The horse mounted guard gave his warning to Jared and Raphael and almost immediately, what appeared to be an outbreak began about 50 yards ahead.  The guard spurred his animal and it sprang forward, brushing against Raphael and knocking him down.  As Jared helped his cellmate up he watched as 20 prisoners or so, tried to make a run for it.  Within seconds the guards had surrounded them and brought them to a complete halt.

"You boys were warned not to talk and not to stop walking unless directed to do so by a guard.  Now, do you think that if an infraction of those rules got you a bullet in the back of the head, that we would even think of slapping your wrists for trying to escape?"  The guard laughed,  "no sir, I don't think that's possible."  As he spoke the last word he levelled his .308 caliber carbine at the nearest prisoner and pulled the trigger.  The man's head exploded like a pumpkin being smashed against the sidewalk.  The other nine guards immediately followed suit. 

The remaining column of prisoners were brought to a halt and circled in closer together by the guards that hadn't given chase and all, guard and prisoner alike, watched the slaughter.  Jared heard several of his fellow prisoners moaning.  Many of these men, hardened criminals all, were openly crying. 

It was hard to see what was happening, even though it was happening within about 15 yards of the column because of the dust kicked up by the rearing horses and the prisoners scrambling, trying to dodge the bullet with their name on it, and the smoke of the rifles.  Jared saw something, though, that everyone else seemed to miss.  He leaned toward Raphael and said, "Look there, to the left.  You see?  One of them has crawled under a horse and is trying to make his way back to the column.  Look.  You see him?"

"Yeah, I see 'em.  ****, man there's no way he gonna get out of that hell.  Why the **** is he tryin' to get back here, anyway?"

"No where else to go," replied Jared, "if he heads away, he'll be spotted in a second, run down and killed.  But, if he makes it back here and can blend in quickly enough, he has a chance."

Jared straightened and covered his eyes, scanning the melee.  He was mumbling to himself, "Where did that guy go?  I had him just a second ago."  Louder so that Raphael could here, "Ah, there he is.  Damn, he's almost made it.  Go man, go!"

Suddenly, one of the guards spun his horse around and with a jab of spurs, the animal sprang toward the single survivor, who by now was within ten feet of reaching the column.  The guards that were watching over the remaining column were congregated mostly toward the front of the column and hadn't seen the prisoner escaping the circle of death his fellows had fallen prey to.  He was not to be a survivor, however.

The guards horse ran smack into the man's back, sending him sprawling to the ground.  Instantly, like in a calf roping contest at the rodeo, the guard brought his mount to a halt and springing from the rearing beast, took three steps through the dust to grab the prisoner by the back of the neck.  He yanked him first back and then, kicked the man's legs out from under him, still holding him by the neck.  The man slammed to the ground on his knees. 

Before the dust had settled and the prisoners in the remaining column had uttered their last groan, the guard had a .44 magnum, long barrel pistol pointed right at the kneeling, and defeated, prisoner's face.  He spoke loud enough for all the living prisoners and guards to hear.

"Good try, boy.  Damn, that was smart of you to try and get back to the column, but today just ain't your lucky day, now, is it?"

The prisoner, a small, skinny black man about 50 years old didn't even attempt to look up at the guard and answer his rhetorical question.  His whole body was shaking and, although no one could hear or see, it was obvious he was crying because of the racking, jerking movement of his shoulders.

"Well, because you almost got away, boy, I'm gonna give you a chance.  You ever been in the Army, boy?"  The man remained staring at the ground but, he shook his head, no.

"In the Army, boy, they used to have a saying that went like this," he raised his right arm, the one holding the pistol and continued, "this is my pistol,"  he lowered his arm and pointed with his left hand at his crotch and said, "this is my gun.  This," raising his right arm, "is for killin' and this," pointing at his crotch, again, "is for fun." 

He chuckled and several of the guards, probably those that had intimate knowledge of that little poem, chuckled right along with him.  The guard looked around with a shitty little grin on his face before directing his attention back to kneeling prisoner.

"So, boy, here's your chance."  He moved closer until he was standing less than a foot away from the prisoner.    He reached down with his left hand and pulled the zipper of his khaki's down.  He leaned forward and, because the man didn't have any hair to pull, cupped his palm under the man's chin and pulled his head up.  "You are going to make a choice here, boy.  Open your mouth and stick you tongue out.  Wider, goddamn it."  The prisoner complied.  Hell, what the heck else was he going to do?

"Now, boy, what's it gonna be....the "fun" or the "gun" that goes down your slimey **** throat?"

The man, to his eternal credit, managed to jerk his face away.  He looked up at the guard and, though Jared was watching and listening closely, he could barely hear the man's last words, which were.....

"Any **** worth his salt would pick that big, hard gun barrel over that tiny pink worm you call "fun", he said and collected a huge wad of  crying snot from the depths of his throat and spit it directly on the guards "fun".

Jared, and most of the other prisoners, looked away as soon as the prisoner spit but they couldn't avoid the slam of that .44 Magnum impacting the prisoner's face and some even heard pieces of his skull and brains splashing to ground 10 feet away.