimes upon their Mexican captives; but, beyond a doubt, Barney's was the first red poll that had ever been scratched in the valley of Navajoa.
At least, so thought they. O'Cork started. Poor Barney! His race was not a long one. He had not run ten paces down the living avenue when he was knocked over, and carried back, bleeding and senseless, amidst the yells of the delighted crowd. Another of the men shared a similar fate, and another; and then they unbound me.
The tone in which the last words were uttered showed that O'Cork had at length lost his temper; but this only increased the assiduity of his tormentors, whose mirth now broke beyond bounds. They plucked him harder than ever, yelling all the while; so that, although he continued to scold, I could only hear him at intervals ejaculating: "Mother av Moses!" "Tare-an-ages!"
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