Free The Last Pilgrims by Michael Bunker Page B

blood.”
    “I understand,” Gareth said, pondering
Phillip’s words.
    The militia commander turned to Gareth and
whispered, “These men do not value words. They ride with you, but
they watch you. They’ll fight with you and die for you, or… they’ll
cut your throat. I can’t tell which is more likely.”
    “Well, let’s hope they judge righteous
judgment ,” Gareth said.
    “It’s strange and ironic, you know,” Phillip
added, “that one of the Indian words for ‘friend’ that some people
believe became our word for Texas was the word Taysha . That
conclusion is up for debate, of course, because others believe that
our word Texas had to come from the Hasinai word for ‘friend’, the
word techas . Anyway, one thing most everyone who discusses
such things agrees on is that the word Taysha is also the
Mayan word for spy .”
    “You sir,” Gareth said, smiling, “are a
fount of etymological irony. Good night, Ghost.”
    “Good night, Assassin.”
     
    The night passed uneventfully, and Phillip
managed to grab a few hours of sleep before he was wakened by the
sound of approaching horses. He jumped to his feet, prepared for
anything, when he saw his militia outriders returning from their
reconnaissance mission.
    Soon, the entire camp was up and moving
organically, preparing for the day’s ride. Very small fires—fires
that did not smoke—were started, and each man would take coals from
the fire to heat his own breakfast. A small hole, maybe four or
five inches deep and five inches in diameter, would be dug into the
hard ground. A small hand shovel-full of coals would be placed into
the hole, over which a small pot would be placed.
    Heating up the mesquite coffee always came
first. Each man carried a ration of roasted mesquite pods, and each
prepared their own cup of coffee each morning. It was more
practical this way. It would take too long to heat large pots of
coffee, but only a few minutes for a small cup of water. When the
water boiled, small broken bits of mesquite pods, roasted black,
would be tossed into the water and boiled for a few more minutes.
The sweet, highly caffeinated concoction was then poured through a
rough cloth into a drinking cup and the ‘grounds’ were set aside to
be buried with whatever other evidence might be left over from the
night’s stay. It was said that if the Ghost militia was ever
tracked and caught by an Aztlani army, it would be by the smell of
mesquite coffee oozing from their pores.
    Phillip credited the mesquite coffee with
the great health and vitality of the militia—that, and the
abundance of lacto-fermented foods in their diet. The militia had
been riding for nearly 20 years, although most of the men were
actually younger than that. Still, it was notable that disease was
almost unknown among the freemen militias who lived primarily off
the land.
    After the coffee was prepared, the
militiaman would refill the pot with a small amount of water to
which he would add a handful of grains and maybe a pinch of salt.
Sometimes, in the lean times, when there were no grains, another
chunk of sausage or jerky would be added to the water and cooked
into a broth. There was always plenty of meat. On good days, maybe
an egg, or some other delicious local creature or plant would show
up in the pot.
    When there was fat, the men might cook a
portion of it down with a sprinkle of dried agarito berry powder or
fresh prickly-pear cactus fruit added to the mix. They had become
experts at providing what their bodies needed, and very little
more. As a result, they were lithe and fit, and with the exception
of Rollo The Mountain, the huge and muscular man-child of the
group, none of them would have been considered large.
    The outriders rode directly to Phillip and,
by way of salute, each of them gave an almost imperceptible nod to
the commander before sliding off of their horses. The riders split
into three groups. From this point on, the motions of each of the
men was akin to a