Lorenzo's Revolutionary Quest by Lorenzo's Revolutionary Quest by Lila and Rick Guzman

LORENZOS
REVOLUTIONARY QUEST
Lila Guzmn and Rick Guzmn
PIATA BOOKS ARTE PBLICO PRESS HOUSTON, TEXAS
This volume is made possible through grants from the City of Houston through The Cultural Arts Council of Houston, Harris County. Piata Books are full of surprises! Piata Books An imprint of Arte Pblico Press University of Houston 452 Cullen Performance Hall Houston, Texas 77204-2004 Cover art courtesy of Giovanni Mora Cover design by James F. Brisson Guzmn, Lila, 1952 Lorenzos Revolutionary Quest / Lila and Rick Guzmn. p. cm. Sequel to: Lorenzos Secret Mission Summary: In 1777, under orders from George Washington, sixteenyear-old Captain Lorenzo Bannister drives 500 head of cattle east from San Antonio, Texas, to feed the Continental Army while enemies, old and new, plot against him. ISBN 1-55885-392-8 (alk. paper) 1. Cattle drivesFiction. 2. United StatesHistoryRevolution, 17751783Fiction. 3. SpiesFiction. 4. OrphansFiction. 5. West (U.S.)HistoryTo 1848Fiction I. Guzmn, Rick and Lila. II. Title. PZ7.G9885Lm 2003 [Fic]dc21 2003045995 CIP The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information SciencesPermanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984. 2003 by Lila and Rick Guzmn Printed in the United States of America 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 1 2 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Acknowledgments
Our thanks go Susan Rockhold, Helen Ginger, and Ross Sams for reading the manuscript and making invaluable suggestions. Without their insights, perpetual good humor, and multicolor pens, this book would not have been possible. We owe a debt of gratitude to a nameless girl at Strake Middle School in Houston, Texas. She asked if Eugenie was in this book and changed the direction of Lo renzo s Revo lutio nary Quest. Special thanks to: Jamie Slaughter, an expert on swords and dueling, for his technical help. Virginia Snchez, historical researcher of Hispanic genealogy, and Ronaldo Miera, president of the Hispanic Geneological Research Center of New Mexico, for answering questions about courtship and marriage in the 1700s. Steve Parrett, of the Cowboyhat Cattle Company in Claremore, Oklahoma, for answering questions about the origins of the Texas longhorn breed. Phyllis Helpenstine, an antiques dealer in Washington, Kentucky (www.washingtonky.com). The historical interpreters of www.soldados.org. Their love of Spanish Colonial and Mexican history is inspirational. Many, many thanks to Brother Edward Loch, S.M., of the San Antonio Dioceses for his expertise on San Antonio in the 1700s.
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Historical Note
Colonel Bernardo De Glvez, General George Washington, the Marquis de La Fayette, and Captain William Linn are historical figures. The rest are fictional. The Spanish brought the first cattle to the New World in 1493. Texas Longhorns are their descendants. The flatboats with barrels of beef for the Continental Army never arrived. They vanished without a trace. To this day, no one knows what became of them. It remains one of historys mysteries. By the end of the American Revolution, the Spanish had given the patriots $5,000,000 and had loaned them 219 cannons, 30,000 muskets, 4,000 tents, and 30,000 uniforms. In 1779 Britain asked Spain to halt her aid. Spain refused.
In m em o ry o f the Lip an Ap aches, And the vaquero s, A vanished tribe,
Mestizo fo rerunners o f the Am erican co w bo y.
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Chapter One
Sweat seeped down Lorenzos back. August 1, 1777, was stifling hot. He reached for the canteen dangling from his saddle, uncorked it, and drank while his horse nibbled at wild flowers. Hand cupped over his eyes, Lorenzo scoured the plain for familiar landmarks. The Province of Texas was an exciting place, and he was glad to be back. Here, he had learned how to track, fire a musket, and fight with a sword. Texas held sad memories, too. Here, he had lost his father, a physician for the Spanish army. Red, a bear of a man with fire-red hair and a scraggly beard, reined in beside him and sleeved his forehead dry. He uncorked his canteen. How much longer, Captain? It took Lorenzo a moment to react to the title. He still wasnt used to it. Well be in San Antonio by late afternoon. This was Lorenzos first command. He had been surprised and delighted when George Washington commissioned him a captain in the Continental Army a month earlier on his sixteenth birthday. But then, a major on General Washingtons staff was only nineteen, and so was the Marquis de Lafayette, a French nobleman who had left his wife and come to America to offer his services. General Washington had placed an important mission square on Lorenzos shoulders. If it didnt succeed, the Continental Army would starve when it went into winter encampment. Finding enough food for an army
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of ten thousand was difficult, but five hundred head of cattle would definitely help. A half league back, Lorenzos soldiers, two Pennsylvania woodsmen and a Frenchman, plodded along in a cloud of hoof-churned dust. Wranglers trailed behind them with the extra horses, called the remuda. Lorenzo had used a portion of the letter of credit issued by Congress to buy extra mounts to make the trip faster. In San Antonio, he would exchange them for range horses trained to drive cattle. Lorenzo felt a twinge of guilt. Anxious to reach San Antonio, capital of Spains northernmost province, hed been driving the men hard, making them rise before first light and ride until dusk, with stops every two hours. By nightfall they would be stuffing themselves with fresh tortillas and cooling off in the San Antonio River. The trip would be little more than a bad memory. One night, shortly after leaving New Orleans, Lorenzo had overheard a conversation between an old horse wrangler and Red. Captain Bannister looks wet behind the ears, the man had remarked. Do you think hes up to the task? I sure do, Red had replied. Captain Bannisters got more common sense and gumption than most men twice his age. Ive known him for about a year, and there aint nobody Id rather serve with. Lorenzo appreciated the sentiment and felt the same way about Red. Side by side, they rode through knee-high grass. The Spanish king owns all this, huh? Red said. Every mesquite tree, armadillo, and mockingbird. Id keep that under my hat if I was king. So far, I aint seen nothing to brag about. Hey! Watch what you say about Texas, Lorenzo exclaimed in mock outrage. This is home. I figured you called New Orleans home. It has definite charms, Lorenzo said, thinking of his
Lorenzos Revolutionary Quest
fiance, Eugenie, but Texas will always be special to me. Dont see why. Its hotter than Hades. Lorenzo laughed. It could be worse. We could be in uniform. The mission to San Antonio required them to travel in disguise, so he and his men wore buckskin and moccasins. They had to keep secret from the British, that General Washington had sent him to buy cattle from the Spanish. Lorenzo and Red stopped on a knoll and took shade beneath an oak tree. Fifty or so head of cattle topped the ridge opposite them. Bawling and lowing, they surged over the hill in a cloud of dust. You asked what long-horned cattle look like. Lorenzo gestured toward them. See for yourself. Good Lord! Red exclaimed. Lorenzo couldnt help but smile. He had grown up around them, and even he found them awe-inspiring. Full-grown bulls easily weighed two thousand pounds. Their horns curved out and twisted up. Look at that one. Red pointed toward a huge rustcolored bull with a jagged blaze on its forehead. Must be five feet from one horn tip to the other. Sharp as bayonets, too. A sudden thought struck Lorenzo. He drew a spyglass from his saddlebag and trained it on the brand burned into a cows rump. It showed a circle topped by a cross. Those are mission cattle, Lorenzo said. What are they doing this far from the ranch? Sure are moving fast. Too fast. I have a bad feeling about this. Lorenzo swung the telescope to the men driving them. He knew the vaqueros who worked the mission ranch, but none of these men looked familiar. Lorenzo collapsed his telescope. He frowned. Last
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year cattle rustlers stole seven hundred head from the mission. You think these are rustlers? Lorenzo nodded. Maybe they have a bill of sale for the cattle, Red suggested. I doubt it. One of the men stopped, stared straight at him and Red, and pointed them out to his companions. Lorenzos bad feeling grew when the men split up, four driving the cattle in one direction, three loping toward them. Red straightened. He and Lorenzo exchanged a quick look. They drew their muskets. Like all good frontiersmen, they kept them loaded and ready to fire. Three men charged toward them. One had flowing blond hair, another dressed all in white, and yet another was short and stocky. They wore shirts, trousers, and boots. In one fluid motion, they drew arrows from their quivers, readied their bows, and shot. Duck! Lorenzo yelled.
Chapter Two
The first arrow hissed by, slicing the air where Reds chest had been a moment earlier. The second thudded into Lorenzos horse making it squeal in pain and fall from under him. The third arrow went wide. Musket in hand, Lorenzo jumped off, looked around for cover, and dashed to a clump of bushes. Red, apparently realizing he was an inviting target on horseback, flung himself off and joined Lorenzo. Left, right, or center? Lorenzo asked, giving Red the option of which target he wanted. Right, Red said, his face grim. Save the man on the left for last. He cant shoot straight. The cattle rustlers reached over their shoulders for more arrows and continued the charge. In unison, Lorenzo and Red aimed and fired. Flame burst from their musket barrels, followed by puffs of smoke. Two men fell from their horses. The third pulled hard on his reins, whipped his horse around, and lashed its rump furiously. Hooves thundered behind Lorenzo. He glanced around as he reloaded. Two wranglers remained in the valley with the horses, but the rest of his soldiers dashed uphill. They pulled alongside him and Red. Upon seeing the long-horned cattle, they wore expressions that reflected the awe Lorenzo had seen on Reds face. Mo n d ieu! exclaimed Private Dujardin, a twenty5
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year-old Frenchman with corn-color hair. All was confusion in the valley. Cattle, apparently spooked by the commotion, scattered. The remaining rustlers wheeled their horses and gathered under a distant oak, joined by the rustler who had survived the charge. After a short discussion, they took off at a gallop, abandoning the cattle. Lorenzo snorted in disgust. They were big and brave when they thought they had me and Red outnumbered. Look at them now, running with their tails tucked between their legs. He turned to Dujardin. Go back to the remuda and get me a new horse. The rest of you round up those cattle. Were going to drive them back to San Antonio. Keep a sharp eye out for the rustlers. His men spread out to collect strays. In the meantime, Lorenzo uncinched his saddle. Dujardin returned with a gray mare named Piata. With the privates help, Lorenzo retrieved as much as he could from the dead horse and saddled the new one. He pondered what to do with the two dead rustlers and decided to leave them. Their fellow cattle rustlers would probably come back for their bodies. Lorenzos soldiers drove the cattle toward a central point. Once they were bunched into a small herd, they lowered their heads and grazed on tall grass. Lorenzo counted them. Fifty. He hoped he wouldnt have to go to as much trouble to get the five hundred cattle General Washington expected him to deliver. Molly Linn glanced back at the long line of men standing behind her. It looked like the whole Continental Army was being inoculated for smallpox. So many soldiers! How would General Washington ever find enough food to feed them all? She had heard a rumor that the British planned to
send people infected with smallpox into camp to spread the disease. General Washington had taken the threat seriously and had ordered everyone to get inoculated, even civilians like Mrs. Washington. Was there enough medicine to go around? Molly was ten years old and had never caught smallpox, but she had heard a lot about it. People said it started as a rash and turned into pus-filled sores. If it didnt kill you, it usually left ugly pockmarks. Her brother said inoculations were safe, and physicians had been giving them for as long as he could remember. Last year, he had been inoculated, and nothing bad had happened to him. The soldier in front of her disappeared into the doctors tent. She swallowed hard. She was next. Aint afeerd, are ya, little girl? the man behind her whispered. Im not afraid of man nor beast! Uh-huh. He sounded unconvinced. A man came out of the tent rolling down his sleeve. Molly stepped inside. Her eyes bulged to see a man covered with smallpox lying on a cot. Dr. MacGregor sat beside him on a stool. Hello, Boots, the doctor said brightly. He had called her Boots ever since she gave a barefoot soldier a pair of riding boots. Molly remained by the tent door. He motioned her forward. She took a reluctant step and watched him pick up a toothpick from the table to his right, turn toward the pox-covered man, and open a sore. He pressed it firmly, making it ooze, and scooped clear liquid onto a quill. It headed toward her arm. There was smallpox on that quill. Molly felt lightheaded. Hold still, Boots, Dr. MacGregor cajoled. Twill hurt but a moment. They say the cure is worse than the illness.
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Who says? My brothers soldiers. Theyre a wild lot, Boots, the doctor warned. You best stay away from the likes of them. My brother is a soldier, Molly said, indignant. Hes an officer, the doctor countered. Thats different. The soldiers in my brothers company are real nice, especially Captain Bannister. I met him when he visited General Washington. He was with the flatboat flotilla bringing us Spanish gunpowder. They say theyre heading back down river soon to meet Captain Bannister OUCH! She looked at the scratch mark made by the quill. The doctor rubbed her arm with cotton. Done! Now off with you. And stay out of trouble! Me? Get into trouble? The doctor roared with laughter. Off with you! Yes sir! Molly trudged back to the scullery where she worked as the assistant cook. How she wanted to be part of the war. Not the battle she waged with field mice always getting into the grain or ants raiding the honey jar. Real war.
Chapter Three
Leaning on an ax handle, Dunstan Andrews surveyed the Virginia landscape. He hated everything about this place. He hated the hills, woolly with trees. He hated the piney scent from the forest. He hated the way the kings rebellious subjects dropped their Rs. You! a musket-toting guard yelled. You with the scar! Get to work. Dunstan ignored the order. Sweat rolled down his back and face. He reached for his scarlet coat draped over a boulder and fished out a handkerchief to tie around his forehead. An oppressive heat settled over the hills, a smothering kind he had not experienced since New Orleans. Even working bare-chested gave little relief. Dunstan stroked the scar on his cheek, the long, ragged gash hed earned in a sword fight in England before he became a soldier. He recalled every detail. The lords son had made a lucky stroke, then had laughed joyously. Oddly, Dunstan recalled, the cut hadnt hurt. Reaching up with his free hand, he had touched his cheek and felt blood seep from the open wound. Dismayed but striving hard not to show it, he had advanced toward his opponent. The next few seconds had blurred. Dunstan only remembered coming out of a haze to find his saber tip pinning the lords son to the floor. Dunstan had taken a slow revenge, slicing through
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an embroidered waistcoat, easing the saber into his opponents skin just enough to draw blood, then a little further, and a little further. Ignoring his victims pleas for mercy, Dunstan had twisted the saber a fraction to the left, then a fraction to the right. At some point, he must have hit a vital organ. The lords son had twitched once, then lay perfectly still. With his cousins help, Dunstan had fled to America, took the Kings shilling and became a redcoat. It was paltry pay for risking his life as a soldier, but it was that or be hanged for murder. Hey! Saber-Scar! the rebel guard called out, snapping Dunstan back to the present. Whats the matter? Dont you speak English? The Kings English, he replied. Back to work! the blue-coated soldier ordered, making a threatening gesture with the bullwhip. Swinging his ax overhead, Dunstan buried it deep into a log and pretended the splintering wood was Lorenzo Bannisters head. In his minds eye, he saw the boy responsible for his capture by traitors who called themselves Americans. Someday he would kill him. It would be a slow death, too, the kind hed given the lords son. Dunstan positioned another piece of wood on the block. This time, the wood became Lorenzos neck. He swung his ax with a vengeance, splitting the log neatly in two pieces. A scrawny-looking boy no more than thirteen years old moved down the line of prisoners with a wooden bucket. He offered each a dipper of water. Dunstan remembered seeing him arrive in camp the day before in the midst of twenty Hessian prisoners transferred from Pennsylvania. The boy didnt look particularly bright or useful. He dressed like a Quaker in a plain coat with no pleats in the sides or buttons on the
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pockets or sleeves. He assumed the boy was a loyalist arrested by the rebel vermin. How art thou? The boy pushed back a shock of light brown hair that had fallen across piercing blue eyes. Are you a Quaker? Dunstan asked. I am a Friend, the boy corrected with a small smile, emphasizing the last word. The Society of Friends, commonly called Quakers, did not believe in war. Even so, they were on both sides of the rebellion, some as Tories supporting Britain, others supporting Washingtons rebels. The boy glanced at the nearest prisoner, about three feet away, and lowered his voice. Thy cousin sent me with a message. Dunstan jerked his head up. My cousin? Aye. Thou hast friends in high places. Dunstan considered that. His cousin worked for British intelligence, as did he. Whats the message? The boy cleared his throat. Thy cousin said, I have an important mission for you. Report to me at once.
Chapter Four
An hour went by. Lorenzo and his soldiers herded the recovered cattle toward San Antonio with the rust-colored bull in the lead. The two horse wranglers trailed behind. This is the most exciting thing Ive ever done, Private Dujardin said in French. Incredible! I am herding cattle like a real vaquero! Lorenzo understood his excitement. He had felt the same way the first time he rode herd. French continued to spill from Dujardin as he and Lorenzo headed toward San Antonio. Lorenzo was glad Eugenie had taught him her native language. Otherwise, he would have been forced to use hand signs to communicate with Dujardin. Private Jean-Paul Dujardin had left France the year before and joined the Continental Army. It was rumored that his girlfriends father had placed a hefty bounty on his head. Lorenzo could only guess why a father would do that. An embarrassing moment with Eugenie a month earlier leaped to mind. They were in the house of Colonel De Glvez, Spanish governor of Louisiana. Lorenzo leaned over the desk in the colonels study and explained the planned cattle drive to her. The cattle are there in San Antonio, Lorenzo had said, pointing to a map, and there is the Mississippi River. This, he said, plopping down a paperweight, represents the cattle. And this, he said, holding up a
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bar of sealing wax, will be the flatboat flotilla. Eugenie leaned close. Lorenzo momentarily lost concentration as he breathed in her perfume. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. A tress of red hair fell over her shoulder. She tucked it behind her ear. The flatboats come this way, Lorenzo said as he maneuvered the sealing wax across the map. We herd the cattle this way. He moved the paperweight. And voil, the two meet up. It would be easier to send the cattle by ship, nest-ce p as ? Colonel De Glvez and I discussed that. Hurricane season is upon us. Theres no way to know when a storm is brewing in the Gulf of Mexico. Besides, pirates are a problem, not to mention having to go around Florida, and the British control that. Traveling by ship is dangerous. Thats why we went up the Mississippi and Ohio by flatboat last year. We had a better chance getting through that way. The Mississippi River is the best way to get supplies to General Washington. If the British ever gain control of the river, the war is lost. She studied the map. The Kings Highway. The king of Spain has a highway in Texas? Yep. Its a dirt road as wide as any in Pennsylvania or Virginia. Its been around for years. It runs to the northeast through the province of Texas, past San Antonio, Nacogdoches, and ends near Fort Saint Jean Baptiste in Louisiana. Its a long trip. You realize how difficult it will be to make all this work? What? You doubt my abilities? She ignored him and read the date written on the map next to the rendezvous point. October 16. What happens on that date? If all goes according to plan, we rendezvous with the flatboats. William Linn and his men are bringing bar-
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rels of salt. Theyll slaughter the cattle and pack them, then take them north. What happens if the flatboats arrive too early? They lie at anchor and wait for us. What if you arrive too early with the cattle? Lorenzo folded the map and put it back in its hiding place. We let them graze and fatten up until the flatboats arrive. Fatten up on what? He shrugged. On whatever they find growing wild. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. Have you thought all this through carefully? Lorenzo laughed. Colonel De Glvez and I have burned barrels of lamp oil staying up late. Weve planned this down to a gnats eyebrow. Eugenie burst out laughing. A gnats eyebrow. Where do you come up with these things? I learn them from my soldiers. Lorenzo wrapped a tress of her hair around his index finger. They say things that would curl your hair. He slipped his other arm around her back and gently pulled her to him. He kissed her softly and she kissed him back. Unhand that girl, you scoundrel! Colonel de Glvez stood in the doorway, arms crossed, scowling. Eugenie stepped away. Lorenzo tried not to smile. Most people would be terrified of the governor of Louisiana and the power he wielded, but the colonel was like his adopted father. He had plucked Eugenie off the streets when she was orphaned and found her a place to live. He had done the same thing for Lorenzo. They were both indebted to him. Lorenzo held his hands up in mock surrender and backed away. I was . . . uh . . . showing her the route the cattle drive will take. The colonel raised an eyebrow questioningly. Thats an odd way to go about it. Personally, Id use a map.
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Blushing deeply, Eugenie rushed toward the door. Hey! Lorenzo called after her. Where do you think youre going? Home. She turned and blew him a kiss. A hot wind hit Lorenzo in the face and drew him back to the present. Hoofbeats sounded over the plain. Lorenzo trained his telescope on a squad of Spanish soldiers loping toward them with a lieutenant in the lead. They carried bull-hide shields and lances. Swords hung by their sides. They wore long-sleeved white shirts, tight blue knee breeches, boots covered by buckskin leggings, and leather jackets called cueras padded with quilted cotton to keep arrows out of their backs and chests. They slowed to a walk, apparently not wishing to spook the cattle and send them into a stampede. Lorenzo was glad to see the soldiers. No doubt they would take the cattle off his hands. The lieutenant was several inches shorter than Lorenzo, five-foot-six at the most, and slightly built. He barked an order. Soldiers fanned out, each pulling alongside a different one of Lorenzos men, and leveling pistols.
Chapter Five
What is the meaning of this? Lorenzo yelled to be heard over the cattles lowing. Being a captain, Lorenzo outranked this lieutenant, but that did little good with pistols trained on him and his men. The lieutenant answered a question with a question. Are you in charge here? Yes! What is your name? Lorenzo Bannister. Given the nature of their secret mission, he thought it best to give only the barest of details. I certainly hope you can give me a good explanation for having mission cattle in your possession. Lorenzo could not see the face under the widebrimmed hat, but the lieutenant sounded like a boy whose voice had not yet broken. I do, Lieutenant. We ran into rustlers and took the cattle away from them. Is that so? The lieutenant thumbed back his hat, revealing a boyish face to match the voice. His thick, blue-black hair was as long as Lorenzos and tied at the neck with a rawhide strip. The lieutenant had a look in his eye that warned not to take liberties. He looked familiar, but Lorenzo couldnt place him. Youve no doubt noticed were driving the cattle w est, Lorenzo pointed out. Would rustlers drive them back to San Antonio? They might if they were lost . . . The lieutenants
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curled into an ironic smile. Or stupid. We are neither. Lorenzo liked the fellow less and less. Slowly, making no threatening moves, he reached around and untied his saddlebag. He drew out the small leather satchel Colonel De Glvez had given him as a birthday present. The lieutenant frowned to see the Glvez family crest tooled on the front. He carefully read the page Lorenzo handed him. Written and signed by Colonel Bernardo De Glvez, the governor of Louisiana, it authorized Captain Lorenzo Bannister to buy five hundred head of cattle and drive them east to New Orleans. The page gave no hint they were being purchased by George Washington. It also implied that Lorenzo and his men were attached to the Spanish army, not the American one. When people noticed his mens shaky command of the Spanish language, they would no doubt assume they were mercenaries. Every army hired foreign soldiers. German-speaking Hessians fought for the British. The Spanish army brimmed with Irishmen. The lieutenant offered a courteous bow. I am Lieutenant Miguel De Santoro. Your servant, sir. Miguel De Santoro, Lorenzo silently repeated. Where have I heard that name? Call off your men, Lieutenant. At his shrill whistle, soldiers stowed their pistols. Lorenzo found the lieutenant less than likable, but couldnt help admiring how well he had trained his men. Lorenzo suddenly remembered him. Laredo! You were my fathers patient! The lieutenants eyes widened. Youre Dr. Bannisters son. Yes. Of course. For years, Lorenzo and his physician father had traveled from presidio to presidio to visit patients. One day a lieutenant showed up in the waiting room. Dr. Bannister said to come for a physical exam. Lorenzo led him into his fathers office and prepared
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to assist, as usual. Leave the room, son, his father said. Surprised by the order, Lorenzo did not budge. I must examine Lt. De Santoro in private, his father explained in an uncharacteristically gruff tone as he pushed Lorenzo out the door. This is not a sight for a young boys eyes. For several minutes, Lorenzo stood outside the closed door, wondering what hideous malady the lieutenant had. As a physicians apprentice, he had seen it all. Wounds squirming with maggots. Gangrene. Amputations. What could be worse than that? After the examination, his father refused to discuss Miguel De Santoros condition. Overcome with curiosity, Lorenzo searched the pharmacy book where his father recorded medicine or treatment prescribed. There was no entry for Miguel De Santoro. Apparently, his condition was untreatable. That happened nearly three years ago, which meant Lieutenant De Santoro was now about nineteen years old. Lorenzo puzzled over this. Maybe the lieutenant looked like a boy because he had a rare medical condition. He was still a lieutenant, but that was hardly odd. Promotion came slowly in the Spanish army. Miguel shifted uneasily. Did Dr. Bannister tell you . . . anything? No. He said there were secrets between doctor and patient that should never be revealed. Thats good, Miguel said, visibly relieved. Tell me about your encounter with the rustlers. Sergeant OShaughnessy was with me at the time. Lorenzo signaled for Red to join them. He spurred his horse forward until he was facing Lorenzo and the lieutenant. In short order, he and Lorenzo related what had happened. Miguel listened carefully. He took a card from the
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leather pouch around his neck, crossed through two names, and put the card back. Only five more to go. Weve been after Chien dOr and his band of renegades for a long time. Chien dOr? Lorenzo said, surprised by the name. It meant Gold Dog in French. Miguel nodded. Cattle rustler, smuggler, and allaround troublemaker. His mother was Lipan Apache, his father French. Chien dOrs gang is made up of French smugglers hiding out with the Lipan Apache. Lorenzo mulled this over. At the beginning of the century, the French had infiltrated Texas, forcing the King of Spain to build forts near the Louisiana border to protect his territory. In 1763, at the end of the French and Indian War, France handed the Louisiana Territory over to Spain, but French smugglers and pirates remained a problem. Miguel looked at Red. I am in your debt . . . He floundered. Im sorry. I didnt catch your name. Sean OShaughnessy. Everyone calls me Red. Miguel opened his mouth to speak, paused, then said, Yes. Well. Thank you for your help, Sergeant Colorado. Red grinned at the way Miguel translated his nickname into Spanish. I think it only fair to warn you, Miguel said. You two have made an enemy. Chien dOr will take this personally. Watch your backs.
Chapter Six
Chien dOr brooded as he rode back to camp. Losing the cattle angered him. He had risked his life for them and planned to trade them for French muskets. But what really made his blood boil was seeing the red-headed bear and his companion kill two of his men. On the trek home, thoughts of revenge filled Chien dOrs mind. After crossing three hills and a rock-strewn creek, he spotted the campsite, twenty or so teepees clustered under a canopy of live oaks. Children dashed back and forth followed by a yellow dog playfully yapping at their heels. In front of a teepee, a woman stitched a new pair of moccasins and talked to her companion, who mixed flour and water, then shaped it into small cakes that she baked over glowing embers. Chien dOr flung himself off his horse, tied it up, and stomped toward a teepee decorated with hunting scenes. Three Lipan Apaches, all of them nearly six feet tall, strode toward him. They were of average height for the tribe and towered over him by at least three inches. Their hair was braided and fastened at the napes with loops of deer sinew. They had painted their faces bright red, as was the custom. Welcome back, Brother! a battle-scarred brave said. Chien dOr grunted and hoped they wouldnt ask about the cattle. He felt foolish in boots, shirt, and trousers, the clothes of his fathers people. Long ago, his father, a French pirate, had been shipwrecked off the
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Texas coast. For weeks he had wandered aimlessly, only to be found by a scouting party of Lipan Apaches. After adapting to their ways, he had become a valuable addition to the tribe. Chien dOr couldnt wait to change back into deerskin. Bringing the Frenchmen into the tribe had been Chien dOrs idea. They had been trouble ever since. Many braves had died in battle with the Comanches, including Chien dOrs brother, Bay. Because the tribe could not afford to lose any more men, the French stayed as reinforcements. Many tribesmen took refuge at the missions in San Antonio, learning Spanish and adopting a new religion. Even Bays widow had gone to San Antonio. Chien dOr clenched his jaw so tight his teeth hurt. He entered his teepee, pulled off his boots, and flung them across the way. He changed clothes, then sat on a buffalo hide. Voices speaking Apache and French filtered through the walls. Somewhere not too far away, a baby wailed, and a woman sang a lullaby to comfort it. The aroma of roast meat traveled on the light breeze entering the teepee. The flap lifted. His wife, Raven Feather, came in carrying cubes of roast meat fastened on green sticks and handed them to him. She wore a knee-length deerskin dress decorated with glass beads. Long deerskin stockings served as slippers. He told her about stealing the cattle, only to lose them. The Spanish sleep like bears, she said. Take the cattle back, my husband. They are yours. I will, when the time is right. After last nights raid, the Spanish will have their guard up. He chewed thoughtfully on a cube of beef. You have done more for the people than our own
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chief! Iron Bear wants to live in peace with the Spanish. She waved her hand scornfully. Peace! He is an old man who has lost the will to fight. You should be chief. Exactly what he was thinking, and it gave him another idea. Go to San Antonio. Find out what you can about the red-headed man and his companions. By your return, I will be chief. She beamed at the word chief. Go, woman. Raven Feather obeyed without question. Sitting alone in his teepee, Chien dOr pondered what to do next. Chien dOr, chief of the Lipan Warriors, he muttered. It sounded good, very good. He stroked the buffalo hide beneath him and plotted the perfect end for Chief Iron Bear. Dunstan deposited his last load of firewood on the ox cart and fell into line behind seven German-speaking Hessians. After the guard determined all axes were back in the storage box, prisoners and guards set out. They tramped single file through the Virginia forest down a road winding between steep banks. The prisoners traveled on foot while the guards rode on horseback, one in front, one in back. Dunstan concentrated on the Quaker boy marching at the head of the line. The boys whispered words, Thou hast friends in high places, repeated themselves in Dunstans mind, giving him hope. At the same time, they bothered him. Why had his cousin ordered him to report to him at once? What was so important that his cousin wanted him to break out of prison? And why had he waited two months to send someone with a message? During the march to camp, Dunstan also wondered why the guards hadnt slapped leg irons on them. Per-
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haps the rumor was true. The rebels were overwhelmed with Hessian prisoners of war and didnt know what to do with them. One day, on a particularly boring morning, Dunstan tried to count them but lost track at two hundred fifty. German princes hired out their fellow countrymen to King George but refused to pay a ransom when they were captured. It looked like the Hessians would spend the rest of the war as prisoners. King George, on the other hand, cared about his English subjects and arranged prisoner exchanges. The Quaker boy stumbled. Limping to the side of the road, he perched on an enormous boulder, removed his shoe, fished out a pebble, and tossed it into a bank of ferns. He sat, making no motion to put his shoe back on, and winked at Dunstan. The guard rode over to the boy. Lets go! No! Whip in hand, the guard slid down from his horse. Get up! Every eye turned on them. I said, get up! I am tired and wish to rest. The boy was creating a diversion! Every muscle tensed as Dunstan formed an escape plan. The second guard called out, Let the boy be. Ill bring him later. Ignoring his companions offer, the guard seized the boys arm and forced him to his feet. This is the thanks I get for going soft on you and letting you be water boy. Start walking. Head raised in sudden defiance, the boy pulled free. I refuse to take one more step. The guard brought the bullwhip down squarely on the boys shoulders. A sharp crack of leather rang out. Stop that! the second man bellowed, nudging his horse forward.
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Before the guard could bring the whip down again, the second guard bent low and grabbed his wrist. For Gods sake, hes just a boy. This was the moment Dunstan had waited for. With all attention focused on the little Quaker, Dunstan rushed the mean-spirited guard, driving a shoulder into his stomach and knocking him off balance. The man reeled backwards, stumbled over a log, and landed on his back in a pile of dead leaves. The sudden commotion made the horses rear. Arms whirling like windmills, the second guard fell off. His mount danced to the left, then skittered down the lane with the second horse not far behind. Dunstan dove for the pistol dropped by the second guard, snatched it up, and jammed it into the guards temple. Tell your friend to drop his weapons or Ill blow your brains out. By the time the guard stammered out, Do as he says, the other guard had already deposited his weapons on the ground. The Hessians looked at each other but did nothing. Anger slashed through Dunstan to see the prisoners standing like stone blocks. You two! he roared, using the broken German hed learned during his confinement. Go to the wagon. Get rope. Tie them up! Dunstans shouted order brought them to life. A prisoner scooped up a musket, put the stock to his right shoulder, and aimed at the guard. His finger twitched on the trigger. Nein, nein, nein! Dunstan roared, knocking the muzzle aside and making the prisoner recoil in surprise. Keine . . . At a loss for words, Dunstan did a swift pantomime of slicing his finger over his throat and waving his hand in a sign of no. The rebels wouldnt waste time looking for a handful of escaped prisoners, but murderers were another matter. The last thing he wanted was the entire Continental Army hunting them down.
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While the Hessians bound the first guard hand and foot, Dunstan wedged one pistol under his belt and handed the other to the little Quaker. Holding it awkwardly, as if he had never handled a weapon before, the boy studied it for a second. A smile spread across his face as he imitated Dunstan and slipped it under his belt. Dunstan briefly considered ordering the Hessians to form ranks and become his own private army. Then common sense prevailed. He and the Quaker boy had a better chance of escape alone. Gehen Sie! Dunstan spat out in German. Go! Pandemonium reigned. Prisoners scattered in all directions. Some crashed into the forest and disappeared in the lush tangle of trees. Others sprinted down the road, away from camp. Dunstan and the Quaker scrambled up the closest bank, grabbing onto tree roots to pull themselves to the top. Chest heaving, he paused to study the angle of the sunlight slanting through the forest. He guessed they had six good hours of daylight left. Come on . . . For the first time, it occurred to Dunstan that he didnt know the boys name. Whats your name? Thomas Hancock, the boy replied. Of the New Jersey Hancocks? Aye. That explained a lot. The Hancocks, well-known and well-respected Quakers from southern New Jersey, had remained loyal to good King George and often slipped information on rebel movement to British intelligence. Dunstan catalogued all that in his mind for future use. The first thing he had to do was report to his cousin, Major Hawthorne. The second was to find Lorenzo and kill him.
Chapter Seven
Molly carried a plate of leftovers from General Washingtons lunch to the makeshift chicken yard. Private Welsh, on guard, unlatched the gate and pushed it open for her. It looks like General Washington didnt touch his food, he said in his prim Connecticut accent. He didnt have much of an appetite today. Poor fellow! He is a man full of woe, Private Welsh said. Molly nodded. General Washington hadnt won a victory in months. Some members of Congress and certain army officers wanted to replace him as commander in chief. The prime candidate was Benedict Arnold. The possibility of losing General Washington made Molly angry. She had met Benedict Arnold and didnt trust him. He was the kind of man who would sell his own mother for the right price. Molly handed Private Welsh the plate. She always gave him a chance at leftovers before she fed them to the chickens. He picked up a corn pone and bit off a huge chunk. Delicious! What is it? In Virginia, we call it a corn pone. I baked it myself. Molly tossed the peas to the chickens. General Washington hated peas. The chickens devoured them, then craned their necks, looking around for more.
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Molly, if you were old enough, Id marry you like that! Private Welsh snapped his fingers. Why? Cause I can cook? He grinned and flicked the tip of her nose with his finger. Precisely. A hen drooped, let out a strangled squawk, and flopped over dead. Private Welsh straightened. What the devil? A second chicken fell over dead. In a matter of minutes, bodies littered the chicken yard. Color drained from Private Welshs face. He stared at the corn pone in his hand. Ive eaten poisoned food. Molly shook her head. I baked that myself. Those pones never left my sight. Are you sure? Positive. The guard looked immensely relieved. Who prepared the peas? The cook. He tried to poison General Washington! Come on, Molly. Youre my witness. The cook will hang for this. Iron Bear stood with arms crossed and watched the four French smugglers enter Chien dOrs teepee. He wished he hadnt allowed them to stay, but the day Chien dOr brought them to camp, one had been wounded and needed help. He didnt trust any of them, and he trusted Chien dOr least of all. He was sneaky as a coyote. It was odd how two children from the same parents could be so different. Bay, Chien dOrs brother, had been an honorable man, a brave warrior who had died in battle protecting the tribe from Comanches. Iron Bear decided to give Chien dOrs associates the benefit of the doubt, but he would still keep an eye on them. He would watch Chien dOr even closer.
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It was early afternoon when Dunstan and Thomas arrived in Charles City, Virginia, on stolen horses. Wedged between the James and Chickahominy Rivers, the village consisted of sturdy two-story brick houses and resembled other colonial villages they had passed through. Dunstan followed Thomas to the most elegant house in town. A British flag on the side flapped in the breeze. When they alighted, sore and travel-worn, Thomas automatically took the reins of both horses and tied them to a waist-high iron hitching ring. Dunstan was beginning to like this most useful boy. He never whined, although they had traveled at top speed for hours. When they stopped to rest, Thomas anticipated Dunstans needs, and when he did not, Dunstan only had to explain once how he wished things done. Someone had trained the boy well. With Thomas trailing in his wake, Dunstan bounded up the red-brick steps to a redcoat standing woodenly on guard. At their approach, the soldier scanned him from head to toe, disapproval at Dunstans tattered coat and much-patched trousers evident. Thomas stepped around Dunstan. The rooster has flown the coop. It was clearly a password. The guard swung the door open without hesitation and led them to a sitting room decorated with portraits of sour-looking people in oldfashioned clothing. Against one wall stood a fireplace with two armchairs angled toward it. A horsehair couch occupied the opposite wall. In the center of the room, a highly polished table held a china service for six. Dunstan fell into a chair and propped his feet on the hearth. I shall inform the major of your arrival. The soldier turned and left.
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Thomas stood in the center of the room, working his hat through his hands. Relax, Dunstan said. He waved toward the empty chair. Reluctantly, the boy sat down. During the ride to Charles City, Dunstan had taken Thomass measure as a man. The lad would serve him well. He was smart enough to choose the winning side of this war, smart enough to obey him, but not smart enough to question orders. Major Hawthorne entered, stuffing his shirt in his pants. Thomas leaped to his feet as Dunstan slowly unfolded himself. Wigless, hair disheveled, the major reeked of cheap perfume, suggesting he had just left female companionship. Major Hawthorne was famous for parties that put Roman orgies to shame. Dunstan smiled to recall the ad his cousin once placed in a colonial newspaper. Housekeeper needed for British officer. Women with scruples and high moral character need not apply. Dear cousin, Major Hawthorne said, shaking his hand warmly. A pleasure to see you again. He turned to Thomas and ruffled the boys hair. Well done, my boy! An entire battalion couldnt have done better. Thomas beamed. Turning back to Dunstan, Major Hawthorne looked at him appraisingly. You look none the worse for wear, in spite of your recent indisposition. The thought of you languishing in prison was positively mortifying. So mortifying you waited two months to spring me? Cut the malarkey and just tell me why the hell you brought me here. Thomas looked shocked by Dunstans rudeness and rough language. My dear cousin, Major Hawthorne said in a gentle
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voice. Always in a hurry. You must learn to take life easy and enjoy yourself. Shall I have the cook prepare something? Ham perhaps? They cure it to perfection here. Major Hawthorne brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them lightly in a gesture of delight. I havent the time. Out of the corner of his eye, Dunstan saw Thomas slump in disappointment and realized the boy must be starving. Oh, very well. Thomas, tell the major what you would like. Ham and boiled eggs. The boys gaze fell. If it isnt too much trouble, sir. No trouble at all, the major exclaimed. You deserve a greater reward than that for what youve done. He pulled a long tasseled rope hanging from the ceiling. A woman wearing an apron came to the door in seconds. Dunstan eyed her appraisingly. She was far too beautiful to be a mere maid. After Major Hawthorne ordered dinner, she left, closing the door behind her. Lets discuss why youre here. Dunstans cousin eased into an armchair and signaled for them to sit. Intelligence has reason to believe the Spanish are up to their necks in this rebellion. We must find out just how deeply involved those New Orleans dons are. You know them better than anyone. I believe you acquired some of their language in New Orleans? Dunstan nodded. Excellent! I am told you once crossed paths with Lorenzo Bannister. Dunstan scooted to the edge of his seat. You have news of him? In a manner of speaking. Our spies in New Orleans report that Bannister lives with Colonel De Glvez. It appears Glvez filed papers on his behalf. Court proceedings were held behind closed doors, with the result-
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ing documents sealed and spirited away. We believe the colonel has made Bannister his ward. Dunstan snorted. Why would he do that? Bannisters grown and can take care of himself. Major Hawthorne lifted a shoulder. The story grows more curious by the minute. Bannister and several of his soldiers were spotted leaving New Orleans on horseback. His soldiers? Yes. He is now a captain in the rebel army. Thats interesting. Quite. Bannister and his men headed due west. They were dressed as civilians and traveled light, apparently in a hurry. What lies due west of New Orleans? How the hell should I know? San Antonio, dear cousin. The capital of the Province of Texas. Why would Bannister and his men head there? I should like to think they have come to their senses and are deserting the rebel army, but I rather imagine we cant be that lucky, now can we? What do you know about San Antonio? Not much. Major Hawthorne handed him a map. Dunstan uncurled it and studied it. His cousin continued. A chain of Spanish missions runs along the San Antonio Riverfive missions in all San Antonio de Valero, San Jos, Concepcin, San Juan, and Espada. Dunstan followed the rivers meandering path and located the missions. All are under the protection of Fort San Antonio de Bexar. Ninety-three soldiers and officers guard the garrison. They do little more than drill and attend to routine duties. The village of San Antonio consists of about twelve hundred settlers, most from the Canary Islands. The number of Indians inside mission walls is ever
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changing, for they come and go at will. Is that traitor Washington recruiting Indians to his side? No. The Spanish and the Indians have been fighting for years. I quite imagine Bannister and his men are after something else. What? Theres nothing in Texas but barbarians and wild beasts. What kinds of wild beasts? Lets ponder that a moment, shall we? The ranches around San Antonio are filled with horses and cattle. No doubt there are more cattle than people in Texas. Dunstan stroked his lower lip thoughtfully. Horses and cattle are two things Washington needs badly. Desperately, Major Hawthorne corrected. And the rebels will go to any length to acquire them. All the way to Texas? Major Hawthorne gave him a wicked grin. Dunstan studied the map again. Its a long way from Texas to the colonies. They would have to drive the cattle overland to . . . No. Not overland. That poses too many problems. Rough terrain. Wild beasts. Indians. If I were Bannister, I would head to the Gulf of Mexico to put the cattle on a waiting ship. And how would you get the cattle from the beach to the ship? Row them one by one to a ship anchored in the bay and hope they climb aboard? No, Dunstan. For such an operation, you need a port with docks for loading cattle, a port such as New Orleans. I want you to find out Bannisters plans and report back to me. Major Hawthorne half-smiled. For this mission, you will travel alone and out of uniform. And if Im caught, I will hang as a spy! Pish posh! He took an envelope from the mantle. If you are arrested in New Orleans, simply wave these papers under someones nose and say you are cultural attach at the British Embassy. They give you diplomatic
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privilege. Dunstan frowned. New Orleans? Why not San Antonio? His cousin let out an exasperated breath. You can hide out at our embassy in New Orleans, but in San Antonio . . . For Gods sake, Duns. Think! You dont speak Spanish well enough to pass for a Spaniard! Upon hearing his childhood nickname, Dunstan leaped from his seat. Dont call me that! No one calls me that. Ever! He hated his name. On the first day of school, the biggest bully there had shortened Dunstan to dunce. The schoolmaster, an old man hard of hearing, hadnt caught the whispered insult, but nearby students had. They giggled while Dunstan steamed. Far from being a dunce, he knew he was smarter than anyone in the whole school. During recess, Dunstan sought out the bully and picked a fight, determined to put a stop to the name before it stuck. He bloodied his opponents nose. Over time, Dunstan systematically moved from student to student, not even sparing the smaller kids. By the time Dunstan was twelve, every person and animal around gave him wide berth. And no one ever called him dunce again. Release me! a fear-tinged voice said. Dunstan became aware of Thomass fingers prying his own from Major Hawthornes shirt front. Let him go, Dunstan, Thomas coaxed, using his first name for the first time. With a jolt, he returned to the present to find his cousin, white-faced with fear, pushed against the wall, and Thomas scowling at him in disapproval. Dunstan turned toward the window and laced his fingers behind his head. God! An attack on a superior officer. What an incredibly stupid thing to do! If you werent a blood relation, Major Hawthorne said, straightening his shirt front, Id have you flogged for that.
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Dunstan hung his head. The threat of a flogging was generous. His actions merited a worse punishment. Im sorry. It wont happen again. Silence covered the room. Several seconds went by. Major Hawthornes mouth curled into a half-smile. You always were a bit of a lad. Ive never held your murky past against you, and wont start doing so today. To the contrary, that is precisely why I chose you for this mission. By God! Bring me proof the Spanish are helping Washington and his band of traitors, and Ill see you wear an officers sash. Dunstans mouth went dry. He wanted nothing more than to be promoted from the ranks. His cousin knew that. Done! Dunstan managed to croak. By your leave, Cousin. He couldnt help smiling as he left. He would bring proof the Spanish were involved. And for good measure, he would bring Lorenzo Bannisters head.
Chapter Eight
Shortly before dusk, San Antonio appeared as a tiny dot on the distant Texas plain. An odd tightness came to Lorenzos throat. He was home after a one-year absence. Miguel ordered his soldiers to herd the recovered cattle toward Atascoso, the mission ranch. The wranglers with the remuda of spare horses trailed after them. Lorenzo rode toward San Antonio with his men and Miguel. They crossed winding cattle trails and passed through land he remembered working as a vaquero, past herds of goats and long-horned cattle, fields of corn, beans, potatoes, watermelons, and peppers. The sound of a tolling bell drifted toward them. Mission San Antonio de Valero stood flanked by cottonwoods, or lam o s in Spanish. Behind its thick walls, one could hold off an army for many days if need be. An urge to visit his fathers grave overwhelmed Lorenzo. He turned his horse south and stopped. His gaze riveted on the mission. Red and Miguel reined in beside him. In a room provided by the monks, Lorenzo had kept vigil at his fathers bedside. Helpless, he had watched his father slowly waste away from consumption. Captain? Red said. You look like you seen a ghost. Are you all right? Let him be, Miguel said softly. Captain Bannisters father is buried at the mission. He spoke to Lorenzo. Ill take your men into San Antonio and see them
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settled in while you attend to other matters. Hearing Red and Miguel ride away snapped him out of his reverie. He touched his heels to Piata and caught up with them at the river edge. I appreciate the gesture, Lieutenant, but the men are my responsibility, not yours. Together they forded the San Antonio River in water up to their stirrups. As they splashed across, fond memories washed over him, memories of fishing with his father in the river and gathering walnuts from the trees that fringed it. The provincial capital, a village of twelve hundred souls, lay nestled between the San Antonio River and the San Pedro. The town looked the way Lorenzo remembered it, with sixty or so stone and adobe buildings, about eighty wood houses, and five missions strung along the San Antonio River. From this angle, he could see Mission San Jos about a league away. News that strangers were in town traveled with astonishing speed. Doors flew open. People hurried to the Plaza de los Ysleos to meet the newcomers. Spanish soldiers spilled through the forts double doors. Little boys and barking dogs raced around like spinning tops while girls giggled and blushed. The horses were soon encircled. Well, Captain, Miguel said as he scanned the gathering crowd, I certainly am glad your arrival isnt supposed to be a secret. Ive lived here for six months, and Ive never seen anyone get such a heros welcome. Lorenzo ignored the lieutenant and looked for Doa Mara Robaina, the elderly widow who was like a grandmother to him. She had given him a job on her ranch when she realized he was penniless. She had paid the carpenter for Paps coffin. She had taken care of Lorenzo while he was still reeling from his fathers death. He didnt see her. Her small, whitewashed house trimmed in wrought iron looked out on the main plaza. Surely she had heard their arrival. Red let out a low whistle. He finger-combed his beard
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with one hand and slicked back his hair with the other, then slid down from his horse. He handed his reins to Private Dujardin. Where do you think youre going? Lorenzo asked. Over there, he replied vaguely. Lorenzo dismounted among a sea of faces. Being from a small town meant everyone knew everyone else. He hugged the people closest to him and waved to others, rarely seeing a face he didnt recognize. Miguel, still on horseback, regaled the gathered crowd with the rescue of the missing cattle. He gave Lorenzo and his men full credit. Thank you, Lieutenant, Lorenzo said, hiding his surprise. In response, Miguel merely snapped a finger against his hat brim in an unofficial salute. And most noteworthy for his bravery, Miguel said in closing, is Sergeant Colorado. He gestured toward Reds empty saddle, then looked all about. Whered he go? Lorenzo stretched to see over the crowd and found him chatting with an Apache woman. It wasnt unusual to see Apaches in San Antonio. Many of them lived and worked at the mission, others on ranches as vaqueros. Lorenzo could understand Reds interest in her. The woman was gorgeous. She looked about twenty-five years old and had high cheekbones, full lips, and sundarkened skin. Her large black eyes sparkled with intelligence. She wore a brightly colored cotton blouse and a full skirt with ruffles at the bottom. A wide fringed shawl draped her head and shoulders. The large gold cross hanging around her neck said she was Catholic. Clearly, Red was flirting with her, and it looked like she was flirting back. Lorenzo hoped Red would behave. On the trail he had explained the Tejano honor code in detail to his soldiers. Family is important to Tejanos, he had said. If a father suspects you have dishonored his daughter, it will
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be within his rights to kill you. It is as simple as that. If he fails, then the duty to cleanse family honor with your blood falls to the girls brothers, uncles, and cousins. They will hunt you down, and it will not go well for you. Lorenzos soldiers had grumbled that he was a killjoy. Now, as he watched Red, he hoped they had taken the warning seriously. Just then, Lorenzo spotted Doa Mara coming from San Fernando Church, prayer book in one hand, rosary in the other. He waved to get her attention. She waved back, her face reflecting her joy, and elbowed her way through the jostling crowd. Captain, Miguel said under his breath, your men are tired and so are you. Ill see that they are properly billeted. Thats a job Ill gladly relinquish, Lieutenant, Lorenzo said. Each man has the name and address of a family that will probably take him in. Red will stay with me. It shall be done, sir. Lorenzo left Piata in Private Dujardins care. He maneuvered to Doa Mara, getting his back slapped until it tingled. The people of San Antonio tossed question after question at him that he answered while crossing the main plaza. Sandaled feet and grinning monks rushed toward him. One after another engulfed him in a heartfelt embrace. The seemingly endless questions and explanations started all over again. Eventually, he reached Doa Mara. As always, she radiated good cheer and loving kindness. Her fair complexion contrasted with her white hair framed by a lacy mantilla. She wore a plain black dress gathered at the waist by a sash of the same color. He scooped her up, lifting her a foot off the ground, and gave her a hug.
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Mijo ! she exclaimed, calling him my son. She kissed him on both cheeks. What a surprise! Look at you! Youre a full-grown man, but ay! How thin you are. Stay with me and Ill fatten you up. After weeks of eating jerky and hardtack, the offer sounded wonderful. How Ive missed your cooking! She slapped his shoulder, and dust puffed out of his shirt. Santa Mara! You need a bath! I do? Lorenzo asked in pretend surprise. Doa Mara laughed, then turned serious. Did you deliver your fathers letter? Lorenzo nodded. You went all the way to Virginia? And back again. Why didnt you stay with your grandfather? A lump formed in Lorenzos throat. It hurt too much to tell her his grandfather hadnt wanted him. Vaya! Doa Mara said, giving his arm a little squeeze. You can tell me later. The important thing is youre home. You will stay in your old bedroom, of course. Lorenzo smiled. I was hoping you would say that! He pointed to Red still flirting with the Apache woman. Could Sergeant OShaughnessy share my room? He wanted Red with him so they could make final arrangements for the cattle drive in private. A redhead? Her sly smile told him she was teasing. You have the devil in you! Doa Mara came from the Canary Islands with the original settlers in the 1730s and believed, as did most Spaniards, that redheads were descendants of Judas Iscariot. If he bears your stamp, she conceded, he must be a fine fellow. He is. Lorenzo caught Reds eye and signaled him to join them. Red waved back, but stayed with the girl. Hardly surprising. Red had never been good at following orders. The big Pennsylvanians refusal to obey a lieutenant had
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once saved Lorenzos life. That clouded Lorenzos objectivity in matters concerning Red, but he couldnt help it. Who is the woman Sergeant OShaughnessy is talking to? Lorenzo asked. Thats Soledad, Lieutenant De Santoros sister. His sister? Lorenzo said in dismay. They bore little resemblance. Soledad looked Apache, whereas Miguel resembled a Spanish aristocrat. I should have said his adopted sister. Soledads mother was the cook on his parents hacienda. They adopted Soledad after her mother died of smallpox. Shes a widow now. Her husband was killed by Comanches. Leaving Soledad with apparent reluctance, Red headed toward Lorenzo and Doa Mara. He made his way through the crowd and stopped in front of them. Doa Mara, Lorenzo said, slowing his Spanish for Reds benefit, allow me to introduce Sergeant Sean OShaughnessy. The elderly widow dutifully offered her hand. Instead of kissing it, as was the custom, Red gave it a hearty shake and greeted her in mangled Spanish. Doa Mara handled the situation with her customary grace and dignity. Lorenzo offered his arm to Doa Mara, and they headed across the dusty square toward her ranch and his adopted home.
Chapter Nine
British sailors glistening with sweat strained at the oars as they rowed Dunstan and Thomas toward a warship anchored off the Virginia coast. Overhead, sea gulls squawked and dipped toward them. Waves slapped the rowboats side. A naval lieutenant sat stiffly at the bow enveloped in an air of smug superiority. Everything about him said he was an English blue blood. Dunstan smiled to imagine this mans reaction should he realize he was rowing the illegitimate son of an English lord. To his credit, Dunstans father had always looked after him, sending him to an expensive boarding school and allowing him to stay on the familys colonial estate whenever he wished. Dunstans father sat in Parliament, in the House of Lords to be precise, and wielded tremendous power. As they crossed the bay, Dunstan ran a finger under the uncomfortable cravat around his neck. After seven years in the army, he felt naked without the old red rag, as they called the British uniform. Major Hawthorne had done well by him and Thomas, outfitting them like lords and providing an ample purse of shillings and pounds for their mission to New Orleans. Both Dunstan and Thomas wore black knee breeches, silk stockings, a white shirt with ruffled cuffs, buckle shoes, an embroidered waistcoat, and a black broadcloth coat. They looked like doctor and apprentice.
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They climbed a rope ladder to the ships quarterdeck where several naval officers awaited them. The captain removed his hat, greeted Dunstan with an extravagant bow, and welcomed them aboard as if they were visiting dignitaries. Dunstan acknowledged the bow with a swift nod. The captain led Dunstan and Thomas below decks to a small but well-appointed room. Against one wall stood a bunk bed. Opposite it was a small writing desk. I trust this will suit? the captain inquired anxiously. It will do, Dunstan said. In his last sea voyage, he had been elbow-to-elbow with British redcoats, taking turns sleeping in hammocks, bending his six-foot frame low to keep from scraping his head on the ceiling. This was a definite improvement. The captain took pains to explain the ships routine and asked Dunstan and Thomas to share meals with him and his officers in the wardroom. Bidding them a cordial farewell, he left. Dunstan fell onto the bottom bunk and laced his hands behind his head. A grin spread across Thomass face. I like being treated like nobility. Dunstan chuckled. So do I, son. So do I. Too excited to sleep, he listened to the ships wooden timbers creak and shiver. It reminded him of something he had heard not so long agothe sounds a gallows makes when a man is hanging at the end of a rope. The ship gently rocked beneath him as it set sail for New Orleans. He rubbed the scar on his face and imagined how Lorenzo Bannister would beg for his life.
Chapter Ten
An hour after arriving in San Antonio, Lorenzo sank into a tub of steaming water prepared by Doa Maras manservant. He hooked his legs over the edge and closed his eyes. In water up to his neck, he planned what he would say tomorrow when he met with the head monk at the mission. No matter what, he had to buy five hundred head of cattle from the mission herd. If Lorenzo failed, Washingtons army would go hungry, and starving men could not fight. There were other places in Texas where he could get cattle, but San Antonio was home. Besides, he knew all the monks at the mission, and it would be easier to buy cattle there than anywhere else. The mission ranch was big with plenty of cattle to spare. The door whispered open. Lorenzo lifted an eyelid, expecting to see a manservant with a steaming bucket of water to refresh the bath. Instead, his roommate, Red, entered carrying a kettle. Water hit a tin basin and hissed. Steam clouded the mirror on the wall above it. Red pulled off his shirt and splashed water on his face and neck. Next, the Pennsylvania woodsman laid out a razor, shaving mug, lathering brush, and soap. Lorenzo straightened. I didnt know you and a razor had ever made an acquaintance. Eyes twinkling, Red worked shaving soap into a lather. Been a long time. He scraped off whiskers. What
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do you know about women? Nothing. Theres not a man alive who understands them. You gotta know something, you with a fiance and all. Our courtship was a little strange, Lorenzo said as he sank back into his bath water. He and Eugenie were an odd pair. He was a spy for General Washington, and he was engaged to a spy for Colonel De Glvez. He recalled an argument with Eugenie three weeks earlier. The colonel wants you to do what? he had asked in disbelief as they strolled through New Orleans. He wants me to deliver a message to General Washington. You cant! Eugenie mashed her fists on her hips. Why not? Someone must tell General Washington about the plan you and the colonel have concocted. How else will the general know to send flatboats down river? The colonel doesnt want to send a letter for fear it may fall into enemy hands. Listen to reason, he cajoled. A trip north is dangerous. I get on a ship, sail to Philadelphia, have tea with General and Mrs. Washington, and come back home. What is dangerous about that? The colonies are at war. At war with the British! she snapped. I will do anything in my power to help the Americans. Lorenzo understood her hatred of the British. He might not have if Colonel De Glvez hadnt told him about her father, a simple Acadian cobbler. In 1755, the British burned his village in Canada territory to the ground and forced everyone onto ships. Eugenies father and other refugees arrived in New Orleans a little later. He never saw Acadia again. Co raz n, Lorenzo began.
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Eugenie put two fingers to his lips. I understand the danger. This is something I must do. Colonel De Glvez wants me to deliver a message. Its my duty, just as going to San Antonio is your duty! At that point, Lorenzo knew he had lost the argument. The next day, Eugenie left with a secret message for General Washington. The clanking of Reds razor against the wash basin jolted Lorenzo back to the present. Soledads the prettiest girl I ever laid eyes on, Red said. Im going to marry her. Lorenzo sat up so quickly, water sloshed from the tub. Red, you just met her. Dont you believe in love at first sight? I believe in common sense. You cant rush into marriage. Why not? People do it all the time. I gotta marry her before someone else does. With a shortage of women on the frontier, widows didnt stay unmarried for long, especially beautiful ones like Soledad. Lorenzo had heard of arranged marriages between people who had met on the day of the wedding. Sometimes they were successful. Then again, some people courted for years, got married, and lived to regret it. Ive given this a lot of thought, Red said. Im twenty-nine and my lifes half over. I want a family. That was something Lorenzo understood. More than once, hed imagined what it would be like to own a cattle ranch and be welcomed home each night by Eugenie. Red, were leaving in a week. Then Ill have to work fast. If you look cross-eyed at Soledad, Miguel will call you out for a duel. Then Ill have to keep my eyes straight ahead. You cant take a woman on a cattle drive. What if were married by the time we leave?
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You have an answer for everything, dont you? Ive had a whole hour to think this thing through. Lorenzo stared at him a moment, then burst out laughing. If you two are married by the time we leave San Antonio, she can come along. Lorenzo smiled smugly. The cattle drive would start in a week. Before anyone could wed, marriage banns had to be read at mass and posted on the church door for three consecutive holy days of obligation. Lorenzo and his men would leave San Antonio before that could happen. Shaving done, Red toweled away remnants of lather. How do I go about courting a Tejano woman? Same as any other woman. Just be your usual charming self. One look at Red and Lorenzo was sorry for his flippant answer. Red was serious about this and wanted help. Its customary to ask her father for permission to court her, Lorenzo said. In this case, Miguel is her closest male relative. Give me a minute to get dressed. I want to visit Paps grave. We can stop at Miguels house along the way. At Lorenzos suggestion, Red wore a white, puffysleeved shirt, black trousers, and boots. Doa Mara completed the ensemble by borrowing two items from her son: a short vest, the kind Tejano men wore, and a black felt hat. Lorenzo dressed similarly. At eight oclock, it was still insufferably hot, although the sun had already set. Lorenzo carried a small hand lantern to light their way. They stopped in front of an adobe building covered with vines. Hummingbirds darted in and out of trumpet-shaped blossoms. Red knocked on the door. Several minutes passed before Miguel answered. He wore his uniform, a fact Lorenzo found odd. At home, it was proper to change into civilian clothes.
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Miguel frowned, first at Lorenzo, then at Red. What do you want? I want your sister, Red said in stiff Spanish. Miguels dark blue eyes bored through Red. Repeat that. I wish to have Seorita Soledad. Inwardly, Lorenzo groaned. At this rate, Miguel would soon draw his sword and make mincemeat of Red. What he means is Let him speak for himself! Miguel said. Red stumbled over Spanish phrases that he knew by heart. Lorenzo was amazed at how nervous Red was. No, nervous wasnt the right word. This giant of a man who had faced charging bears and bayonet-wielding redcoats was terrified. Somehow Red managed to look Miguel straight in the face and say, I wish to court your sister. Are you a Catholic? Yes. Baptized when I was three days old. If Soledad agrees, you may court her. Miguel unblocked the door. Red stepped inside. Lorenzo, thinking it unwise to leave the two of them alone, followed him. Miguel went to the foot of the stairs. Herm ana m a , he called. Sergeant Colorado is here. A sweet voice answered, Ill be down in a moment. Soledad entered wearing a multicolored skirt and matching blouse, shawl, and leather sandals. She smiled brightly at Red. Her hand went to her hair and smoothed a strand. Hello. Red blushed. Would you like to go for a walk? She nodded, covered her head with the shawl, and hooked her arm around his elbow. They strolled out the front door.
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Lorenzo and Miguel trailed along as chaperons, according to Spanish custom, staying five paces back too far away to overhear their conversation. There is something I want to talk to you about, Captain, Miguel said. Why has Colonel De Glvez sent American rebels to Texas? I showed you his letter. It explained that Im buying cattle for Colonel De Glvez. Is that so? My connections in Spain tell me we have decided to remain neutral in King Georges squabble with his rebellious colonists. Why would the colonel send Americans here? It is not a lieutenants place to question a colonels actions, Lorenzo replied. At the riverbank, Red turned toward Soledad, took her hands and brought them to his lips. Lorenzo glanced at Miguel. A muscle twitched in his jaw. If he lays a glove on my sister Sergeant OShaughnessy is being a gentleman. Soledad plucked a wild flower, stood on tiptoe, and wove it around Reds hat brim. Vlgam e Dio s , Lieutenant, Lorenzo said in a tone of mock surprise. From this angle, it looks like she just laid a glove on him. Miguel scowled. Lorenzo had seen happier faces on people about to be hanged. Everything is going well here. If you will excuse me, Lieutenant. Lorenzo tipped his hat and headed across the river to his fathers grave.
Chapter Eleven
Lorenzo stood in the mission cemetery and sobbed. Time heals all wounds, people said. Seeing his fathers grave had just ripped Lorenzos wound open. He knew returning to San Antonio would be difficult, but the full impact of the situation now hit him. How he missed Pap. A whole year without him. It didnt seem possible. Falling to one knee, Lorenzo held a lantern close to the wooden marker and traced his fathers name and date of death. Who had put it there? And who had left a vase of fresh flowers? Obviously, some generous soul was taking care of his fathers grave. Was it Doa Mara? Or the monks? It could be any number of people. Without speaking a word, Lorenzo told Pap all that had happened in the last year: the secret flatboat flotilla taking supplies to George Washington, meeting Eugenie, joining the Continental Army, and especially keeping his promise to deliver a letter from his father to his grandfather, Judge Bannister. After reading it, Judge Bannister had refused to recognize Lorenzo as his grandson. It still hurt to think that his grandfather hadnt wanted him. Lorenzo told his father how he had learned from Cincinnatus, an elderly slave on Judge Bannisters plantation in Virginia, that he was a quadroon, a quarter black, legally his grandfathers slave. Lorenzo explained how he left Virginia because English law did not allow
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him to buy his freedom and went south to New Orleans. There, using a provision in Spanish law, he bought freedom papers. Those documents were now hidden in Colonel De Glvezs study in New Orleans. With the colonels help, Lorenzo also filed legal documents to force his grandfather to recognize him as his rightful heir. When Lorenzo inherited the plantation, he would free the slaves. Before returning to New Orleans for his next assignment, Lorenzo had bought Cincinnatuss freedom and even joined the Pennsylvania Abolitionist Society. After he explained everything, Lorenzo felt at peace, satisfied that his father was pleased with him. He took one final look at the vase full of trumpet-shaped blossoms and wished he could thank the person responsible. Dunstan blew smoke rings at the ships ceiling and watched Thomas polish boots to a high gloss. The boy didnt look happy about being turned into his bootblack, but Dunstan knew a dose of humility was good for a growing boy. Dunstan unsheathed his sword to sharpen it. Why did thou bring that? Thomas asked, his disgust obvious. This sword never leaves my side. I pity the man who tries to take it from me. The morning after his arrival, Lorenzo visited Mission San Antonio de Valero and talked to the head monk who agreed to sell five hundred head of cattle. Next stop, the Governors Palace. Along the way, Lorenzo learned to his dismay that the new governor had not yet arrived to assume his duties. Lieutenant Jos Menchaca, commander of the fort, was acting in his stead.
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This was a complication Lorenzo and Colonel De Glvez hadnt foreseen when planning the cattle drive. Lorenzo rapped on the door to the Governors Palace. It swung open. A servant girl stood barely visible in the dim interior. Even so, Lorenzo could see she was Lipan Apache. Good morning, seorita, he said, tipping his hat. Lorenzo Bannister to see Lieutenant Menchaca. She showed him to the governors office, a sparsely furnished room. Lieutenant Menchaca sat behind a sturdy desk cluttered with papers. After several minutes he glanced up from his writing and pursed his lips. Im a busy man, Lorenzo. What do you want? Lorenzo showed the colonels letter to Menchaca. This is Colonel De Glvezs authorization to purchase five hundred head of mission cattle. Menchaca shook his head and refused to take the paper. Not going to happen. Last time I checked, a colonel outranks a lieutenant. I dont care if thats from the devil himself. You are not going to make off with my cattle. They belong to the mission. As acting governor, they are mine. Menchacas chin jutted out in defiance. The colonel expects me to buy cattle. I am not going back empty-handed. Menchaca smirked. Thats your problem. Not mine. Look, Lieutenant, Lorenzo said, trying to keep his anger under control. All I need is your signature. Im not going to sign. The colonel Should know that trade between the Province of Texas and the Louisiana Territory is forbidden by royal decree.
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Lorenzo simmered. That was true. And it had led to a thriving smuggling business. The time had come to change tactics. Lorenzo looked Menchaca straight in the eye. When Colonel De Glvez learns you have been less than cooperative, hell be quite upset. I would imagine his uncle Jos will be as well. Menchaca winced. Jos De Glvez was minister of the Indies, the most important man in Spain after the king. Menchaca filled a pipe, lit it, and took several puffs. Smoke wreathed him. He stared off into space. Lorenzo imagined that visions of being recalled to Spain to explain his lack of cooperation were flashing through Menchacas head. After a nerve-fraying silence, Menchaca grabbed a blank piece of paper and a quill pen. He dipped it in ink and wrote at length. A messenger will go at once to Mexico City to clear up the matter. It could take weeks for him to ride to Mexico City, get authorization, and return. Menchaca offered him an infuriating little smile. Thats not my problem. September 2 was the latest Lorenzo could wait and still meet the flatboats on time. Ill give the messenger until the end of the month, Lorenzo said. If he isnt back by then, Im taking the cattle whether you like it or not. Do so at your own peril. We hang cattle rustlers.
Chapter Twelve
Seven dawns after losing the cattle, Chien dOr rode bareback on the outskirts of a buffalo stampede. Today he would strike and take control of the tribe. Dust billowed around buffalo dashing toward their own destruction. Chien dOr and his companions drove them toward a cliff where they would plunge to their deaths. This was his favorite way to hunt buffalo. Letting them break their own necks was far easier than shooting them with arrows. Chien dOr smiled to think this would be Chief Iron Bears last hunt. He had to act quickly before the buffalo reached the bluff. He pulled alongside Chief Iron Bear and glanced around to make sure no one was watching. The chief, concentrating on the fast-moving herd, leaned over his horses neck. Clutching the reins in his right hand, Chien dOr reached over and shoved the chief hard. Iron Bear lost balance and half fell off. He gripped his horses mane, pulled himself up, and managed to hang on. Bellowing in frustration, Chien dOr grabbed the chiefs foot with both hands and pushed hard. The chief would not be unseated and held on tight. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in rage, he twisted toward Chien dOr and screamed. The wind and hoof beats stole his words. Still, Chien
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dOr knew what he had said. His insides turned to water. He had failed and knew he would be severely punished. Molly opened the top to the flour barrel and reached deep inside. Her scoop scraped against the bottom. Were just about out of flour, she informed General Washingtons new cook. The last one had been an agent for the British and had been hanged for poisoning the generals peas. He let out a long sigh. Go buy some . . . Do I have to? Molly whined. It was a duty she hated. The cook avoided her eyes while he fished money from his pocket. Molly looked briefly at the Continental dollars he handed her. The British paid farmers in gold, and all she had were pieces of paper. They read: This Bill entitles the Bearer to receive Six Spanish Milled Dollars or the value thereof in Gold and Silver according to a Resolution of Congress, published at Philadelphia Nov. 2, 1776. She had overheard a conversation between General Washington and the quartermaster. Lorenzo Bannister and his soldiers were bringing food from the Spanish. She sure hoped they hurried. If food was scarce now, what would winter be like? Raven Feather hid in the shadows of a ranch outbuilding and peeped around a corner. Lorenzo Bannister and his men herded cattle toward an empty corral. She had tracked them for many nights now, watching their suspicious activity. People said there would be a cattle drive soon. Lorenzo dismounted, tied his reins to a hitching post,
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and opened the gate. He spoke to a soldier perched on a corral rail. In the distance, Soledad rode between the man with red hair and an old woman. Raven Feather pressed her lips together to hold back a growl of disgust. What a traitor Soledad was! Leaving the tribe. Adopting the invaders ways. Taking a Spanish name. Even her mother had betrayed the tribe by working on a hacienda as a cook after her husbands death. Raven Feather touched the knife hanging at her side. Someday she would make Soledad pay for turning her back on her people. Lorenzo leaned on a corral rail and watched his men head back to the herd. To keep them busy and out of trouble, he had put them to work on Doa Maras ranch. His attention went to Red, Soledad, and Doa Mara on horseback. They had heard that a coyote had attacked a cow and were checking it out. Red was at my house again last night, Miguel said. Why break with tradition? Lorenzo asked with a wry smile. Miguel forced a smile. I must say he is persistent. It doesnt help that Doa Mara is encouraging him to court my sister. I must have a little chat with her about that. Ever the romantic, Doa Mara gave Red tips on how to win Soledads heart and sacrificed countless flowers from her garden so he could give his sweetheart bouquets. She even served as chaperon when military duty called Miguel away. Dont take this the wrong way, Captain, but the sooner you leave, the better. My sister has been through a lot. If she becomes too attached . . . His voice trailed. Lorenzo admired Miguels concern for his sisters
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welfare. Before he could respond, Ambrosio, an elderly half-Spanish half-Comanche vaquero, rode toward them. Morning, Seor Bannister. Lieutenant. Both tipped their hats and greeted him. Hows the family? Lorenzo asked cheerfully. Good. I hear youre planning a cattle drive. Thats right. They say youre paying good money. Lorenzo nodded. The Continental Congress had authorized him to pay vaqueros twenty Spanish pillar dollars a month. Money for their salaries would come down river by flatboat. When the cattle drive reached the rendezvous point on the Mississippi River, everyone would get paid. The vaqueros would return to San Antonio and their old jobs. You need another hand? Ambrosio asked, stroking a weeks growth of gray whiskers. Lorenzo had hired the best vaqueros he knew, seven mestizos he had worked with on Doa Maras ranch. He had all he needed. Still, he felt sorry for Ambrosio, an old man who could barely feed his eight children on a ranch hands salary. Still drinking? No, seor. Not a drop in six months. On the trail, Ill inspect everyones baggage. Ambrosio nodded. I wont have nothing on me. Youre on the payroll. Relief swept over Ambrosios wind-burnt face. He turned and rode away. Miguel clucked in disapproval. Youre a soft touch, Captain. You just hired the town drunk. I know. But hes an excellent cow herder. When sober. Hell stay sober on the cattle drive, Lorenzo said with a small smile. Theres no place between here and the Mississippi to buy liquor.
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Raven Feather jumped down from her horse and tethered it beside her husbands. She saw three of her friends tanning a hide and lifted her hand in greeting. They looked at her briefly, then talked amongst themselves without returning the sign. Their action surprised her, but she was too excited to worry about that now. She rushed to her teepee and found two warriors standing guard. Confused, she stepped inside. Chien dOr and the remaining four French smugglers sat in sullen silence. She knew better than to speak without her husbands permission, so she stood with her fingers laced tight behind her to keep from fidgeting. After several minutes, Chien dOr acknowledged her. You may speak. Good news, husband! A cattle drive will leave San Antonio soon. When? Where are the cattle headed? Raven Feather frowned at the ground. I dont know. Find out. She nodded. There is more news. She tried to look distressed. Soledad has betrayed your dead brother. The traitor lives with the red-haired bear who killed your men. Chien dOr flushed with anger, as she knew he would. She touched the knife hanging at her waist. Let me kill her, husband. Let me avenge this insult to your dead brothers honor. His jaw clenched. With a wave of his hand, he said, Do whatever you wish. Chien dOr! a male voice thundered from beyond the teepee walls. Come out. Chief Iron Bear has determined your fate.
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Iron Bear adjusted his eagle feather headdress and massaged his temples where a headache pounded. For the first time since becoming chief eleven summers earlier, he had to expel someone from the tribe. Wiping all emotion from his face, he exited his teepee and headed to council. The entire tribe ringed the clearing in the middle of camp. This was a momentous event, and no one wanted to miss it. They stepped aside to let Iron Bear through. Chien dOr lay face down in the dirt, arms spread to his side, eyes closed. Absolute quiet ruled. No one moved. Even the children were silent. Iron Bear spoke Chien dOrs sentence in an even tone, although emotions roiled inside him. Your actions shame the tribe and shame the mother who taught you the Lipan way. From this moment on, you are part of this tribe no more forever. The people will never speak your name. He nodded to the warrior on his left, who handed him Chien dOrs bow and quiver. Iron Bear emptied the quiver and broke the bow over his knee. The bond is broken forever. The Nameless One is banished. He turned to Raven Feather. You are banished as well. He addressed the four Frenchmen. All who share his teepee are banished. If he returns, he will be killed upon sight. He paused. Go, Nameless One. Being an outcast was the worst fate that could befall a man. Living without the tribes protection was a virtual death sentence. Chien dOr did not protest the decision. He lifted himself from the ground, straightened himself, and walked away. His wife and the four Frenchmen followed close behind. They got on their horses and left. Iron Bear hoped he would never see any of them again.
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Days became weeks. Lorenzo put the time to good use, training his men, stocking the supply wagon, and buying range horses. Each man selected two mounts, one for day riding, one for night. Still, waiting for the messenger to return from Mexico City stretched Lorenzos patience to the breaking point. Red put the extra time to good use as well. Every night he cleaned up, put on what he called his sparking clothes, and headed to Soledads house. The two of them were inseparable. They were seen together at mass. At gatherings in Doa Maras house. At social events around San Antonio. People began to say their names in one breath. Red and Soledad. Soledad and Red. After a week, Red asked for her hand in marriage. Father Pedro Fuentes y Fernndez, the parish priest, conducted a marriage investigation and determined there was no impediment as both were single and Catholic. The engagement was announced at mass on August 10, and the marriage banns posted on the church door. Friday, August 15, was the Feast of the Assumption, a holy day of obligation, and counted as the second announcement. The third came two days later at Sunday mass. Red and Soledad were married later that afternoon. After the ceremony, Lorenzo congratulated Red and shook his hand. Miguel, misty-eyed, kissed Soledad on both cheeks, then turned to Red. If you ever mistreat her, youre a dead man. Welcome to the family. Two weeks later, on September 1, Lorenzo and his vaqueros herded cattle bearing the mission brand into holding pens on the outskirts of Doa Maras ranch. Miguel, perched on a corral rail, kept an official tally.
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If my calculations are correct, Lorenzo said to him, that makes an even five hundred. Miguel shrugged. Steal one or steal five hundred. Either way, youll hang. Lorenzo scowled at Miguel. Im not going to hang. I wouldnt be so sure. Lorenzo considered himself a good judge of character. Something about Miguel rubbed him the wrong way, but he couldnt figure out what it was. Menchaca may be the least of your worries, Miguel said. Lots of Indians live between here and New Orleans. Ive made the trip twice without mishap. Dumb luck, Captain. Sheer dumb luck. Lorenzo tamped down his aggravation. Tomorrow, the cattle drive would leave, and he wouldnt have to tolerate Miguel any further. A horseman galloped down the road toward them waving his hat overhead to get their attention. It was the messenger Lieutenant Menchaca had sent to Mexico City. From the horsemans victorious grin, Lorenzo could tell that the cattle were officially his. You and your dumb luck! Miguel exclaimed. You wont swing after all! You sound disappointed, Lieutenant. Miguel gave him an enigmatic smile but said not a word.
Chapter Thirteen
Lorenzo fanned himself with a wide-brimmed hat and looked to the east. The sun had not yet risen, but September 2, 1777, already promised to be scorching. The cattle in Doa Maras corral on the outskirts of San Antonio moved restlessly, bawling and bellowing. The vaqueros waited on horseback near a canvascovered supply wagon. They wore bandannas loosely tied around their necks, thin linen shirts, trousers tucked into heeled boots, and leather chaps to protect their legs from the brush. Miguel spoke to his sister while three of his men stood by their horses in stoic silence. Lorenzo assumed Miguel was saying good-bye to his sister. Soledad would serve as scout and translator. She knew all the tribes between San Antonio and Louisiana. Ambrosio hugged each of his eight children tight and wiped away his own tears and theirs. He kissed his wife good-bye, patted her bulging stomach, and promised to be home before number nine arrived. The supply wagon set out with the cook driving. Soledad and Red rode alongside as mounted guards. Lorenzo would give the slower-moving wagon a head start each day. Their entire journey, it would be out front. Reins in hand, Lorenzo swung onto Piata and made one final check before the cattle drive started. The trek to the Mississippi River would cover two hundred leagues,
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about five hundred English miles. He had stocked the wagon with cooking utensils and food they couldnt forage for along the way. Nature would provide plenty of wild game, fruits, berries, and roots. A medicine-filled m o chila was fastened behind his saddle. He prayed he would never need it. He had bought presents for Eugenie: a white mantilla that she could wear at their wedding, a silver bracelet and matching necklace, and a rosary. All were lightweight objects that easily fit in his saddlebags. How he missed her and looked forward to seeing her again. He went over the plan for the cattle drive in his head. For reasons of security, only he and Red knew the exact route they would take or why they had to rendezvous with flatboats on October 16. They would head up the Kings Highway to Nacogdoches, then straight east to Fort Saint Jean Baptiste, an abandoned French fort in Louisiana. From there, they would travel to the Mississippi River. At that point, Lorenzos part would be over. From then on, the men who arrived by flatboat were responsible for the cattle. When the supply wagon was a half-league away, Lorenzo lifted his hand high overhead and yelled, Move em out! Red unhooked Doa Maras gate and swung it open. A tangle of bellowing cattle surged forward. The herd milled around in confusion, fanning out in every direction. The noise was deafening. Horns clacked together. Hooves shook the ground. Vaqueros let out shrill yells. Waving loops of rope, they urged the cattle forward, trying to keep the herd in a compact mass. Several on the fringe bolted away. Vaqueros started after them at a hard gallop, leaning forward, yipping. Lorenzo focused on Private Dujardin, the least experienced of the lot, ready to rush to his aid if necessary. Mane flying, neck outstretched, Dujardins range horse
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raced after a huge rust-colored bull with a jagged blaze on its forehead. It was one they had rescued from rustlers. The brute ran with surprising speed, but Dujardin gained on it. He pulled even. Suddenly it jolted to a stop, snorted, and veered off in a different direction. Dujardin turned his horse. It leaned at such a sharp angle, a stirrup brushed the ground. Horse and rider bounded after the bull. Two more times, it tried to break away, but was headed off by the stubborn range horse and the equally stubborn Dujardin. Finally, the bull let out a long bawl of defeat, shook its horns, and plodded back to the herd. Head down, it moved along with the rest. Hey, Dujardin! Lorenzo yelled in French. Good job. Dujardin grinned. How do you say hardheaded in Spanish? Cabez n, Lorenzo replied. That onehe is very cabez n! A fitting name. Cabezn it was. Once the cattle were headed in the same direction, Lorenzos men took their positions. Up front, two point riders guided the lead cattle eastward. Swing men on the outskirts of the herd, left and right, kept it tight and in motion. Drag riders in the back hurried stragglers along. Behind them came wranglers with the remuda of extra horses. Dust billowed in great clouds. Riders stopped long enough to pull bandannas over their noses and mouths. Only their eyes showed. Everything worked perfectly. There wasnt a cloud in the sky, no threat of a storm. They headed up the Kings Highway. Five leagues a dayabout fifteen mileswas a decent traveling speed for a cattle drive. If they covered that each day, they should arrive at the Mississippi on October 9. The flatboats were due to arrive a week later,
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giving Lorenzo a margin for error. Miguel pulled alongside. Morning, Captain. Nice weather for a cattle drive. Hope it lasts. Lorenzo grunted. This fellow always rubbed him the wrong way. For several minutes, they rode side by side in silence. Patrols from San Antonio regularly checked on the movement of local tribes. Miguels presence wasnt unusual, but still it bothered Lorenzo. San Antonio is that way, he said, jerking a thumb backwards. I know. How far do you intend to travel with us? Lorenzo asked. All the way to New Orleans. Lorenzo drew rein. What? You know that nothing important leaves San Antonio without a military escort. I dont need an escort. Who said you were important? Were here to guard the cattle. To keep from saying something he would regret, Lorenzo urged Piata forward and left Miguel in a trail of dust. Once he cooled down, he realized why Miguel was along. No doubt Menchaca didnt trust Lorenzo to deliver the cattle and had sent him along to make sure he did. It was probably a good idea to have Miguel and his three soldiers along. The extra guns might come in handy. Even so, Miguel was a nuisance.
Chapter Fourteen
For two hours, Lorenzo kept the herd moving fast. Once or twice, the cattle, understandably nervous about leaving home, tried to turn back and had to be persuaded to rejoin the herd. At the first stream, vaqueros yipped and urged the cattle into ankle-high water. Lorenzo splashed across beside them and hoped every water crossing would be this easy. He went over the list of rivers ahead of them: the Cibolo, Guadalupe, San Marcos, Colorado, Brazos, Trinity, Neches, Sabine. Some would be small, some deep, some treacherous with quicksand. Other than stampedes, deep rivers were the most dangerous part of the trip. Since there were no bridges, the only way to get cattle across was to make them swim. When they were far enough from San Antonio, Lorenzo slowed the pace a bit. The cattle needed to graze frequently to keep fit. By noon, the Texas sun beat down unmercifully. Both cattle and men moved a little slower through terrain covered with brush and mesquite, across rocky dry creeks. Lorenzo rode ahead and told the cook to stop near a ford. He circled back to the men. Lets eat! Everyone sprang from their horses and searched for shade, some near the wagon, others beneath trees. They pulled charqui from their saddlebags and bit off mouthfuls of dried beef. Some rolled cigarettes. Others
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splashed into the stream, filled their hats with water, and dumped it over their heads to cool off. Still others relieved themselves against trees. Downstream, cattle crowded around and dipped their heads. Water dribbled from their muzzles. They ambled to the meadow to graze, their sharp horns glistening in the sunshine like polished daggers. Lorenzo assigned two men to ride herd while others rested. One circled clockwise, the other counterclockwise. A rich voice crooning a Spanish love song traveled on the breeze. The melody told of a homesick vaquero who missed his girl back on the ranch. A second soothing voice soon joined in. Lorenzo thought about Eugenie. He couldnt help but worry. Where was she? Was she safe? The song had been a favorite of Lorenzos father. Strange how one song could stir so many feelings deep inside him. Red smiled wryly. Is that guy singing a love song to a cow? Lorenzo chuckled. Cattle like to be serenaded. It soothes them and covers strange sounds. The least little thing can stampede them. A twig snapping, thunder, a gunshot. A lone figure on horseback topped a faraway ridge. Lorenzo scanned it with his telescope. It was a Lipan Apache woman. She seemed to realize she had been spotted. She touched heels to her ponys side and loped over the hill, out of sight. Lorenzo mounted up and trotted to the top of the ridge to get a better look. A lone Apache woman didnt seem much of a threat. Even so, why was she there? Chien dOr sat in front of his teepee, closed his eyes
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and absorbed the suns power-giving rays. He had to take the tribe from Iron Bear. To do that, he needed to buy muskets and ammunition. With what? He had nothing of value. At the sound of hoof beats, he opened his eyes. Raven Feather flung herself from her horse before it came to a full stop and rushed toward him. Good news, husband! The cattle have left San Antonio. They are heading to the northeast, toward our fall hunting grounds. This is good news indeed! He made a fist of victory. I am pleased. You have done well, woman. Cattle would buy muskets. Many muskets. He knew exactly what to do next. Hour after hour, they plodded along. When the sun touched the western horizon, Lorenzo rode ahead to find a plain with plenty of water and grass for grazing the herd, but more importantly, an area to keep the herd compact. He told the cook to set up camp under a towering pecan tree. By the time the herd caught up with the wagon, a fire burned beside it. An iron pot on a tripod seethed and bubbled, filling the air with the sharp smell of boiled beans. The cook made tortillas and a dish out of wild onions and plants that looked like lettuce. Vaqueros unsaddled their day horses and headed for the campfire. They filled tin plates and ate standing up. They washed down their food with hot, black coffee, then cleaned their plates and eating utensils. The vaqueros designated as night riders changed horses and patrolled the perimeter of the herd. The rest saddled, bridled, and tied their night horses nearby, in case of a stampede or other trouble, then rolled themselves in blankets, rested their heads on the crooks of
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their arms, and fell asleep. Only Dujardin and Miguel remained awake, sitting around the fire, feeding it wood. Lorenzo understood their restlessness. He felt like a watch wound too tight. The crooning of night riders was the only sound. Their singing let the cattle know where each rider was so they wouldnt be startled when man and horse suddenly appeared near them in the dark. A baritone voice singing a sad love song wafted toward Lorenzo. His thoughts spun away to the day he said good-bye to Eugenie on the New Orleans dock. Be careful, co raz n, he had said. These are dangerous times up north. Mo n cher, you worry too much. Philadelphia will be just as safe as New Orleans. Unless the British attack. Ah, o ui, and the moon might be full and the lo up garo u could come after me. Werewolves are a silly superstition, Lorenzo protested. Im serious. The Continental Congress is in Philadelphia. Its a prime target for the British. She stroked his cheek and smiled reassuringly. You cant worry about what m ight happen. She stood on tiptoe, kissed him, and headed up the gangway. Her escort, the Martnez family, waited for her on deck. They were headed to Philadelphia to visit friends and relatives. The first relay of vaqueros finished a two-hour shift and returned to camp, pulling Lorenzo from thoughts of Eugenie. A second group moved out. Far away, a coyote yipped at the full moon. He was answered by a mournful cry from the next ridge. Lorenzo hoped it was a coyote and not the Apache woman sending a signal.
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Molly swept leftover cornbread from the generals supper into a burlap sack and carried it to the clearing. She crumbled it and scattered it for the birds. Staying perfectly still, she waited. Before long, cardinals, crows, and sparrows landed and pecked at the ground. A blue jay carried off a large piece. Molly scanned the dark forest around them. She sure hoped there would be enough game to feed an army of ten thousand. Thats how many she guessed were in camp. Sis, a voice whispered. Her brother, Bill, eased up behind her to keep from scaring the birds. Instead of his usual buckskin, he wore a blue brocade coat, embroidered white waistcoat, knee-high black boots, and white breeches. Strangest of all was the white powdered wig beneath a three-cornered hat. You look like a Brit. Very funny. Listen, Sis, Im leaving for a little while. Where are you going this time? To Philadelphia. You mustnt tell anyone. She nodded, understanding the importance of keeping secrets during wartime. Ill be back in a week or so. Mrs. Washington said shed look after you while Im gone. I heard you were going down river with some soldiers. His lips parted slightly in surprise. Yes. After I get back from Philadelphia. Howd you know? People talk. They say youre going to New Orleans. He squinted at her. Yeah? Yeah. Why are you going there? Its a secret. Is it legal? Completely. That was a relief. Before the war, Bill had smuggled French contraband into the English colonies. Once he
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was almost hanged. Take care of Long Shot for me, all right? Bill asked. Long Shot was Bills horse, a bay mare he had bought three years earlier. And stay out of trouble, he added. I think youre the one about to get in trouble. Bills sudden laughter sent the birds exploding into the sky. You worry too much. Ill be fine. Molly threw her arms around Bill and hugged him tight. She walked with him to the main road. A beautiful lady with flaming red hair and flawless, creamy skin sat in Dr. MacGregors buggy. She wore a silk bonnet, a short black cape, and the fanciest dress Molly had ever seen. Made of dark green silk, it had a tight-fitting bodice and a full skirt. We must hurry, the lady said to Bill. She sounded French, just like the Marquis de La Fayette. Bill climbed in the buggy and sat beside her. What was he doing with a French woman? He had a steady girl. And why was he using the doctors horse and buggy? The lady flashed Molly a disarming smile. Her green eyes showed intelligence and kindness. Molly liked her at once. Stay out of trouble, Sis. You already said that. Bill grinned. It bears repeating. The buggy rattled away, trace chains chinking merrily, horses breath misting in the cool air. Molly noticed that her brother didnt introduce her to the French woman, and wondered if she might be General Washingtons female spy, the mysterious 355. It was just a camp rumor, but Molly hoped it was true. She felt a sudden wave of sadness. Bill was the only family she had. Every time he left, she wondered if she would ever see him again.
Chapter Fifteen
On September 8, 1777, six weeks after his escape from the prisoner-of-war camp, Dunstan stepped out on the balcony of the British embassy, a house rented from the East Indies Company. He traced the intricate filigree pattern on the wrought-iron rail and surveyed New Orleans and its crescent-shaped harbor. The city, laid out in squares approximately sixty feet wide, was a patchwork of pale blue, apricot, and light green houses with arched doorways and red-tiled roofs. Wrought iron was everywhereon balconies, lanterns, and door handles. Far in the distance, the dark brown Mississippi struggled toward the Gulf of Mexico. Thomas stepped to his side and toweled away sweat. Dunstan gazed down at him and felt a twinge of affection for the little Quaker who never complained. He placed a brotherly hand on his shoulder. It will cool down to a bearable temperature by nightfall. Thomas looked skeptical. Dunstan laughed. A d o ubting Thomas, I see. New Orleans doesnt make a good impression now, but just wait. Once night falls, houses will be ablaze with light, and there will be parties everywhere. Tis a beautiful city indeed. And crucial to the war. Whoever controls New Orleans controls the Mississippi. Last year, a flatboat flotilla with nine thousand pounds of Spanish gunpowder slipped up the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers to Washingtons rebels. The war would be over now if we had
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stopped those flatboats. Washingtons army was running out of supplies. Truly? Truly. An idea sprang to mind. The next rebel flatboat flotilla would fail if British soldiers waited in ambush upriver. Dunstan made a mental note to talk to the ambassador about that. Spanish soldiers in blue coats, white waistcoats, and white knee breeches tramped through the street. Dunstan growled in frustration. By all rights New Orleans should be British, not Spanish. Fifteen years ago, we defeated the French in war. To keep from turning the Louisiana Territory over to us, the King of France signed a secret treaty with the King of Spain in an underhanded deal. Some day soon New Orleans will be ours. Thy pride at being British shines through. Dunstan frowned. He had never thought of himself as a patriot and felt no particular fondness for his homeland. Being born in Britain had been a mere accident of geography. For the right amount of money, any nation could convince him to turn his coat to their colors. The street boiled with people. A short, fat man struggled to push a wheelbarrow across the cobblestones. In the shade of a magnolia, three children played jacks. Nearby, a whetstone squealed as an old man sharpened butcher knives in front of a small shop. Dunstan pondered how he should now proceed with his investigation. The British ambassador and his spies had been less than helpful, adding nothing to what they had already reported to Major Hawthorne in letters. Dunstan had visited taverns along the waterfront and bought sailors drinks to loosen their tongues. He had skulked around New Orleans, keeping his eyes and ears open, but no one seemed to know anything about Lorenzo Bannisters trip to San Antonio. An elderly black man in a straw hat crossed the street.
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Dunstan leaned far over the rail to get a good look at him. Cincinnatus? Thomas looked up questioningly. What did thou say? Thats Cincinnatus, Lorenzo Bannisters slave! He was smooth in his lie, and it achieved the desired effect. Thomass face showed disgust. Bannister owns slaves? Yes. He is pure evil. Hed cut your throat for two pence. He laid a comforting arm around Thomass shoulders. No worries, lad. Youre safe with me. Dunstan turned his attention back to Cincinnatus. Why was the old slave on the streets of New Orleans instead of Judge Bannisters plantation in Virginia? A house servant like Cincinnatus was worth a lot of money. If he was a runaway, Lorenzos grandfather would pay handsomely to get him back. It had to be more than coincidence that both Cincinnatus and Lorenzo Bannister were in New Orleans. Lets go, Thomas. Where? Out. He was purposefully vague, knowing Thomas would never approve of his plan to capture Cincinnatus and return him to the plantation. Quakers were against slavery. Dunstan ran from the balcony into his bedroom, pausing long enough to pick up a pocket pistol. Thomas scowled with disapproval. Why hast thou need of that? Violence is never the way. Dunstan didnt argue, although he had been in a few tight spots where violence had been the only way out. When Thomas wasnt looking, Dunstan slipped the pistol into his pocket. They hurried downstairs and followed Cincinnatus from a safe distance, keeping his straw hat in view. The man headed toward the main square at a purposeful gait, stopping long enough to buy a sack of fruit from a street vendor. He led them past the Ursuline con-
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vent, the army barracks, and the parade ground. Cincinnatus! Wait up! a voice called. He swiveled. Dunstan and Thomas flattened themselves against a wall. A tall, lean Spanish officer in a blue uniform dashed toward him. Evening, Hctor, Cincinnatus said. How you feeling? Better. Much better. You aint strong enough to be back on duty. The soldier grinned. The colonel commands and I obey. Im gonna have me a few words with him bout that! Youre still weak from the fever. True, but catching the fever kept me from being on a cattle drive I didnt want to be on. The words cattle drive grabbed Dunstans attention. Hctor Caldern looked sickly pale, not at all like the man who had arrested him a year earlier during a fist fight with Lorenzo Bannister on the streets of New Orleans. Side by side, Hctor and Cincinnatus strolled off. They made a sharp right down an alleyway that plunged between ten-foot-high walls and came out on a wide street. They crossed to a two-story house and climbed the front steps. Dunstan stepped into the shade of a magnolia. He recognized the house. It belonged to Colonel Bernardo De Glvez, governor of Louisiana. Cincinnatus drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door. He and Hector disappeared inside. No guards, Dunstan thought. Colonel De Glvez probably isnt at home. Dont move from this spot, Thomas. The boy gave a two-fingered salute.
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Dunstan slipped around to the back of the colonels house and tested the rear gate. Locked. There was nothing to do but scale the high brick wall. He stacked empty crates, making a rickety ladder, climbed to the top of the wall and peered over. Seeing no one in the courtyard, he dropped to the ground. He eased past the coach house and stable. Five wooden steps led to the back door. He paused on the top one and looked all about. Luckily, no one was watching. He quickly slipped inside. A main hallway stretched from the front of the house to the back. Hectors three-cornered hat rested on a side table. Dunstan took off his shoes and held them. In his stocking feet, he tiptoed along, careful not to make the floorboards creak. In the first room he passed, Dunstan paused. A long oak table surrounded by twelve highbacked chairs stood in the center of the enormous, highceilinged room. A sideboard held elegant glassware and china. Opposite it, a large Belgian tapestry covered the wall. The table was set for four. Next came a parlor large enough to serve as a ballroom if the furniture were removed. The dining room and parlor were empty. Chewing on his lower lip, he wondered where Cincinnatus and Hector were and mulled over what to do next. Tick. Tick. Tick. The grandfather clock interrupted the quiet. The front door opened. Dunstan slipped into the dining room and listened carefully. Wait here, Corporal, Glvez said. Ill be back shortly. The door closed. Were in the study, Hctor Caldern called out. Very well, the colonel replied. His footsteps headed away from Dunstan toward muffled voices coming from the far end of the hall.
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Dunstan approached slowly, ready to bolt if necessary, but stopped where a sliver of light fell on the floorboards. A six-inch gap between door and frame showed a fraction of a room lined with bookshelves. Dunstan heard various voices, all male. He could see Colonel De Glvez, hands knotted before him, at a giant mahogany desk. In an armchair to the right sat Cincinnatus, his legs crossed. A swatch of blue meant Hctor was at his side. Were they the only ones in the house? Dunstan stayed on constant alert. Should someone come downstairs or through the front door, he would steal away in the opposite direction. If captured, he would pull out diplomatic papers. Lets get down to business, Colonel De Glvez said. Saber-Scar is back in New Orleans. Dunstans ears picked up at the nickname given him by Lorenzo Bannister. I thought we had seen the last of him, Hctor said. So did I. I was baffled to learn he was out of uniform until I saw the name Dunstan Andrews on the most recent list of embassy personnel. Embassy personnel! Hctor said. Theyre all spies! Colonel De Glvez lifted a finger. Spies with diplomatic papers. What you gonna do about Saber-Scar? Cincinnatus asked. I am expelling all Brits from the province. For some time now, I have contemplated closing the embassy. With Saber-Scar hiding there, now is the time to strike. Dunstan slumped. Wonderful. Just wonderful. He would be blamed for the expulsion of his countrymen from Spanish territory. The colonel continued, If all went well in San Antonio, Lorenzo should have left with the cattle by now. Dunstan took a breath. So his cousin was right! Ban-
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nister had gone to San Antonio for cattle. Apparently, Colonel De Glvez had authorized Bannisters little trip. The embassy closure wont happen overnight. Colonel De Glvez continued. The British need time to make arrangements to leave. Slowly, a grin formed on Dunstans lips. He still needed written proof of Spanish involvement, something he could show Major Hawthorne, but once he had that, a promotion to officer was assured. Suddenly, his future looked bright. The grandfather clock struck seven. Dunstan jumped. If you will excuse me, the colonel said, I have another appointment. Chairs scraped against the floor. Tiptoeing as fast and silently as possible, Dunstan eased into a darkened room opposite the office. He flattened himself against a wall and listened to Colonel De Glvez talking with Hctor Caldern. Their voices faded. A door opened and shut. Two minutes. Five. Ten. Dunstans heart raced. Where was Cincinnatus? Footsteps sounded in the room overhead. Dunstan cocked an ear. So the old slave had gone upstairs. The house darkened. Soundlessly, Dunstan stole inside the office. Luckily, the shutters were open and the last rays of sunlight filtered through. It would be too dangerous to slip a tinderbox from his pocket and light a candle. He had to work fast before he lost daylight. First, he searched through papers on the colonels cluttered desktop. Nothing. Hardly surprising. It would be unwise to leave an important document in the open. Dunstan pulled out drawer after drawer. Think rationally. Where would he hide secret papers? A safe. Dunstan just hoped it would be here and not in Colonel De Glvezs downtown office. Dunstan scanned the bookshelves. A safe could be hidden behind them. Then something occurred to him.
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Some books werent books at all. He ripped volumes off shelf after shelf, opening them quickly and putting them back in place when he found them to be bona-fide books. He pulled out a two-volume set of Do n Quixo te d e la Mancha, and a hopeful feeling settled over him. It was a bit light. Taking a deep breath, he opened the front cover. Pages had been cut out of the center, leaving a well. Inside were several folded sheets of paper. He unfolded and smoothed out the pages. Feet moved overhead. Dunstan had to work fast. He tilted the first paper to the light and scanned it. Judge Bannister had sold Cincinnatus to Sean OShaughnessywhoever that was. The fool had paid $500 and had then given the old slave his freedom. What a waste of money. Footsteps sounded on the staircase. Working faster, Dunstan unfolded the next paper and scanned it. My God! he whispered, disbelieving his eyes. He moved closer to the window, holding the paper next to the pane. He couldnt have read it correctly. It wasnt possible. He reread the document. It was! Joy swelled inside him. A letter from George Washington and Patrick Henry to Colonel De Glvez. They wanted to buy Texas beef to feed the Continental Army. Dunstan unfolded another paper and nearly laughed out loud. A map with a rendezvous point foolishly marked on it and the words October 16. This changed everything! He memorized the location, then scanned another page. Freedom papers for Lorenzo Bannister. A strange icy thrill shivered through Dunstan as a new plan took shape. Revenge on Lorenzo pushed the cattle to the back of his mind. Dunstan had once heard the story of an Englishman kidnapped from the British Isles and forced to work for years on a Carolina tobacco plantation. Dunstan suddenly realized that killing Ban-
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nister was too quick and easy. He could extract a better revenge by making Lorenzos life a bloody nightmare. No doubt there were other copies of the freedom papers in the local court. But that would do Lorenzo little good when Dunstan sold him into slavery a thousand miles away. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Dunstan stuffed the letter from George Washington and Patrick Henry in his pocket. This was the proof he needed. He carefully folded the other papers, put them back inside the book, and returned it to its shelf. He scanned the room with a critical eye. Everything was as he had found it. No one would suspect he had been here. He unlatched the window and raised it. Cautiously, he looked out to make sure no one was watching before stepping through. Thomas, standing across the street, straightened up. Hands clasped behind him, he strolled toward the house as if he hadnt a care in the world. Dunstan patted his pocket to make sure the letter was there. He had plans. Big plans.
Chapter Sixteen
At dawn on September 9, Lorenzo scouted ahead and paused in a meadow thick with foot-high grass and bright yellow wildflowers. The Colorado River lay over the ridge. He jumped off Piata and noticed the ground was soggy. A sliver of worry ran through him. Golden grass had crunched underfoot and plains had been dry when he and his men had first passed through. Now everything was springtime green. A heavy rain must have fallen recently. Rivers might be swollen and difficult to cross. Miguel pulled alongside him and jerked his head toward a curtain of rain to the north. Look, Captain. I see it. Sheets of water drenched the hills. It was impossible to gauge how far away the rain was. Two leagues? Five? The flatness of the land distorted distances. All it took was a heavy rain upstream to turn a dry creek into a rampaging torrent. Lorenzo had never seen a flash flood, but had heard stories. If a wall of water moved downstream at the precise time the cattle were crossing, everyone would be swept to their deaths. Leaving Piata with Miguel, Lorenzo walked along the river, his concentration locked on the murky water to gauge its depth. When he came to a tree with roots protruding out the bank, he paused and studied the rockstrewn shore below. He had to find a good place to ford as soon as possible.
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When he and his men passed through earlier, the horses had trouble finding enough water to drink. Now he couldnt see the river bottom. That worried Lorenzo. It worried him a lot. Stones and sand abruptly shifted under his weight. He lost his footing and tumbled down the bank into a spray of wet leaves and debris. He landed on his bottom in a foot of water. Miguel flung himself from his horse and dashed to the tree. Captain! Are you all right? Lorenzo rose and brushed mud from his buckskins. Well, that was embarrassing. Need some help down there? Miguel asked, grinning. Lorenzo ignored him and grabbed a tree root to climb the bank. A roar like the sound of a waterfall froze him in place. The noise changed abruptly to a giant hiss. Get out of there! Miguel shouted in high-toned desperation. That sounds like a flash flood! A wall of white water surged from upstream, directly at Lorenzo. He grabbed a second root. Frothy water, head high, raced toward him. Miguel, bracing a leg against a tree root, stretched out his hand. Grab hold! Lorenzos fingertips brushed Miguels, but an arm of water shot out, engulfed him and yanked him under. Lorenzos heart beat wildly as he struggled not to breathe. Arms flailing, he fought to push himself to the surface. At the last second, when he was sure he couldnt hold his breath another instant, he popped to the surface and gasped. He gulped in air. Water dripped from his hair, blinding him. He shook his head and could barely make out Miguel and the two horses. Had the water swept him so far downstream in so short a time? Lorenzo struggled to keep his head above water, but
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he swirled around like a leaf in a whirlpool. Dirty water filled his mouth. Suction pulled him under. He struggled to the surface and pumped his arms in a useless effort to reach the shore. Submerged objects battered his body until he hurt all over. Engulfed in an eddy of whirling water, he could do nothing but ride it out. Everything happened so quickly, Lorenzo was only dimly aware of zooming around a bend, hitting the shore, then being shoved further downstream by the force of water before he could grab something. Ahead, a dark object loomed in the middle of the river. Directly in his path lay an uprooted tree. He was headed straight for the trunk. Lorenzo thought fast. If he became entangled in the limbs to the right or the roots on the other side, he could drown. His best bet was in the center, the tree trunk. He swam with all his might. No matter how much strength he put into it, he made little headway. Fighting the river current stole all his energy. He felt like his lungs would burst from exertion. Closer and closer the tree came. If the impact knocked him unconscious, he would drown for sure. Hands straight out, he prepared himself for a battering against the log. He hit. It nearly knocked the breath out of him. He hooked his elbow around an upright tree branch and clung to it. The current tried to rip him loose, but he held on. His chest heaved and his muscles ached. He lay puffing, heart hammering in his chest. He thought he heard his name over the waters roar. He looked up and saw Miguel on the riverbank, lasso in hand. His horse stood behind him. Apparently, Miguel had raced down the riverbank after him on horseback. Captain, stay right there, Miguel called out. Too exhausted to answer, Lorenzo watched his rescuer twirl the rope once, twice overhead, then throw it. It landed too far away for him to grasp. Lorenzos
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heart lurched. His fingers were cramping. Before long he would lose his grip on the log. Miguel pulled the rope ashore. Again the rope sailed across the flood. This time, it landed close enough for Lorenzo to grab. Put the rope around your waist, Captain, and Ill haul you to shore. Miguel looped the rope around his saddle horn and secured it. Lorenzo struggled to do as he was told. Meanwhile, Miguel unbuckled his sword belt, pulled the leather sash that read SAN ANTONIO DE BEXAR over his head, and removed the padded cuera . Next he yanked off his buckskin leggings and boots. He only wore a long-sleeved white shirt and tight blue knee breeches. At that instant, Lorenzo was glad he wore buckskin and moccasins. Weighted down by his uniform, he would never have broken the surface and would surely have drowned. Lorenzo felt his grip slipping. If Miguel didnt do something soon, the tide would sweep him away. Miguel backed his horse up. Lorenzo felt himself being dragged through the raging torrent. He was too exhausted to swim to shore. Miguel waded in and reached for him. Grab my hand. Lorenzo obeyed without question. Raging water soaked them as Miguel pulled him to shore. Lorenzo collapsed on the riverbank. He lay flat on his back, gasping, chest heaving. He rolled over on his side and vomited what seemed like a gallon of water. Miguel slapped him hard on the back. Youll be fine, Captain, but I must say you look like a drowned rat. Thank you, Lieutenant, Lorenzo coughed out. I owe you. Indeed you do, sir. Remind me never to join the navy. Miguel laughed. I admire a man who can look death
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in the face and keep his sense of humor. Lorenzo sat back and swiped wet hair out of his eyes. Slowly his breathing returned to normal. Miguels thin linen shirt clung to him and made the form beneath it visible. Partly surprised, partly confused, Lorenzo stared at Miguels chest. Evident through the water-soaked shirt was a bandage wrapped tightly around his chest and knotted in the back. Lorenzo had seen his father use a similar bandage many times on patients with broken ribs. Why would Miguel use such a thing? His ribs were fine. Nursing mothers often bound their breasts similarly when they were ready to wean their babes and wanted their milk to dry up. Lorenzo jerked his eyes to Miguels face, then back down to his chest. He couldnt help but stare. No, he told himself. It couldnt be. But it was. Miguel had . . . Lorenzo couldnt bring himself to think it. Miguel crossed his arms over his chest protectively in a purely feminine gesture. Lorenzo gasped at a sudden realization. Miguel was a girl.
Chapter Seventeen
Well, this explains a lot, Lorenzo said. Why would you pretend to be a man? Miguel looked him straight in the eye for the first time. Its a long story. Well, start talking. I want to hear this. My twin brother, Miguel, inherited the ranch after Pap died. He had no desire to continue the cattle business, so he went to Spain to study at the university. I ran the ranch while Soledad tended house. She met an Apache brave named Bay, and they got married. I was sorry to see her go, but glad at the same time. Bay, was a fine man who had a way with horses. Miguel paused. You can tell a lot about a mans character by the way he handles horses. Lorenzo nodded in agreement. Then one day, about four years ago, disaster struck. The king of Spain confiscated the ranch, and I had no way to support myself. Did the king take the ranch for debts? No. As punishment. Tears welled up in her eyes. My brother was part of a conspiracy against the king and was executed. You assumed your twins identity when you joined the army. Correct. I had no family left. I thought about going to Spain. I set out for Laredo not completely sure what I would do with myself. For reasons of security, I dressed
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as a man. Along the way, I met some soldiers guarding a supply wagon. They welcomed my company and treated me like a man. Miguel half-smiled. That was when I got the idea to join the army. Lorenzo recalled the day his father threw him out of the examination room. Pap discovered your secret, didnt he? Yes. He was a very shrewd man. Soon after I joined the army, he ordered me to come to his office. In private, he confronted me. I confessed everything. Once Dr. Bannister discovered I was using Miguels identity, he falsified medical records. Lorenzo considered that. It sounded like something his father would do. Dr. Bannister showed me how to wrap my chest in this kind of bandage. She lightly touched it. It works better than the one I was using. How did you manage to fool everyone? Lorenzo asked, genuinely interested. Miguel smiled. It wasnt that hard. I was raised around vaqueros. They taught me how to ride and rope and act manly. I was the son my father always wanted. Miguel was something of a disappointment. After Bay died, Soledad moved to San Antonio to live with me. She knows about the masquerade, of course. Now that you know the truth, Captain, what do you plan to do about this? Lorenzo leaned back on his elbows and watched the sky. Below ash-gray clouds, a hawk hovered on the air current looking for prey. After a moment, it flew away. Do about what, Lieutenant? I seem to have gotten water in my ears and have missed most of what you just said. Miguels worried expression melted. You have much of your father in you. I take that as a great compliment, Lieutenant.
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I intended it as such. He was a special man and is sorely missed. It was you! Lorenzo said in a burst of sudden understanding. Youre the one whos been tending Paps grave and leaving flowers. Lorenzo had asked around town, wanting to thank the person responsible, but no one knew a thing. Miguel blushed. It was the least I could do. Lorenzo stood. He suppressed the urge to help her up. No . Yo u cant treat her lik e a girl. Yo u have to k eep think ing o f Miguel as a bo y , Lorenzo admonished himself. Miguel found her coat and boots and put them on. She got on her horse and stretched a hand to Lorenzo. He swung up behind her. They walked toward Piata, who was grazing on the riverbank. After retrieving her, they rode back to the herd in silence. Along the way, Lorenzo watched Miguel out of the corner of his eye. Now that he knew the secret, he looked for little mannerisms to give away her true sex, but couldnt find any. On the ranch, Miguel had years of practice acting manly. She played the part well. Lorenzo suddenly realized that he and Miguel were united by his fathers secrets. Pap had hidden the fact that Lorenzo had been born into slavery in Virginia. He had helped Miguel hide her true identity. How many other secrets had Pap taken to his grave?
Chapter Eighteen
Dunstan glanced skyward at dark clouds blocking the morning sunshine. It looked like a storm was brewing in the Gulf of Mexico. If he recalled correctly, any time from August to December vicious weather could strike unexpectedly. Thomas rode at his side with twelve British soldiers behind them. They were headed upriver on the Spanish side of the Mississippi to establish a hideout so they could ambush the flatboats. Twelve. Dunstan would have preferred twice that number. The ambassador had recognized the importance of controlling the Mississippi and blocking the Spanish supply route to the Continental Army. He had wholeheartedly endorsed Dunstans plan and would have given him more soldiers, but there were only twelve soldiers assigned to the embassy. Dunstan, Thomas, and the soldiers followed deer paths until they came to a bend in the river. Here, the Mississippi made a wide loop. Dunstan understood why Bannister had chosen this spot as the rendezvous point. It would be easy to box cattle in with the river on three sides. They traveled a mile farther to another wide loop in the Mississippi. For a mile both up and down river, the view was unobstructed. Rebel flatboats would have no chance of slipping by undetected. A curtain of trees lined the river and would hide their camp. This, Dunstan decided, was the perfect place for an ambush, and the
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officer in charge agreed. Dunstan took leave of them, noting a blackened tree that had been struck by lightning. It made the perfect landmark. He and Thomas headed due west toward the end point of the Kings Highway. At their backs, ax blows rang through the forest as soldiers felled trees to build a cabin. Dunstan had lied to Thomas because he didnt want to travel alone and the boy was quite useful. Thomas would go back to Major Hawthorne if he knew the mission was over. Dunstan had found proof of Spanish aid to American rebels. The cattle were important, as important as Major Hawthornes promise to promote him to the officer corps, but Dunstan still had a score to settle with Lorenzo Bannister. At dawn on September 10, the ninth day of the cattle drive, a rumble sounded over the northern ridge. Lorenzo scanned the horizon expecting to see signs of an approaching storm. To his surprise, the sky was cloudless, as if someone had placed a pale blue bowl upside down over the world. Lorenzo had a bad feeling about this. The cattle lifted their heads and stared blankly. Wind howled through the valley, blanketing the low rumble. They went back to grazing. The rumble grew louder. Listen, Lorenzo said to Red, interrupting him in mid-sentence. I dont hear anything, Red said. I do, Soledad said. It sounds like buffalo. What is this buffalo? Dujardin asked in mangled Spanish. A huge shaggy beast with a great hump lumbered over the ridge.
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Dujardins jaw dropped. Mo n d ieu! Lorenzos heart raced. Cattle couldnt stand the sight of buffalo. It sent them into a blind panic. Buffalo always traveled in herds of a thousand or more. How many were over the ridge? Everyone mount up! Lorenzo ordered in a firm but calm voice. He kept his face expressionless so he wouldnt panic the men. Everyone leaped into the saddle. Soledad, Lorenzo ordered, guard the supply wagon. Ambrosio, move the cattle south as fast as you can. The cook, repacking the wagon after breakfast, worked a little faster. Lorenzo called to Red, Miguel, and her soldiers. Come with me. We have to chase the buffalo away, but whatever you do, dont fire your weapons. Waving coiled lariats, they raced toward the old buffalo bull. It stopped and looked stupidly at the oncoming vaqueros, then swung awkwardly around and galloped at a surprising speed for its size. Lorenzo and his companions followed it a short distance. They topped a small rise, then stopped. Every face reflected awe. A buffalo herd blackened the plain. It looked like a giant hand had scattered thousands of grains of black powder. Lorenzo had a quick vision of his small collection of cattle being overrun by a buffalo herd the size of the Mississippi. We have to keep them from coming this way! How are we going to do that, Captain? Miguel asked. There are thousands of them. If we can get one bull running in the right direction, the rest will follow. I dont relish being trampled to death. Then stay in the saddle. Buffalo wont charge a man on horseback. They will during mating season, Miguel pointed out.
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This is September, Lieutenant. I hope they know that. Bulls tended to go insane during breeding time, July to August. It wasnt unusual to see two bulls fighting over a female. Heads lowered, bellowing in rage, they would run toward each other and bang foreheads. They never fought to the death, only until one of them gave up and trotted away. In some ways, it reminded Lorenzo of medieval jousting tournaments he loved to read about. Lorenzo made a quick downward slice with his hand. Lets go! All the buffalo stopped grazing. They lifted their massive heads toward the approaching horsemen. A bull close by bolted away. As expected, all sprinted after himbulls, cows, and buckskin-colored calves. The surging mass thundered over the plain away from the cattle, trampling everything in its path. Without warning, a bull at the back of the herd whirled. Its tail flew up, a sure sign of trouble. Grunting in rage, it lowered its horns and charged the nearest man: Red. Reds horse bolted, avoiding the horns by inches. The buffalo pursued the horse, apparently determined to kill it. Lorenzo spurred Piata toward Red in an effort to divert the bulls attention. Miguel joined Lorenzo, offering the buffalo another target, but the bull doggedly trailed after Red. A second buffalo suddenly separated from the herd, hesitated, then charged Reds left. Lorenzo had seen bulls join forces to protect calves from coyote attacks, but he had never seen them go after horse and rider. He hadnt counted on this kind of behavior and screamed a warning, but wasnt sure Red could hear. Eyes wide with fear, Reds sorrel twisted to the left, searching for an escape route. She stumbled. Red toppled toward the horses ears and rolled over the head, landing on his back. The charging bull made a swip-
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ing blow with his horns. Reds horse screamed in pain. Blood spurted. The horses guts spilled from the gash. Horrified, Lorenzo lashed Piatas rump. Miguel did the same with her horse. A man on foot didnt stand a chance against two buffaloes weighing two thousand pounds each. Red hunkered behind his horses body. The bulls gave up the chase and turned on Miguel and Lorenzo, who dashed in opposite directions. Suddenly, the bulls stopped running. Their sides heaved from exertion. Grunting in victory, they trotted off toward the herd, some distance away, but still moving fast. Returning to Red, Lorenzo found the big Irishman holding his ankle with both hands, his face white with pain. Lorenzo flung himself from his horse and grabbed the m o chila that doubled as his medical bag. He examined Reds ankle. Its sprained. He wrapped a bandage around it. It hurts, Red grumbled. Youre lucky its not broken. Ride with me, herm ano , Miguel said, calling Red brother instead of her usual Sergeant Colorado. Lorenzo slid an arm around Reds waist and helped him to his feet. With great difficulty, he got Red onto Miguels horse, then retrieved Reds musket. When he swung up on Piata, he saw what had made Reds horse stumble: a buffalo wallow. To relieve insect bites, buffalo rolled in dirt, often creating a depression several feet deep. Miguel and Red rode back to the herd. Lorenzo stayed behind to scout around. He rode a wide circuit around the cattle and searched for signs of Apache. They moved across the Province of Texas following buffalo herds. He saw the Apache woman he had seen earlier. Clearly, she was following them. Lorenzo wondered why.
Chapter Nineteen
Molly breathed deep, taking in the barns pungent odors. The Harris farm was one of her favorite places. She unhooked a milk pail and a three-legged stool from the barn wall and headed for the stall where Brownie chewed her cud. From time to time Molly spent a few days with Mrs. Harris, an elderly widow who regularly supplied the Continental Army with food. Molly did odd chores to earn extra money. This time, Mrs. Harris had taken ill, and Molly was nursing her back to health. A long whinny sounded beyond the barn walls. Molly peeped around the door. Fog rising off nearby Brandywine Creek cloaked the farmland in swirls of gray. Something moved in the pre-dawn light. A horse plodded into the barnyard. His rider had loosened the reins and given him his head. The horse paused by the chicken coop to nibble sprigs of grass. The rider slumped, either asleep or wounded. The man wore a three-cornered hat and a black suit. He swayed to one side. Molly flew to him and helped him down. Her hands touched something wet and sticky. Blood. Ill go get help. No time! Be ye Tory or be ye Patriot? the man rasped. Patriot. The British have landed near Philadelphia. They plan a surprise attack. Take a message to General Washington.
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A distant rumble echoed over the back fields. Molly tilted her head toward the sound. Not thunder. Definitely not thunder. She tried to separate the constant, dull combination of sounds. Tramping feet. Fife. Drum. She gasped. An army on the march! Go! the man begged. She hesitated. She couldnt leave a wounded man untended. And Mrs. Harris was ill, in the house. What should she do? After a moment of indecision, Molly dashed through the barnyard, bolted up the steps to the kitchen, and grabbed her cape and bonnet from the peg. Mrs. Harris! Molly yelled. The redcoats are coming! Theres a wounded man in the yard! On the run, she threw the cape around her shoulders and fastened it under her throat. She slammed on the bonnet and tied the ribbon under her chin. Halfway to the barn, she froze. British soldiers emerged from the mist. There was no time to saddle Long Shot. She led the wounded mans horse to the split-rail fence and climbed to the top rail. Balancing precariously, she fitted her foot in the stirrup and scrambled onto the horse. Redcoats, more than Molly could count, marched up the road that led past the farmhouse. She glanced back at the barn, then at the house. Two people needed her help. Was it right to leave them? But thousands of soldiers were in danger. She had to warn General Washington that the British regulars were on their way. She slapped the horses rump. Stop her! a British voice called. A bullet whistled overhead. She bent over the horses neck to make herself a smaller target. Cape flying, she rode toward General Washingtons camp and prayed for the people she left behind.
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Lorenzo and Soledad scouted ahead of the herd, scanning the horizon for signs of danger. They came to a wide stream where three Indians were fishing. In his head, Lorenzo went over the tribes he knew, but didnt recognize this one. That was hardly strange. The Province of Texas was a big place, the home of many Indians. Do you recognize the tribe? Lorenzo asked Soledad. Yes. Cocos. A friendly tribe. Lorenzo made the sign for peace to see how they would react. One of them approached cautiously, returning the sign. Soledad spoke to them in a dialect Lorenzo didnt understand. The tallest one pointed to the left and talked at length. Soledad listened politely, frowning and nodding from time to time. At one point, her expression darkened as if they had just given her bad news. They talked on. Eventually they signed good-bye. Lorenzo and Soledad turned their horses and rode off. Did you understand what they said? Soledad asked. Not a word. My tribe came this way following the buffalo and visited the Cocos. The news is not good. Chien dOr tried to kill Chief Iron Bear and was expelled from the tribe. So were the people of his teepee. That would include his wife, I assume. And the French smugglers he was harboring. The Apache woman Lorenzo had seen earlier came to mind. He described her to Soledad. Thats Raven Feather, wife of Chien dOr. If shes around, her husband and his renegades cant be far away. Chien dOr isnt the kind to act on the spur of the moment. He studies his targets and looks for weak spots. And were the target?
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Mollys horse charged into the American camp and slid to a stop in a spray of pebbles. A sergeant grabbed the reins. Whats the rush, Molly? I got a message for the general. She looked all about and discovered him talking to the Marquis de La Fayette, a tall, thin man in a white-powdered wig. She ran forward, plunging past soldiers, veering around campfires, darting past the generals bodyguard. Sir! She pulled on his sleeve. Molly, the general scolded, it isnt polite to interrupt a . . . British regulars are on the way! Soldiers within earshot stiffened. Oddly, the generals gaze fixed on her bonnet. He frowned the way he did when the cook served peas, then began to shout orders. The camp burst into action. Officers snapped out commands. Men snatched up muskets, powder horns, and rushed to join their companies. Dazed, Molly stood in the middle of it all, wondering why General Washington had believed her without question. She was glad he had, but still, it was odd. The general returned to Molly. Are you wounded? No, sir. I mean . . . I dont think so. He gave her a comforting smile. Your bonnet is. He untied it, eased it off, and thrust his little finger through a bullet hole. She gasped. I owe you a new bonnet, soldier. Soldier. Molly relished the term. She wanted to be part of the war and now she was.
Chapter Twenty
Lorenzo woke up before dawn and watched the cook through half-closed eyes. It was natural for him to be up well before anyone else, so breakfast would be ready and they could start the cattle moving by daybreak. Tortillas puffed up in one iron skillet while bacon sizzled in another. Coffee perked over the fire. Lorenzo unfolded a crude homemade calendar and marked an X through September 12. The cattle drive was behind schedule. He hadnt expected to swing off course to avoid buffalo. Several times he had taken the cattle a couple of leagues upstream to find a place to ford because the rivers were up. All that had cost him precious time. The flatboats would leave Pennsylvania soon. They would drift down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, going with the current. It would take them about three weeks to reach the rendezvous point. There was no way to know for sure if they set out on time. Lorenzo could only hope they would be at the right place at the agreed-upon time. Lorenzo shook Red awake, then moved to Ambrosio and the others. They cursed good-naturedly, stretched, scratched themselves, shook their blankets out, rolled them tight, and tossed them in the wagon. As usual, Private Dujardin washed his face, combed his hair, and changed shirts before heading to breakfast.
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He was the only one obsessed with cleanliness. Lorenzo surmised they must all stink like buffalo and had become used to the odor. Getting all spruced up is a waste of time, one of the men told Dujardin. Aint no women around, cepting Mrs. OShaughnessy. And she aint available, Red said. Who you trying to impress? asked Sebastin, one of Miguels soldiers. Private Dujardin flicked lint from his buckskin shirt. I am a . . . gentleman. Gentlemen are always washed. One of the others hooted. We got a gentleman in our midst. Whatya know about that?! From all the yipping going on, Red said, I thought I was in the midst of a bunch of hound dogs. Lorenzo smiled to himself. Driving cattle consisted of hours of boredom punctuated by moments of stark terror. He hoped the good-natured banter would last the entire trip. Dunstan kept an eye out for hostile Indians. Many tribes had allied themselves with the British, angry that colonists encroached on their land. He had no clue how Indians in Spanish territory would react to strangers, and he wasnt anxious to find out. Wolf! Thomas exclaimed, pointing to the left. A large dog slowly padded toward them, snarling and showing its teeth. It was three hundred yards away, well out of musket range. Their horses snorted in fear and skittered away. Dunstan pulled hard on the reins to keep his horse from bolting. Sometimes it was better to face down an animal. Running only encouraged an attack. A sharp whistle pierced the forest silence. The dog stopped instantly, but continued to bare his
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teeth. It was the strangest-looking dog Dunstan had ever seen. Spotted like a leopard, it had chilling blue eyes that gave Dunstan the impression the beast could see into his soul. What kind of dog is that? Thomas asked. Dunstan recalled a conversation with Spanish soldiers in a New Orleans bar. When the Spanish explored the Gulf Coast in the 1500s, they brought war dogs with them to hunt, guard camp, and use in battle. Some were wounded or left behind. Some were captured by Indians. I think thats a Catahoula. Thomas sounded the word out. Thats the oddestlooking hound Ive ever seen. A mans voice called to the dog in an Indian dialect. The Catahoula spun around and took off running. Dunstans gaze raked the forest, searching for the Indian and caught a glimpse of a man in a yellow headband before he melted into the foliage. Hurry, Molly! Bill yelled. He tied leather saddlebags behind his horses saddle. Coming! She dashed toward her brother and General Washington who stood beside him. The general hugged Molly tight. Ill miss you. Im sorry to see you go, but youll be safer with your brother. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. What did it matter that he was a general? His soft Virginia accent sounded just like her fathers. Take care of your brother, the general said. I will, sir. Hows the Marquis? The physician assures me hell be fine. The Marquis de La Fayette had been wounded in the leg during the previous days battle. Other officers had
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been wounded or killed. Please thank Mrs. Washington for watching Molly, Bill said, climbing onto Long Shot. I shall. The general lapped an arm around Mollys waist and plopped her in front of her brother. Write us at your earliest convenience. And may God bless your trip. He patted Bills leather saddlebags. Holding the reins in his right hand, Bill slipped his free arm around Molly and held her tight against him. She leaned back into her brothers well-worn buckskin shirt and a little of her fear dissolved. The British were everywhere. General Washington had lost the Battle of Brandywine Creek the day before. He and his troops had nearly been surrounded and captured! This wasnt the first time the army had been in full retreat, but she hoped it would be the last. She looked up at her brother. Where are we going, Bill? Fort Pitt. Fort Pitt! Where was that? He was supposed to leave with the flatboats soon. Had all that changed?
Chapter Twenty-One
Piata tossed her head impatiently. Easy, girl, Lorenzo said, patting her neck. He tied the reins to a trees low limb and approached lead-colored ashes ringed by stones. He hunched down for a closer look. It was a fresh campsite, less than twenty-four hours old. What have you found? Red asked, resting his wrist on the saddle horn. Evidence were being followed. Lorenzo kneaded the back of his neck and rotated his head, trying to work out the tension. I think youre worried over nothing, Red said. Its probably just a couple of hunters. I hope youre right. Lorenzo had a feeling that something bad was just over the hill. Bill and Molly rode at top speed until they came to a roadside tavern in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. It resembled others she had seen. A sign swinging over the entrance to the two-story wooden building showed a full tankard of ale and a sheath of wheat. The millwheel attached to the side of the building gurgled as water hit the top blades and pushed them down. A pot-bellied man in a greasy apron rushed toward them. Ive been expecting you! Patriots have been pour101
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ing in all day. Bill slid down from Long Shot and helped Molly off. He grabbed the leather saddlebags. Have you seen a red-headed woman with a French accent? She spent the night. Left early this morning, heading for York to be sure! I need a fresh horse, Bill said. The pot-bellied man shouted to a servant pouring slop into a pig trough. Fetch Dolly! He pointed to a skinny young man with a pox-marked face. You! Bring a gunny sack of food. Molly drew a deep breath. Her brother was trading in Long Shot? But he had worked so hard for that mare and loved her so much! They must really be in trouble, much worse than she realized, for Bill to give up Long Shot. Minutes later, Bill secured the saddlebags behind a big chestnut mare and scrambled up. He stretched down a hand for Molly. Come on, Sis! Then, to the pot-bellied man in a greasy apron: Take good care of Long Shot. And dont let a blamed Brit have her! Dont worry, Bill, the man replied. Ill do you proud. Molly held on tight as they dashed west.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Molly felt so tired, she could barely hold onto the saddle. For four days she and Bill had headed steadily west through the Pennsylvania countryside, stopping long enough to change horses at trading posts and forts. She suspected that her brother sometimes slept in the saddle. When the sun touched the treetops, a fort came into view. Look, Molly, Bill said. Fort Pitt. We made it. A fort sat on a triangle of land surrounded by three shimmering ribbons of water. Instead of heading toward the fort, Bill turned his horse toward the shore and three funny-looking square barges anchored there. Several buckskinned men guarded them. Bill helped Molly down. He grabbed her hand and hurried toward the boats. One of the men took off a coonskin cap and waved it overhead. Capn Linn! he yelled. We been waiting for you. Is Eugenie here? Yes, sir. Inside the cabin. Bill picked Molly up as if she were no heavier than a sack of flour, stepped into the water, and swung her into the boat. He climbed over the side. I am so glad to see you. The red-haired woman Molly had seen earlier gave Bill a kiss on both cheeks. She smiled at Molly. Hello. Allow me to introduce
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myself, she said in English with a strong French accent. I am Eugenie Dubreton. She was even more beautiful than Molly remembered. Bill handed Eugenie the leather saddlebags. Can you hide this somewhere safe? Its the vaqueros pay. What in the world were vaqueros? Molly would ask about that later. Of course, William. Eugenie disappeared with the saddlebags. It made Molly happy to hear Eugenie call her brother William. It sounded so cold. Molly liked the name Bill better and was glad that Eugenie didnt call him some pet name. This lady looked nice, but Molly liked Bills other girlfriend better. Suddenly, the flatboats set out with a lurch. Where are we headed? Molly asked Bill. Louisiana. Will I ever see General and Mrs. Washington again? Sure. When this assignment is over, well head home. Louisiana. Molly couldnt wait to get there. Iron Bear pulled his horse off to the side and watched the tribe pass by. He brushed strands of long gray hair from his face. The migration to their fall hunting grounds was going smoothly. Not so last time. Comanches had attacked. A sudden sadness swept over Iron Bear as he recalled the battle. So many dead. For the first time, he felt old. It was time to hand over the reins to a younger, stronger brave. Leadership of the tribe was based on merit, not family line. Who would the tribe accept as the new chief?
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Kokotil, a battle-tested warrior who had seen twenty summers, rode past driving his remuda of horses. Perhaps he would make a good chief. If only Iron Bear could be certain. Lifting his hands skyward, tilting his face backwards, Iron Bear prayed silently. Give m e the w isd o m to m ak e the right d ecisio n. And give m e o ne m o re ad venture. So m ething exciting, so m ething im p o rtant fo r m y grand child ren to tell aro und the cam p fire after I am go ne.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dunstan saw dirt-brown clouds swirl skyward over the next ridge and grinned. Weve found them, Thomas! Art thou sure? Thomas asked. I would bet my last shilling on it. Only one thing could make a cloud that size. A herd on the move. Aye, Thomas said, obviously trying not to smile. Just like those buffaloes a few miles back. Dunstan sniffed. It could have been a herd of cattle. But it wasnt. A minor detail, Dunstan said. He urged his horse into a copse of cottonwood trees, and the little Quaker joined him. They jumped down and tied their reins to a low-hanging bough. The first thing we have to do, Dunstan said, is determine how to capture Lorenzo Bannister. Not so, Thomas said, untying his saddlebag. The first thing we must do is eat. Unwrapping cooked rabbit meat saved from lunch, he bit off a huge chunk and passed it to Dunstan. Being far too nervous to eat, he refused it. And once Bannister is captured? Thomas prompted. We take the traitor to Major Hawthorne and let the proper authorities dispose of him. Dunstan was smooth in his lie. Thomass lips tightened. Thy cousin wants proof the
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Spanish are helping the American rebels. And he shall have it. To save his neck, Bannister will talk. All we have to do is find him . . . . Dunstans voice faded. A lone horseman, traveling slowly, topped the hill about a quarter mile to the west. He kept his head down as if studying tracks. His horse snorted and skittered nervously. The rider spoke encouraging words and rubbed the horses neck until it was calmed. On the other hand, Dunstan whispered to Thomas, Bannister might come to us. There he is, in all his glory. Lorenzo scanned the cottonwoods where they hid. He cocked his head, apparently listening intently, and remained perfectly still. Come on, Bannister, Dunstan whispered. A little closer. Musket at the ready, Dunstan skirted the cottonwoods and rode forward cautiously, obviously on the alert. Dunstan drew his pistol. In a stroke of good luck, thunder rumbled far away, masking the metallic click of Dunstans hammer. A shot to the head would do the trick. Dunstan briefly considered ending his enemys life, but the desire to see Bannister suffer the way he had suffered in the prisoner-of-war camp held him back. Lorenzo pushed his hat back and frowned at the darkening sky. Thunder pealed a second time. Lorenzo straightened. Whipping his horse around, he raced over the hill and out of sight. Dunstan uttered a vile curse. Lorenzo joined Red riding point. Turn the herd south. What? I thought we were going to Nacogdoches!
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Turn them, if you please. Red obeyed. A while later, Red asked, What do you know that I dont? Between us and those cottonwoods there are hundreds of tracks. A whole tribe passed through, going south to north. Apaches? Red asked with a frown. Looks like it. Well swing wide to the south and avoid them. A storms brewing. Yeah, I know. Lorenzo rubbed his jaw and studied the swift-moving clouds in the gathering darkness. Storms often caused stampedes. Were running out of daylight and have to bed down soon. An hour later, most of the herd had settled down for the night, chewing their cuds. A few restless ones grazed. All looked weary. Lorenzo posted extra guards and strolled to the wagon for a cup of coffee. He sipped it and winced. It was exceptionally strong, but he was grateful. He would need to be alert all night. The storms rumbling grew louder by the minute. Bad weather could add days to the trip and make them miss the flatboats. Ever vigilant, Lorenzo ate supper standing up and kept track of the storm front. Night fell. Clouds blotted out the stars. By flickering firelight, the cook did a few last-minute chores before turning in. Shapeless bundles of blankets radiated from the fire like spokes on a wheel. The vaqueros turned their boots and moccasins close to the glowing embers and, on Lorenzos orders, kept their horses saddled and tied nearby. Most of the men were asleep. A couple of vaqueros rolled cigarettes and lit them off the campfire. Lightning flashed.
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One one thousand. Two two thousand. Lorenzo counted out loud, timing how far away the storm was. Thunder rumbled when he reached six six thousand. Lorenzo poured himself a second cup of coffee. He needed to stay awake to monitor the weather. He drained the cup and served himself a third. Lightning slashed through the sky. One one thousand, two two thousand. Thunder boomed before he reached three. That meant the storm was drawing closer. It had been muggy and still all day, perfect storm weather. A strong wind whooshed through the woods, carrying the smell of rain and pine. Lightning danced from one cloud to the next. Lorenzo blew out a long sigh. He had let the men sleep as long as he dared. Wake up, everyone! he ordered in a firm and reassuring voice. Storms coming. Mount up. Grumbling vaqueros turned out and climbed onto their horses. Lightning crashed and illuminated the plain. Cabezn, one of the lead bulls, leaped to his feet in one bound. More than once he had tried to start a stampede, but an observant vaquero always cut him off before any cattle joined his rebellion. Some of the cattle rose, standing tense and trembling. Others crouched, legs drawn up as if ready for a sudden spring. The night herders lullaby grew louder. Lorenzo could tell they were worried about an impending stampede and were trying to drown out the thunder. Dunstan could barely stand his horses slow pace or the sound of its hooves plodding toward the cattle. The cautious clip-clop was sheer torture, but it wasnt possi-
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ble to go faster in the dark. The wind blew strands of singing toward him and Thomas. Excitement sent blood racing through Dunstans body. Tonight Lorenzo Bannister would be his. He was accustomed to the city where candlelight glowed from windows and street lamps. Never had he seen such total blackness. The night before, a full moon had shone so brightly it cast shadows. Tonight, only the occasional flash of lightning lit the sky. With no stars and no moon to show the way, utter darkness surrounded them. If Dunstan stretched his hand before his face, he couldnt see his fingers. He and Thomas had to trust their horses instincts. Dunstan had learned that lesson the hard way. Once, he was in a hurry to reach an inn before full dark. Business had delayed him longer than expected. To save time, he went across country, leaping fences and brooks in one bound. Just as the inn came into view and there was only one river left to cross, the horse pulled up short, nearly unseating him. Angry, he whipped the beast with his riding crop, but it refused to budge. He dismounted only to find himself peering into a raging river. Rebels had blown up the bridge. Dunstan listened to strains of music and chuckled. How accommodating those diegos were! Their caterwauling would lead him straight to them. Que no te vayas d e m . . . que no te vayas d e m . Dont leave me, the old love song begged. Lorenzo joined the chorus and understood the irony behind the words. Would any of the cattle desert them tonight? Distant lightning flashed. Rain, gentle and cooling,
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began to fall. Cabezn bawled and set out in the dark. Five head of cattle followed him. It wasnt a frantic rush of hooves, just a simple plodding that could turn into a stampede with the next lightning bolt. Lorenzo spurred his horse toward Cabezn. Like most bulls, he gave way before a horseman and turned aside. Cut off by other night riders, the cattle making up Cabezns rebellion began to circle. It started out wide, then gradually grew smaller and smaller until they slowed and finally stopped. Calmed, the cattle stood in the rain, looking about with befuddled expressions, as if wondering why they had set out walking in the first place. Lorenzo sagged in relief. His cheeks puffed as he blew out a long sigh. Reds horse ambled over to him. That was close, Lorenzo said. Sure was, Red replied. Cabezn is a troublemaker. Id like to make him the main guest at our next barbeque! A lightning bolt yielded a split second of light. Dunstan dismounted and handed Thomas his reins. Keep my horse and stay out of sight. I want to go with thee. Art thou deaf? Dunstan asked, making fun of Thomas. I told you to stay here. He checked his pistol, then wedged it under his belt. Gripping a tomahawk, he eased toward a thicket and crouched there. Lorenzo and his rebel scum had once captured him using a tomahawk. It was time to return the favor.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dunstan crawled on all fours toward the herd. Soggy and restless, the cattle lowed and jostled each other. Each time lightning flashed, he searched for Lorenzo. Finally, he found him on a gray horse with a black mane and tail. After the rain stopped, everyone returned to camp except two drovers watching the cattle and two others with the horses. Dunstan perked up to see Lorenzo with the cattle. All night he had watched men move in the dark and waited for the right moment to attack. All night, there had been too many people around. Until now. Lorenzo and Red rode in opposite directions around the sleeping herd, tipping their hats when they met. A dense fog rolled in, enshrouding everything. Lorenzo was glad to see the horizon lighten. The rising sun would burn off the fog. A twig snapped. Birds exploded into the sky. Lorenzo tensed. Cabezn clambered to his feet. Several jittery cattle joined him. Long minutes went by. When nothing happened, Lorenzo assumed it was just a coyote on the prowl.
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The herd calmed and settled back down. All, except Cabezn. The powerful, rust-colored bull shook giant horns and let out a bellow. Oh, no, you dont! Lorenzo exclaimed. The bull bolted away and disappeared into thick, gray mist. Since Red was on the opposite side of the herd, Lorenzo had to chase the runaway. Reds suggestion that they barbeque Cabezn was sounding better and better. Dunstan peeped around an oak tree. Lorenzo circled a high thicket about twenty yards away. He seemed to have all his attention fixed on it. Dunstan waited until Lorenzo was on the far side to move closer, knowing the thick fog would mask his movements. He headed forward, then froze. Straight ahead, a rust-colored bull with a jagged blaze on its forehead snorted, barely visible in the fog. It lumbered toward him, shaking huge, sharp-pointed horns, then paused, lowered its head, and charged. Dunstan jumped to the left. The bull came so close, he felt a rush of wind as it passed by. The bull whirled and pawed the ground. Snorting, it trotted forward. Dunstan ran. Briars and branches flogged his face. He stumbled over an exposed root, picked himself up, and dashed down a path carved out by wild beasts. The earth shook. Dunstan was certain the bull was gaining on him. He sprinted through the grayness, looking for the oak tree he had hidden behind, but all he saw were blackberry thickets and shrubs that the one-ton beast could knock over with a flick of its giant horns. Abruptly, the trail ended at a thick matting of bushes. Trapped, Dunstan whirled. He searched for his weapons and realized he must have dropped them along the way.
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The bull stopped. Head down, it pawed the ground. Dunstans heart pounded. In a panic, he couldnt move, not even when the bull charged. The beasts head rammed his body. He landed hard, the breath knocked out of him. The bull turned. It charged again. Hooves thundered toward him. Time slowed. Dunstan watched the wild-eyed beast rush toward him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
There you are, Lorenzo said when Cabezn emerged from a clump of trees. Come on, Mischiefmaker, back to the herd. He spoke in a cajoling, nonthreatening voice, but thoughts of barbequing Cabezn filled his head. The bulls breath misted in the morning air. His sides heaved. He bolted to the left. Lorenzo blocked him. He bolted in the opposite direction. Piata instinctively chased him and forced him to turn. Lorenzo waved a lariat in slow, nonthreatening circles. Back to the herd, Seor Barbacoa. The fight seemed to have gone out of the bull. He turned and ambled back to the herd. Dunstan groaned in pain and eased his eyes open. It took a moment for them to focus. Where was he? Where was the sky? He let out a strangled scream. Leaning over him was a sharp-featured Indian in his early thirties wearing a yellow headband. Dunstan braced for a scalping. His heart drummed. Je suis am i, the man said in French. I am a friend . Somehow Dunstan managed to stammer out French phrases of cordiality. He suddenly realized he was inside a teepee. His host responded in impeccable French. His right hand touched his chest. I am Chien dOr.
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Dunstan mimicked the gesture. Dunstan Andrews. How did Chien dOr, or Gold Dog, know French? To be sure, it was the language of diplomacy in the white mans world. During the French-and-Indian War, Indians had been allies of the French against the British colonies, but this was the Spanish Province of Texas. Groaning in pain, Dunstan sat up and faced Chien dOr, seated cross-legged on the floor. A broad-faced Indian woman entered the teepee and offered Dunstan a gourd containing a vile-smelling concoction. Dunstan hesitated. Drink, Chien dOr said. Youll feel better. Looking at his host over the lip of the gourd, Dunstan took a cautious sip. It stung a little when it went down, but warmed his insides like Jamaican rum. He drained the gourd. Chien dOr gestured for the woman to leave. Eyes down, she raised the teepee flap and slipped out. You speak French, Dunstan said. My father was French. Chien dOr rested his elbows on his knees. For many days, we have followed the cattle drive and watched you and your son. For the first time, Dunstan thought about Thomas. He isnt my son. Hes my servant. Where is the lad? Here. In camp. My wife saw the bull charge and pulled you to safety. She brought both of you here. Why do you follow the cattle? Dunstan shrugged. To see where they go. Chien dOrs eyes bored into Dunstan as if he could see his soul. Tell the truth or I cut your lying tongue out. Dunstan believed he would do it. My king does not want the cattle to reach the soldiers rebelling against him. He wants the cattle for himself? He wants proof the Spanish are helping American
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rebels. Chien dOr waved his hand scornfully. I care not about the war. Nor do I. I simply want to capture the man driving the cattle. He is my enemy. Bannister is my enemy as well. You know him? Dunstan asked, surprised. Chien dOr spat on the ground in a gesture of disgust. He killed two of my men and stole my cattle. I want them back. When you capture Bannister, what will you do with him? Ill make him rue the day he was born. Chien dOr smiled and nodded. Apparently, it was the answer he wanted to hear. Bannister is yours to kill, but the big red bear with him is mine. The boy and I will help you, Dunstan said, in return for our release. No. The boy will make a fine warrior. I will let you go, but I keep him. It wasnt unusual for Indians to adopt boys into the tribe. Over the years, Dunstan had heard many stories to that effect. Thomas was bright. He would soon learn the language and customs of the Apache and succeed. Thomass freedom for his own. That was a trade he could live with. Done, he said, sealing the bargain.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Water crashed over huge boulders, so loud it blocked all other sounds. Lorenzo remained on horseback and kept a respectful distance from the torrent sweeping debris downstream. He had to find a good place for the herd to cross. He followed the shoreline south to a spot where the river widened and swirled a little less furiously. To mark it, Lorenzo tied his bandanna around a tree branch. He raced to the wagon and explained to the cook where to cross. Next, he pulled alongside Miguel. When you get to the river, turn the herd south. South! Miguel said in exasperation. First, were going east, then west, now south. Were going in circles! Just do it, Lorenzo said wearily. He rode off, leaving Miguel in mid-grumble. Next, he visited each vaquero, explaining where to cross. He picked out three men to accompany him to the waters edge. By the time they arrived, the cook had attached ropes to the wagons axle rod. They tested them to make sure they were snug, and passed them to vaqueros who swam them across. On the opposite shore vaqueros lapped ropes around sturdy oaks edging the river. The cook drove the wagon down the bank to the waters edge. Once it was afloat, men used tree trunks as giant pulleys to haul the wagon to shore. The mules swam until their hooves raked the sandy bottom. They hauled the wagon up the gentle bank. Lorenzo, still on the west shore, breathed out a long
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sigh of relief. Cabezn appeared, along with point riders. On the riverbank, cattle balked and bawled. They tried to turn away, but vaqueros forced them to plunge into the muddy river. A short way upstream, Miguel and her horse splashed into the water. She angled toward the far shore. Lorenzo knew what she was doing. The cattle would instinctively follow the swimming horse. He stared at the swirling, muddy water. This was the first difficult crossing since his near drowning. Not until this very moment did he realize how terrified he was. Suddenly, Red was by his side. Aint scared of a little water, are you? Not me! Lorenzo lied. He wondered if Miguel had told the men about his near-drowning. This is for your own good, Captain. Giving Lorenzo a wicked grin, he slapped Piatas rump. The horse snorted and lunged forward. Lorenzo felt panic rise when water soaked his legs and thighs. His heart galloped. He twisted in the saddle and shook his fist at Red. Ill get you for this! Red laughed and plunged in after him. Lorenzo locked his gaze on the distant shore. To his right, submerged cattle swam frantically. He tried to ignore their razor-sharp horns, flaring nostrils, and eyes bulging in terror. Vaqueros swam their horses alongside the herd. Some remained on the riverbank, shouting and flailing their ropes to make sure stragglers entered the water. Upstream, a dark mass in the river careened toward them. A shiver of fear passed through Lorenzo. After a moment, he realized it was a wild pigs bloated carcass. It struck the cows ahead of him and broke the continuous line of swimming cattle. Some turned away, trying to head back to shore. Lorenzo jerked the reins and turned Piata toward
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them. If he didnt straighten the line, cattle, vaqueros, and horses could become tangled and drown. Hooves churned desperately. Horns crashed together. Horses neighed. Lariat-waving vaqueros yelled and cursed. Eventually, the herd swam in the right direction. Struggling against the current, Piata bumped into Red, making him topple off his horse and disappear under the froth. Red! Lorenzo yelled. Reds head popped to the surface, inches behind Cabezns rump. Everyone cheered. Red bobbed dangerously close to Cabezn, who was bellowing in rage. He sank under the water, he came out. He went under again and came out when Cabezn leaped up on the bank with Red still in tow. Lorenzo laughed out loud when he realized that Red had hitched a ride to the riverbank by holding Cabezns tail. Muddy and completely soaked, Red bent over at the waist and wheezed while Cabezn galloped off. Relief showed on every face. Reds horse struggled up the bank, shook, and stood in the mud, dripping. Ay, p o r d io s! Soledad screamed. She pointed to the river. A body, floating face down, was wedged between two boulders on a sandbar.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lorenzo kicked Piatas flanks, forcing the mare back into the rushing river. Red joined him. They swam to the sandbar and turned the floating man over. It was Ambrosio. Lorenzo swallowed hard. Reds face reflected deep sorrow. With his friends help, Lorenzo managed to pull the body over his saddle. He thought of the words his father often said when a patient died: Life is fragile, a gift fro m Go d . At some point, Ambrosio must have fallen off his horse, hit his head, and lost consciousness. Piata swam to shore, struggling under the corpses extra weight. Everyone gathered around. Vaqueros, somber-faced and quiet, took the body and wrapped it in a blanket. Looking like lost children, they stared at their old friends lifeless body. Lorenzo wanted to keep the men busy so they wouldnt dwell on their friends death. We can get two more leagues under our hooves, Lorenzo said in a subdued tone, and bury Ambrosio when we bed down for the night. With great reverence, the vaqueros moved supplies in the back of the wagon and placed the body inside. Nightfall overtook them. Lorenzo called the latest halt ever. Men lit lanterns and moved around quietly in
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the dark to finish work. The cook prepared supper, although Lorenzo doubted that many would be in the mood to eat. Several men set about digging a grave beneath a pine tree. That done, they laid Ambrosio to rest and shoveled dirt over him. Vaqueros and soldiers gathered large stones, piling them high over the grave to discourage coyotes and other scavengers from digging him up. Everyone stood wrapped in thought. Someone should say a few words, Miguel suggested. Pad re Nuestro , Lorenzo began. He paused and allowed time for the rest to recite after him. They mumbled the Lords Prayer, then slipped away one by one. That night, Lorenzo sat by the campfire and composed a letter to Ambrosios wife and eight children. He edged it in black and stashed it in his saddlebags. When they reached the rendezvous point, he would give it to one of the vaqueros heading back to San Antonio. Of all his duties, Lorenzo disliked this one the most. How did you tell someone that a loved one wasnt coming home? The next morning, Dunstan stepped out of a teepee where he had spent the last twenty-four hours. Raindrops lashed his face. Surrounded by four French-speaking outlaws, he headed toward tethered horses. He mounted up and wished he had a weapon. The men with him were armed with silent but deadly weapons that wouldnt startle the cattle. Bows, quivers of arrows, lances, tomahawks, and knives were wise choices. Dunstan doubted that muskets or pistols would fire in this weather. There would be no way to keep powder dry.
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Chien dOr rode toward them, Dunstans sword dangling at his side. Bloody cheeky, Dunstan thought. Not only does he steal my sword, he flaunts the theft. Just then, Thomas stepped out of a teepee followed by Chien dOrs wife. He wore only a breechcloth and moccasins. Dunstan felt a small twinge of regret to leave the boy behind. Thomas had served him well, but was no longer of any use. He locked eyes with the boy. Betrayal and confusion radiated from Thomas. God will not go with thee, Dunstan. He looked at the boy in disgust. What did he care about a nonexistent god? With Chien dOr at his side, Dunstan spurred his horse and rode away from the village. Lorenzo, with Red at his side, led the cattle drive through dense pines and hardwoods. This was the most difficult part of the trip so far. Nacogdoches lay about a league ahead, but to get there, they had to pass through a forest. They left the woods and entered a clearing. A black cloud roiling in from the northeast cast an ominous shadow over the landscape. It was about eight oclock in the morning, but the sky looked like early evening. A hot, muggy wind whipped around Piata. Thunder rumbled like a herd of cattle on the run. Greenishblack clouds filled the sky. A continual light display slashed from sky to earth. Lorenzo studied the towering cloud with a sense of growing anxiety. If you see a funnel shape, Red, speak right up. Red shot him a quizzical glance. A funnel?
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I take it youve never seen a tornado. You got that right. My father and I were in one once. The wind bent trees to the ground. And if I see a funnel, what do I do? Find a hole, hunker down, and pray. Miguel approached on horseback. Have you ever seen a tornado? Red asked Miguel. More times than I care to remember. Miguel studied the blackening sky. We are going to feel the wrath of God today. General Washington stopped by a split-rail fence and surveyed the lead-gray sky. He patted his horses neck and breathed deep. The air smelled of rain. A ride always put him at ease and gave him time to think. He needed to return to camp soon, but the sight of shoeless, hungry soldiers depressed him. Foraging parties went out on a daily basis. Finding supplies was difficult. To make matters worse, after the Battle of Brandywine, the British had captured supply depots at Valley Forge. The air chilled and the general pulled his cape tight around his shoulders. Washington wondered how Lorenzo was faring with the herd coming from San Antonio. The mission was a long shot, but the Spanish had been one of the most dependable supply sources so far. Nine thousand pounds of gunpowder, medicine, cloth, and other supplies had arrived three months earlier. The Spanish had been generous with money as well. Washington dipped his head and prayed that cattle would arrive safely. The air crackled with electricity. Lorenzo, Miguel, and all the men placed leather cov-
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ers over their gunlocks to protect the powder from the rain. All at once, luminous balls of light appeared above the herd. They hovered over the horn tips of the cattle and flickered blue and yellow. Good Lord! Red whispered. What is that? St. Elmos fire, Miguel replied. Some call it fox fire. I saw it years ago on a trip to Spain. We were at sea, and those lights appeared at the ends of masts and spars. It was like ghosts holding little lanterns. A blinding light suddenly blazed to the left. Piata bounced sideways and snorted. It was all Lorenzo could do to keep her from bolting. The entire herd bellowed in fear. A deafening sizzle hissed behind them. Wind-driven rain slashed at them like tiny knives. A huge tree split down the middle. The ground shook. Another lightning bolt darted through the sky. Hundreds of hoofs drummed over the rolling countryside. The stampede Lorenzo had dreaded for so long had begun. And it was headed straight for him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lorenzo pulled hard on the reins to turn Piata. She didnt need the extra inspiration and bolted away from the cattle at full speed. Lorenzo glanced over his shoulder. They were gaining. Rain stung his face like pebbles. Lorenzos only hope was to ride with the herd and, at some point, force them to circle. Piata stumbled on rain-slicked grass. Lorenzos breathing quickened. If Piata threw him, he would be trampled by fear-crazed cattle. From all directions, cattle surged around them. Lorenzo and Piata rode in the midst of galloping hooves and clattering horns. Cattle coursed around the wagon, a canvas island in a sea of horns and hide. Piatas hooves hammered beneath Lorenzo. It was a dangerous race, but he sensed she actually enjoyed it. She drew ahead of the lead bull, easily jumped a creek, and scrambled up the opposite side. Cattle flowed over the bank like a canoe shooting the rapids, splashing through shallow water, and leaping ashore. Piata reached the top of the hill and braced herself for the steep downward angle. Lorenzo allowed himself a backward glance. For the first time he realized Miguel was riding the left flank of the herd. Private Dujardin was on the right.
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The cattle ran at top speed. After a while, the head bulls spent most of their energy and fear. They slowed. Piata adjusted her speed, going from a gallop to a lope. The rest of the herd was nowhere to be seen. It had been impossible for the vaqueros to keep the herd together in the stampede. Lorenzo assumed it was now broken into smaller droves. He sighed. It might take days to gather the herd. Eventually they forced the cattle to circle. Little by little the ring grew smaller and tighter until the cattle stopped moving altogether. Mud-splattered from head to toe, Miguel and Dujardin stopped in front of Lorenzo. He felt as grimy as they looked. Dujardin held a handkerchief out to catch the rain, then mopped his face. Where are we? Were lost, Miguel replied. Were not lost, Lorenzo said. We just dont know where we are. He looked all about for landmarks but didnt see any. He pondered what to do next. The missing vaqueros and soldiers knew to head up the Kings Highway to Nacogdoches. But which way was Nacogdoches? He knew the stampede had taken him south of the Kings Highway, so he decided to head due north until he crossed it. Miguel took the lead while Dujardin and Lorenzo drifted to the rear. It was just the three of them with fifty cattle at the most. They traveled on and on. The landscape reflected the gray dreariness of the cloud cover. Lorenzo hoped the sun would break through and dry the ground. A horse snorted to the right. Lorenzo tensed, then relaxed to see Soledad trot forward. Have you seen Red? she asked. No, sorry, Lorenzo said. Im sure hell show up soon, Miguel said brightly.
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Do you know where the rest of the herd is? Lorenzo asked. She shook her head. Lorenzo cleaned sludge from his muskets flash pan as best he could, but knew the weapon would be useless until it stopped raining. He glanced about. Everyone looked as depressed as he felt. You said there were five hundred head! Chien dOr exclaimed. There were! Dunstan answered in a desperate voice. Five hundred! Easily! He estimated that there were no more than fifty cattle in the valley below. Where were the rest? This would hardly endear him to Chien dOr. He had to remain useful to him in order to stay alive. The three rain-soaked vaqueros guarding the cattle slouched in their saddles as if they were too weary to maintain a proper lookout. Fancy that, Dunstan said in a moment of sudden understanding. Theyve been through the rainstorm. Chances are, their weapons are useless. Chien dOrs eyes bored through him a moment, as if judging his sincerity. After a long moment, he conferred with his friends in French. They nodded, dismounted, and eased downhill. Armed with bows and arrows, they moved from tree to tree, peeping out cautiously, careful not to be seen. Dunstan stayed on the ridge with Chien dOr and watched them inch toward the vaqueros and ready their bows. Maintenant! Now! one of them ordered. In unison, they shot arrows. Two vaqueros were struck full in the chest and top-
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pled off their horses. The third man was luckier. An arrow protruded from his side. He managed to pull his pistol and aim it, but nothing happened. He holstered the weapon. A second later, an arrow found his chest. Yes! Dunstan exclaimed. I was right! Their guns are useless. Two Frenchmen herded cattle away while the other two remained on the field to retrieve useful items from the corpses. I am pleased, Chien dOr announced. Good, Dunstan said. That meant he stayed alive a little longer. Two hills later, they found cattle in a meadow with grass up to their bellies. Dunstan remained on a hillside with Chien dOr while two Frenchmen readied their bows. So far, they had plucked off every soldier and vaquero they encountered. In the valley below, terror-filled horsemen looked up and saw outlaws armed with bows and arrows gallop toward them. They abandoned the cattle and fled for their lives. A volley of arrows flew through the air. Men screamed. A long wail pierced the still air, as if someone were dying in agony. One horseman swerved and veered as he galloped off. Dunstan straightened and shaded his eyes with his hand. The man was about the same size and build as Lorenzo Bannister. That looks like Bannister! Chien dOr ignored him and drew an arrow from his quiver. The rider made it to the top of the hill before Chien dOrs arrow pierced his side. He slumped and disappeared over the ridge. Dunstan clenched his hands in rage. Chien dOr had broken his promise to capture Bannister alive. Dunstan
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doubted that Chien dOr would keep his promise to free him when the cattle were captured. He had to escape. Now. Dunstan looked straight ahead, but studied Chien dOr out of the corner of his eye. He wore an indecent smile, obviously reveling in the slaughter. With one hand, Dunstan grabbed the sword hanging by Chien dOrs side. With the other, he shoved him off his horse. Chien dOr sailed sideways and landed with a thud. Dunstan jerked his horse around, a combination of anger and fear erasing all thought. He raised his sword high. Eyes rounded in fear, Chien dOr scrambled backwards like a crab on a beach. Dunstan swung hard, aiming for the jugular vein. Blood spurted. Dunstan knew he had dealt a fatal blow. That will teach you to steal my sword, you filthy liar.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lorenzo and his companions had traveled about a league when Miguel, in the lead, raised her hand to signal a halt. She jabbed her index finger to the right. Instinctively, Lorenzo reached for his musket, but then remembered that the powder was still wet. He drew his knife instead and wished he had a long-range weapon. A brown-haired boy wearing only a breechcloth and moccasins limped downhill. Help me! he yelled. Please. Lorenzo spurred Piata to the boy, flung himself off, and rushed to him. An Apache woman riding bareback charged over the hill, reins in one hand, a long, wicked-looking knife in the other. Lorenzo recognized her as Raven Feather, wife of Chien dOr. With a piercing scream, she galloped toward Lorenzo and the boy. They leaped aside just in time. Miguel dashed forward, sword held high. In an impressive display of horsemanship, the Apache woman brought her horse to a jarring stop and whirled. She spat out a curse, slapped her legs against her horses side, and barreled straight toward Miguel. Miguel charged. When she was even with the Apache woman, she slashed at her.
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Raven Feather ducked and dodged the blow. Both of them turned. Their horses thundered forward again. A dagger whistled past Lorenzos ear and thudded into Raven Feathers chest. She slumped, then fell from her horse. Lorenzo approached cautiously. With his foot, he rolled her over. Her body flopped like a rag dolls. Blood seeped around the knife blade. He pulled it from her chest and cleaned it on the grass. Your knife, Mrs. OShaughnessy. Without comment, Soledad took it and slipped it back into its sheath. Lorenzo glanced at the boy for his reaction to Raven Feathers death. He was scowling fiercely. Lorenzo whistled for Piata, and she dutifully trotted over. He dug into his saddlebags, found a piece of dried beef, and offered it to the boy. Large, solemn eyes stared at Lorenzo. He grabbed it and bit off a huge chunk. I thank thee, sir. Whats your name? Thomas, the boy said. Thomas Hancock, sir. Its a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hancock. My name is Lorenzo Bannister. He offered his hand. The boy stared at it. All color drained from his face. Lorenzo touched Thomass shoulder. Whats the matter? Thomas twisted away as if a red-hot poker had touched his skin. His eyes flared in panic. Please dont kill me. Why would I do that? Lorenzo asked in dismay. He and Dujardin shared a look of confusion. Dujardin smiled charmingly at the boy. Bo njo ur, Thomas. My name is Jean-Paul Dujardin. His voice was smooth and reassuring, his English heavy with a French accent. I am a gentleman. You are safe, yes? I promise. He slowly extended his hand.
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The boy stared at it a moment before he gave it a mild shake. A mans word, once given, was better than a written guarantee. No one would go back on it and risk losing honor. Why an English boy here? Dujardin asked. Thomas hesitated. He looked from Dujardin to Lorenzo and back again. Lorenzo strolled away, leaving the interrogation to Dujardin since Thomas thought him a cold-blooded murderer. He watched them out of the corner of his eye. Dujardin listened to the boy, nodded in sympathy, spoke briefly with him, then motioned for Lorenzo to return. Thomas was captured by Chien dOr and his gang, Dujardin explained in French. The woman Soledad killed was Raven Feather, Chien dOrs wife. She was taking care of him, but he managed to escape. What was Thomas doing in Texas in the first place? Captain, Dujardin said quietly, he is in Dunstan Andrewss service. Lorenzo went numb. The redcoats knew about the mission. Dujardin switched back to stilted English for the boys benefit. Thomas will now say. Holding Lorenzos gaze, Thomas said, I know I am a prisoner of war and give my word as a gentleman not to escape. Lorenzo frowned at Thomas. Do you understand what will happen if you try to escape? Yes, Captain. Lorenzo let out a long sigh. He didnt relish killing an escaping prisoner, especially a boy Thomass age. Thomas said Saber-Scar is working with Chien dOr. The British have infiltrated Texas? No. Saber-Scar is working on his own. Apparently, Chien dOr is, too. He was cast out of his tribe. Thomas
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said Saber-Scar has vowed to kill you. Lorenzo scanned the piney woods. It was hardly comforting to know that a man who wanted you dead was on the prowl.
Chapter Thirty
Dunstan followed the tracks of the wounded mans horse. From time to time, drops of blood dotted the ground. Hoof prints crossed the trail of a small herd of cattle, and the horse veered abruptly after them. Tracks headed to the northeast. All day Dunstan had seen outlaws capture cattle. If his calculations were right, this was the only group left. Raindrops rattled the leaves. Lorenzo, soaked and grumpy, wished the weather would improve but doubted that it would. A lead-colored sky stretched from horizon to horizon. Horses, cattle, men, and equipmentall were sopping wet. He counted noses. Nearly everyone was missing. The herd had been reduced from five hundred to fifty, and he had no idea where the remuda of horses might be. The wagon was gone, so they had no food and would have to forage off the land. He hoped the vaqueros and missing cattle were heading to Nacogdoches. Thomas rode herd with Dujardin. Thank goodness he had given his pledge not to escape. Lorenzo needed the extra hand. He scouted ahead of the rest. Topping a hill, he rolled his eyes skyward and whispered, Thank you! The Kings Highway cut through the dale below. He had never seen a more welcome sight.
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Lorenzo looked back at his bedraggled band. He wished they could rest for a couple of days in Nacogdoches, but that was impossible. They would have to hurry in order to meet the flatboats on time. A horse nickered and emerged from a grove on the ridge across the way. At first, Lorenzo thought it was riderless, until he realized someone was hunched over the neck, clinging to the mane. An arrow protruded from the horsemans side. Lorenzo touched his moccasins to Piatas side. She dashed away, jumping a small brook, clambering up a muddy bank. It was Sebastin, one of Miguels soldiers. His horse drooped with exhaustion. Lorenzo pulled alongside and leaped off. He secured the reins of both horses to a low branch and helped Sebastin down. Cringing at the mans groans of pain, he laid him on his uninjured side on a bed of wet leaves. Lorenzo checked the wound, recalling what his father had taught him. Use your head. Assess the situation. Where is the wound and how deep is it? Is it bleeding heavily? Upon examination, it looked like Sebastin had been lucky. Very lucky. The arrow had missed a vital organ. Even so, Lorenzo knew that arrows killed by making victims bleed to death. He curled his fingers around the arrows shaft, said a quick prayer, and pushed the arrow through, trying not to hear the mans screams. Lorenzo cleaned the wound as best he could and pressed his hand to it. Ill be right back, Sebastin. He dashed to his horse and retrieved his m o chila . After cleaning the wound, he applied a bandage. Lorenzo sensed a presence and looked up. A man on horseback headed toward him. Sword in hand, face expressionless, he dismounted. Lorenzo stared in disbelief. Saber-Scar. Saber-Scar, the man repeated with a forced smile.
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How droll. Lorenzo bounded up, scrambled to Piata, and drew his musket. Saber-Scar gave him a scornful look. It wont fire, Bannister. Not in weather like this. Like any good woodsman, Lorenzo kept his musket primed at all times. He had cleaned out the sludge and put in more powder. Even if the musket would fire, it would only succeed in stampeding the few cattle he had left. Saber-Scar took a menacing step forward, sword at the ready. Simplify your life and surrender. I wish to take you alive. Lorenzo gripped the gun barrel, rushed toward Saber-Scar, and swung it like a club. The rain-soaked musket clanged against the steel blade. Sword and musket sailed into the air. Both landed among wet leaves. Saber-Scar scrambled to retrieve his weapon while Lorenzo dashed to Sebastins horse and drew his sword from the saddle scabbard. What a scrappy little fellow you are, Saber-Scar sneered. I shall fight you if you wish, but I much prefer you uninjured. Youll be worth more on the auction block that way. Auction block? Lorenzo hid his surprise at the remark. It sounded as if Saber-Scar knew about his past, but how could that be? Oh, yes. A cold smile grew on Saber-Scars face. I know your little secret. Anger coursed through Lorenzo. He slashed at SaberScar. Saber-Scar parried the blow easily, pinning Lorenzos sword tip to the ground. Ah, I see I have struck a nerve. Lorenzo pulled free, swiping again, but missing. Saber-Scar laughed. No one bests me with a blade, Bannister. Surrender now. I do not wish to damage valu-
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able property. Never. Fist on hip, Saber-Scar smugly lunged and ripped Lorenzos sleeve. One. Then, with a flick of the wrist, he nicked Lorenzos left arm. Two. Pain lanced through Lorenzo. It was just a scratch, but it drove home his opponents skill level. Saber-Scar was toying with him. Give up before I truly have to hurt you, Lorenzo. Lorenzo . . . Might that be your slave name? Lorenzo didnt answer, realizing Saber-Scar was taunting him, trying to make him angry and reckless. He focused on his enemys eyes and put all his strength and concentration into an attack he knew could be the difference between life and death. His opponent retreated. Lorenzo was relentless. Every time he slashed and stabbed, he forced Saber-Scar to dodge and retreat. A ferocious duel ensued. Swords rattled until Lorenzos arm ached from the battle. Saber-Scars chest heaved from exertion. He lifted his blade, roared with frustration, and swung wildly. Lorenzo, in total control now, easily parried the blow. Saber-Scars face twisted with rage. He paused, panting, then charged in desperation. A falling curtain of rain turned the ground treacherously slick. Both of them slipped on mud and wet leaves. Lorenzo regained his balance and stared directly into Saber-Scars eyes, taunting him. Saber-Scars nostrils flared. Mouth twisted in determination, he lunged again. His sword whistled in the air. Lorenzo leaped back, the blade tip barely missing his stomach. Saber-Scar attacked again. Lorenzo parried, a new enthusiasm guiding him. Anger made Saber-Scar reckless. His thrust went wide. Lorenzo felt a tree at his back. He pretended to stumble on a root. His opponent lunged, sword blade aimed at Lorenzos stomach. Lorenzo jumped aside.
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About to slam into a tree, Saber-Scar thrust out a hand to break his forward motion. By the time he whirled, it was too late. Lorenzo pressed his sword tip to Saber-Scars chest, pinning him to the bark. Drop your weapon, he said. Saber-Scar didnt move. Now. When no response came, he eased the blade further, just enough to draw blood. Saber-Scar tossed his sword aside. Lorenzo twisted the point of the blade. His heart told him to kill this viper, but his head told him not to slay an unarmed man. That was murder, pure and simple. You could kill me and have your revenge, SaberScar rasped, but if you do, information you need dies with me. Keep talking, Lorenzo said. But it better be interesting. Was this some kind of trick? Was Saber-Scar merely playing for time? We have a hideout on the Mississippi River. I know where it is. I could take you there. Alarmed, Lorenzo thought about the flatboats. Hooves clattered behind Lorenzo. He glanced over his shoulder. Thomas slid down from his horse. Saber-Scar brightened. Pick up the sword, son. Run him through. In his peripheral vision, Lorenzo watched Thomas closely and hoped the boy remembered his pledge. As a prisoner of war, he could not bear arms. The boy picked up the sword and examined the blade, then smiled sadly at Dunstan. I thought thee a friend. I admired thee greatly. He uncurled his fingers and let the sword fall to the ground. Remember leaving me with Chien dOr? I was coming back for you. Raven Feather said Chien dOr was going to capture the cattle and kill all the vaqueros with thy help.
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Lorenzo absorbed this news. The deadly steel blade in his hand was getting heavy. Where are the vaqueros? No answer. Lorenzo thrust his blade a little deeper. Saber-Scar winced in pain. He didnt answer. He didnt have to. Lorenzo knew they were dead. Where are the cattle? I dont know. Chien dOrs men led them off. All of them? Except the ones you have. Miguel and Dujardin rode up and dismounted. Too emotionally drained to think clearly, Lorenzo said, Lieutenant, please take over. With pleasure. Miguel ordered Dujardin to tie Saber-Scars wrists behind him and search him for weapons. Lorenzo rushed over to Sebastin and placed two fingers on the mans neck. There was no pulse. Lorenzo lowered his head and said a prayer.
Chapter Thirty-One
Iron Bear rode through the piney woods with ten braves at his side. The land yielded a rich bounty. Squirrels, rabbits, and quail filled their game bag. He focused on vultures circling in the distance, riding the wind. Something over the ridge was dead or dying. Maybe a deer. Maybe something more serious that he should know about. Kokotil! he shouted. Come with me! A warrior who had seen twenty summers dutifully trotted his horse over. Taking the lead, Iron Bear threaded his way through a stand of trees. He crested a ridge and waited for Kokotil. Together they headed downhill toward feasting vultures that flapped away at the horses approach. Barely recognizable, Chien dOr lay face up in puddled blood. Kokotil took an audible breath of air. A bad life ends in a bad death, Iron Bear said with a sigh. He turned his horse and rode away. After burying Sebastin, Lorenzo and the others traveled for an hour in pouring rain. Nacogdoches, nestled among tall pines, came into view. It consisted of a cluster of wooden buildings, two corrals, and a small, enclosed graveyard. Lorenzo recalled the day settlers from Nacogdoches arrived in San Antonio. How they had grumbled and
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complained about leaving this place! The king feared for their safety. In 1773, he ordered everyone to leave the Spanish outpost and move to San Antonio. Thats Nacogdoches? Miguels voice conveyed deep disappointment. Yep. Mad re d e Dio s! I expected . . . Miguel lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. Lorenzo cocked his head. Youve never been in this part of the province? Never. This is where the French explorer La Salle was killed. Upon reaching Nacogdoches, they herded the cattle into a corral, then headed to the largest building. Dujardin remained outside to stand guard. They entered a dirt-floored room about ten feet by ten feet. Lorenzo looked around. It wasnt much, but at least it would shelter them from the constant rain. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Some of the mortar from between the logs had fallen out, allowing small rays of light to infiltrate. Miguel forced Saber-Scar to sit in a corner. Be a good boy, she said sarcastically, or I get the honor of shooting you. Hands tied behind him, the defeated Englishman drew his knees tight to his chest and laid his forehead on them. Soledad and Thomas rested in the opposite corner. A strange quiet descended upon the room. No one spoke. They all sat wrapped in their own thoughts. The tribe will eat well for many days, Kokotil said. Iron Bear nodded in agreement, satisfied with the days hunt. Arrows had flown true and had brought
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down three deer. Two men had stayed behind to dress them while the rest continued the hunt. Pulling his horse up short, Iron Bear hooded his eyes with a hand and stared in disbelief. His companions stopped beside him and followed his line of sight to the rust-colored bull across the creek. It had a blaze on its forehead and bore a circle topped with a cross on its rump. Iron Bear knew that brand well. As a youth, long before his braids had turned silver, he had worked on the mission ranch. It was the summer the tribe had been driven south by Comanches and had taken refuge with the monks at Mission San Antonio de Valero. More cattle emerged from the woods. Where were they coming from, and why were they so far from the mission? The answer became obvious when Iron Bear spotted the men driving them: the French rustlers Chien dOr had brought into the camp. In a hostile gesture, they pulled arrows from their quivers and set them in bow strings. Chief Iron Bears men acted on instinct and responded in kind. They waited. It was a standoff, neither side anxious to fire the first shot. Tension hung in the air. The awkward moment stretched. Suddenly, a rustler jerked his bow up. Fear shivered through Iron Bear to see it aimed straight at him. Before he could react, an arrow whirred through the air and hit the rustler in the stomach. He doubled over, then toppled from his horse. The other warriors followed Kokotils lead and fired a volley of arrows. The three remaining rustlers were shot through the heart. Iron Bear urged his horse forward and surveyed the corpses. He sensed Kokotil beside him. You saved my life.
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I couldnt let any harm come to you. You still owe me two horses. Iron Bear laughed. It warms my heart to know I mean so much to you. You can buy a lot with two horses! Kokotil exclaimed. Iron Bear ordered his men to round up the cattle, and they obeyed without question. As he watched, a terrible thought came to him. Spanish soldiers were probably out looking for the stolen cattle. If they found Iron Bears men with them, they would assume they were rustlers. He and his braves could be in bad trouble.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Iron Bear drifted to the back of the herd. He needed to be alone so he could think. How could he get rid of the cattle? He prayed for guidance. The sound of creaking wheels rode the breeze. Puzzled, Iron Bear turned. To his amazement, a wagon emerged from the woods. He expected a patrol of Spanish soldiers, not a wagon. Iron Bear stared at the man driving it. His hair looked like it was on fire. Iron Bear had never seen hair like that. Clearly, this was a sign. But what a filthy sign it was. The mans clothes were mud-spattered, and he had dark rings under his eyes. Iron Bear waited by the side of the road. The red-headed man slowed the wagon and squinted at him, obviously sizing up the threat Iron Bear posed. His hand slid to his pistol. Bueno s d as , Iron Bear said, struggling to remember a language he hadnt used in years. You speak Spanish, the driver said in surprise. I learn from monks when vaquero. The man nodded toward the cattle. Mine. Iron Bear lifted an eyebrow. Yours? Yes. Big storm. Cattle run . . . The man flicked his fingers out, indicating they had scattered. Stampede, Iron Bear said, recalling a word that struck terror in every vaqueros heart. Yes! Stampede! The mans face lit, as if a sudden
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idea had come to him. He took a gold coin from his pocket. You. Me. Cattle. We take to the Mississippi. Iron Bear rubbed his beardless chin and considered the offer. How much you pay? Five Spanish pillar dollars. Ten. The man nodded. Ten for each man, Iron Bear said, to make sure there was no confusion over the amount. The man paused and counted heads. He let out a low whistle. Ten for each man. A generous offer. Spanish money would buy food if game got scarce in the winter. This would work out well for his tribe. Recalling the way Spaniards sealed a deal, Iron Bear thrust out his hand. The man shook it firmly. Iron Bear sent two warriors home with the captured game to feed the tribe and the message that he and the others would return by the full moon. Lorenzo kneaded his forehead and looked around the room. The silence grated on his nerves. He hadnt realized until this moment how accustomed he had become to the vaqueros constant singing. They were gone. Lorenzos mind rebelled against that fact. He squeezed his eyes shut. Anxiety gnawed at the pit of his stomach. His first command was an utter failure. All this work, all this loss of life, for nothing. What should he do now? Send a messenger to Colonel De Glvez warning him about the British? Lorenzo immediately rejected the idea. He needed every hand. He pulled out his calendar and winced at the date. The flatboats were due at the agreed-upon rendezvous point any day now. There wasnt enough time to send a
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message. He ran his hand through his hair. He had failed. Fifty head of cattle! That was all he could deliver to General Washington. But a larger problem loomed. The British outpost. If only he knew where it was . . . if only he knew how many redcoats were there. He squatted in front of Saber-Scar. Where is the hideout? Saber-Scar didnt react to the question. Lorenzo forced his head up and asked again. Where is it? Still no response. Lorenzo was about to search Saber-Scars pockets when a commotion started beyond the walls. It sounded like cattle lowing. At first, Lorenzo thought it came from the corral. Then he heard voices he didnt recognize. The cabin door burst open. Dujardin, eyes wide in surprise, stepped inside. Red is here! he exclaimed. Lorenzo rushed outside, leaving Dujardin with orders to guard Saber-Scar and Thomas. Everyone else followed close behind. Soledad flew to her husbands open arms. They held each other tight and cried. Lorenzos heart lodged in his throat. He had given Red up for dead. Welcome back, Lorenzo said in a voice heavy with emotion. His gaze went to Apaches on horseback driving fifty or so head of cattle toward the corral. Soledad! an elderly man with silver braids called out. He slid down from his horse and strode toward her. Soledads face shone with joy. He opened his arms wide, and she stepped into his embrace. She hugged him tight, then stepped back. Id like you to meet Iron Bear, chief of my tribe. Lorenzo dipped his head. It is an honor, sir. Miguel bowed.
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After driving the cattle into the corral, Iron Bears men joined them. One of them tilted his head, eyed Miguel curiously and slipped over to her. Saying nothing, he studied her up and down, then walked around her. With a grunt, he stood at her side. She looked at him with evident distaste and folded her arms across her chest. Im glad youre back, Lorenzo said to Red. I didnt expect you to bring company. Didnt expect to bring company. Red told Lorenzo about running into Iron Bear and his warriors. Me and the chief got to know each other pretty good on the way here. He seems like a regular fellow. So how did you end up with the wagon and the cattle? Lorenzo asked. Red scratched his neck in embarrassment. Somehow I got lost during the stampede. You werent lost. Miguels gaze slid to Lorenzo. She smiled. You just didnt know where you were. Red laughed. By the time my horse stopped running, there werent nobody around. Decided to head due east to the Mississippi and follow it south. Got lucky and happened upon wagon ruts. Found the wagon but the cook wasnt nowhere around. Chien dOrs gang attacked after the stampede, Lorenzo said, and killed the vaqueros. Red drew his mouth into a tight line. I dont think thats what happened to the cook. There wasnt any blood in the wagon. I bet he fell off during the stampede. Well probably never know, Lorenzo said. What we do know is that the British have an outpost and they intend to ambush the flatboats. Reds whole body tensed. The Brits have an outpost? Where? How did you learn that? Lorenzo explained what had happened in his absence.
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Good Lord, Captain! If we lose the Mississippi, the war is over. The Brits are to the north in Canada and to the south in Florida. They can attack by sea up and down the eastern coast. If we lose the west, the Brits have us surrounded. All they have to do is tighten the noose and were dead. I know. I was just about to search Saber-Scar for information when you arrived. Lets do it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
With Red at his side, Lorenzo went back inside and walked over to Saber-Scar. He hadnt moved and still sat hunched over, with his hands bound behind him. Thomas was across the room. It looked like he was trying to put as much distance as possible between him and Saber-Scar. Red came to a dead halt when he saw Thomas. Whered the boy come from? Lorenzo explained it to him and introduced Thomas. The boy swiped hair out of his eyes with one hand and offered the other to Red. Tis a pleasure to meet thee, sir. Frowning slightly, Red shook hands with the boy. Likewise. Where is the hideout? Lorenzo asked Saber-Scar. No response. Lorenzo began to search his pockets. Saber-Scar cursed and spit in his face. Anger flashed through Lorenzo. He punched SaberScar in the jaw. Do that again, Lorenzo growled as he wiped away spittle with his sleeve, and Ill beat you to a pulp. Saber-Scar glared defiance at him but behaved. Lorenzo riffled through Saber-Scars pockets. The only thing he found was an elegant-looking document filled with flourishes. He unfolded it. Saber-Scar is a diplomat, he said in disbelief. And Im king of England, Red said.
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Look at this, Lorenzo said, showing him the paper. This changes everything. It changes nothing, Red growled. Hes still a lying British dog! But now hes a lying British dog with diplomatic privilege. That complicates matters. This is something Colonel De Glvez will have to deal with. What about the boy? Ill send him home. Thomas, where do you live? The boy looked surprised. Hancocks Bridge, New Jersey. As Lorenzo refolded the paper, he suddenly realized that humidity had made pages stick together. He unfolded a second one and drew a long breath. What? Red asked, peeping over his shoulder. Saber-Scar has the letter from General Washington and Patrick Henry asking for Texas beef to feed the Continental Army. How did he get hold of that? I wish I knew. The last time I saw it, it was in Colonel De Glvezs study. Hands clenched, Thomas stalked toward Saber-Scar. Liar! he screamed. Thou said thou found nothing in the colonels study! Lorenzo grabbed Thomass arm and held him fast. Thomas tried to pull away. His gaze burned a path to Saber-Scar. Thou hast proof! This whole trip was useless! All this killing because of thee! The lives wasted! Saber-Scar looked at the boy and shrugged. Thomas turned to Lorenzo. Sir, he said in a voice smoldering with anger, I know where the British hideout is. Its on the Spanish side of the river. We were there Shut up, you turncoat! Dunstan bellowed. Lorenzo blinked in surprise and listened carefully as Thomas gave him the directions to it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lorenzo stepped outside and called everyone over, including Chief Iron Bear and his men. Sunshine broke through the cloud cover for the first time in days. Lorenzo took that as a good sign. At least the weather was cooperating. Squatting in the clearing, Lorenzo picked up a stick and drew a map in the mud showing their present location, the Mississippi River, the rendezvous point, and the Kings Highway from Nacogdoches to Fort Saint Jean Baptiste. He looked up and found everyone frowning in concentration. Heres the situation, Lorenzo said. I just learned where the British hideout is. We need to destroy it before the flatboats arrive. That means we have to break into two groups. Someone will have to deliver the cattle to the flatboats at the rendezvous point. Lorenzo shifted his gaze to Chief Iron Bear. Red tells me you and he have a financial arrangement. You and your men have agreed to drive the cattle to this spot on the Mississippi. The chief looked at Soledad, who translated from Spanish to Apache. Iron Bear gave a firm nod. The men on the flatboats will pay you for the cattle. Soledad dutifully translated, and the chief again nodded. Lorenzo continued. The rest of you will come with me. We have to take out the hideout. He clapped his hands together. Lets go. Everyone attended to last-minute detailsfilling can152
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teens, replenishing saddlebags with hardtack, jerky, ammunition, and dry muskets from the wagon. Lorenzo slipped a pistol, tomahawk, and long knife under his belt. Miguel sidled over to him. Captain, it appears youve forgotten a minor detail. Lorenzo frowned. What? What do you intend to do with Saber-Scar? Lorenzo blew out a long breath. They had to travel fast, and a prisoner was a complication he didnt need. You arent entertaining nasty thoughts about him, are you? Dont worry, Lieutenant. I dont intend to harm an unarmed prisoner. Miguel followed him to the building where Dujardin was guarding Saber-Scar. Lorenzo pulled Saber-Scar up from the floor, blindfolded him, and slipped a gunny sack over his head. Bloody hell, he exclaimed, bending over and shaking it off. I wont wear a hood! May I, Captain? Miguel asked, grinning wickedly, holding up a bandanna. Be my guest. Miguel stuffed the bandanna in the prisoners mouth, put the sack back in place, and tied it loosely around his neck. Next, Miguel looped a rope three times around Saber-Scars chest and led him outside. With Reds help, she foisted him onto a horse. Miguel then tied the prisoners feet to the stirrups. Im impressed, Lieutenant, Lorenzo said. Ive transported his kind before. You cant take too many precautions. Captain, Saber-Scar will slow you down. Furthermore, you cant take him with you for fear he will somehow alert the British to your presence. What are you suggesting? That I be in charge of the prisoner. Ill make sure he arrives safely in New Orleans.
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Lorenzo tried to think of a way to avoid leaving her alone with Saber-Scar, but nothing came to mind. Thank you, Miguel. If anyone can do it, you can. Ill see you in New Orleans, Miguel said brightly. In fact, Ill bet I beat you there. In that case, I have a favor to ask of you. He took the presents he had bought for Eugenie from his saddlebags and handed them to Miguel. See that Eugenie gets these. It would be better if you delivered these in person. Yes, it would. He and Miguel exchanged a look, and he could tell what she was thinking. No matter what, I want her to have these. Miguel took them. Lorenzo said a silent prayer for Miguels safety and swung up on Piata. He joined Red, Dujardin, Thomas, and Soledad already on horseback. He gazed at his forces. Thomas said there were twelve British soldiers at the hideout. Including himself, he had five people. He mentally corrected himself. No. Four. Thomas didnt count because he couldnt bear arms. It would hardly be an even fight, but they had the element of surprise on their side. Iron Bear lifted his hand in farewell. May the spirits ride with you, Young Chief. Soledad whispered a translation to Lorenzo. Thank you, Chief, Lorenzo said. He offered Iron Bear a low bow. They set out on the Kings Highway, a straight shot from Nacogdoches to Fort Saint Jean Baptiste.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Miguel mounted up and grabbed the reins to SaberScars horse. A feeling of doom settled over her to watch the others ride away. She was alone in unfamiliar territory with six strangers, a cutthroat, and a hundred or so head of cattle. She was far more afraid than she cared to admit. As usual, Cabezn led the way. The Apaches fanned out around them. All except Kokotil, a brave about her age. He left the others, pulled alongside her, and spoke to her. She answered in fluent Apache. He looked dismayed as she explained that she had grown up with Soledad and had learned the language from her. From time to time, Iron Bear twisted around to see if Kokotil was still talking to the soldier. It amused him to see the two of them strike up a conversation. He wondered how they were communicating. Kokotil rejoined him. It looks like you made a friend, Iron Bear remarked. A strange friend. I cant figure it out. Theres something odd about that soldier. What? Dont laugh, Kokotil said. I think hes a woman. Iron Bear tried to keep a straight face but couldnt. His companion glared at him through slitted eyes. I
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bet my best mare that is a woman. A woman warrior. Iron Bear chuckled at the thought. It takes a brave man to voice such an opinion. It takes a smart man to know a woman when he sees one. Again, Iron Bear chuckled. A sense of humor was a great asset in a leader. So was self-confidence. At that instant, Iron Bear was sure he had picked the right man to take his place as chief. Lorenzo and his companions traveled at top speed, stopping only when they had to rest the horses. Little by little, the landscape changed. Pines still soared about them, but were joined by magnolias, dogwoods, and wax myrtles. Sunlight struggled through the leafy canopy and speckled their path. The air smelled wet and heavy with peat. They traveled all night. By the next morning, they crossed the Sabine River, the boundary between the Province of Texas and the Louisiana Territory. Shortly before dusk on the third day, they arrived at Los Adaes, an old Spanish fort built in 1716 to keep the French out of Texas. The king of Spain had been somewhat less than amused to learn that La Salle and other French adventurers were exploring Spanish territory. While the others prepared supper, Lorenzo wandered around the fort. It saddened him to see Los Adaes abandoned and in disrepair. The chapel, guard house, barracks, wells, blacksmith shop, powder house, and corrals echoed with loneliness. He entered the chapel and looked around. Everything had been removed except for a few wooden benches. He dusted one off, sat, closed his eyes, and prayed. He had a difficult decision to make. What should he do about the horses?
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After three days of hard riding, they were nearly worn out. Some of them were going lame. Piata and Reds horse were in the best shape, but Lorenzo doubted that they could make it much farther. He hated himself for treating them this way. He had allowed them to forage and rest as much as possible, but now, they were spent. You look like a man with a problem. Lorenzo jumped. Soledad had come in as silent as a ghost and now sat beside him. The last time I was here, Lorenzo said, the fort was a beehive. Over a hundred soldiers lived inside these walls. I wish the king hadnt closed it. I could use some extra men right about now. You could have gotten some fresh horses, too. You need them more. Ours cant go much farther. Lorenzo laced his fingers together behind his neck and bent over. He was so tired he could barely think straight. Theres an abandoned French fort a few leagues away. Its on a river that flows into the Mississippi. I may have to leave the horses there. The tribes are friendly around here. Im sure I can talk them into trading canoes for horses. I hate to lose Piata. Life is full of hard choices. Lorenzo mustered a smile. It certainly is. After a refreshing nights sleep, they set out on horseback, reaching Fort Saint Jean Baptiste an hour later. Red and Soledad rode off with every horse. A lump formed in Lorenzos throat when he saw Piata leave. He loved that horse. An hour later, they came down river, Red paddling one canoe, Soledad in the other. After packing the canoes with muskets and ammunition, Lorenzo added his medical bag, but prayed he wouldnt need it. Thomas climbed in the lead canoe, and Lorenzo
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joined him. Red, Soledad, and Dujardin scrambled into the second one. Splash. Pull. Splash. Pull. Splash. Pull. Lorenzo and his crew whizzed down river, making good time. He was grateful they didnt have to row against the current, but worried about the possibility of an Indian attack. They were perfect targets. Moss-draped trees edged the riverbank and made it impossible to tell if they were being watched. By mid-morning, the Mississippi came into view. A fish made the mistake of breaking the surface of the placid water. An eagle swooped down and flew off with it. Captain! Thomas exclaimed. Were getting close. How can you tell? Thomas pointed to a blackened tree that had been struck by lightning. I remember seeing that just after Dunstan and I left the hideout. Were about a mile away. Lorenzo pulled to shore, and the other canoe followed. They grabbed their weapons and leaped out. He laid his index finger to his lips. In complete silence, they followed a path that ran parallel to the river, but was hidden by forest. Look, sir, Thomas whispered, pointing to smoke curling skyward. Lorenzos heart beat a little faster. He raised his hand to signal a halt. Thomas, I want you to stay here. Aye, sir. He handed Thomas a tomahawk. I know you dont believe in violence, but I dont want to leave you here defenseless. Thomas nodded and clutched the weapon. Lorenzo was surprised that the boy took it without protest. From then on, everything was done by gesture. They fanned out. Lorenzo carried his medical bag in one hand, his musket in the other. Making not a sound, they wove their way through the trees to a clearing. Fifty
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feet away sat a cabin no more than six feet by six feet. The smoke Thomas had spotted was coming from the chimney. A redcoat stepped outside carrying a wooden bucket and headed toward the river. Lorenzo and his crew ducked behind trees and bushes. He motioned for everyone to stay hidden. Red pointed upwards, signaling he was going to climb a tree to see what he could see. Slinging his musket over his back, he clambered up a pine and perched on a high limb. He gazed toward the river and splayed his fingers to indicate he saw five redcoats, then traced a stripe on his upper arm to indicate their military ranks. Four privates and a corporal. Where were the rest? Inside the cabin? Or out in the woods? It was impossible to tell. Lorenzo made himself comfortable. This could be a long wait. A tall, lanky man carrying an ax emerged. Number six, Lorenzo said to himself. The man went to the woodpile, removed his coat and began to chop wood. Soon, another redcoat came out, basket in one hand, musket in the other. He headed into the forest. Seven. The lumberjack was joined by an officer who stood beside him and chatted while he worked. Eight. Where were the other four? Lorenzo didnt dare attack until he was sure where they were. Dusk was falling. Evening birds began to sing from the trees. Lorenzos patience was wearing thin. He didnt relish spending the night waiting for something to happen, but there was one bright spot. The dark would bring everyone to the cabin for safety. He glanced up at Red and grinned. Red had found a nook where two branches came together and rested his back against the trunk. Flatboats round the bend! a deep British voice
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yelled from the rivers edge. Lorenzo strained to see them. Three musket-toting British soldiers spilled from the cabin and ran full tilt to the river about three hundred yards away. The people on the flatboats had no idea they were headed for an ambush. There was no time to warn them. Lorenzo glanced up at Red and mouthed Fire at will. Crouching, Lorenzo darted from tree to tree and dropped behind a cypress. Weaving and bobbing through the forest, his friends spread out and took cover to his left and right. Fifty yards away, the British lined up on the shore forming a wall of red and took slow, deliberate aim, targeting the flatboats. Muskets banged, spitting out fire. On board the flatboats, people screamed, ran, and hid behind whatever they found. Men in buckskin shouldered muskets and fired at the British. A woman in a hooded robe hunkered behind a barrel and wrapped her arm around a little girls shoulder. Red shot from the treetops, bringing down the British officer. It was standard military strategy to eliminate officers first. It would take about twenty seconds to reload. The surprised Brits swiveled. Fire! Lorenzo yelled. Flames burst from every muzzle, followed by puffs of smoke. Lorenzo, Dujardin, and Soledad brought down a man apiece. Everyone squatted behind trees to reload. Smoke wisped about, temporarily blocking the view. British soldiers hid behind trees lining the river, their backs to the water. They were trapped in the unenviable position of being shot at from both sides. From the treetop, a musket cracked, bringing down another redcoat, while another volley burst from the flatboats. Dujardin peeped out and aimed. A musket ball from a different direction struck
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Dujardin and spun him around. He sprawled face down. Musket in hand, Lorenzo dashed from one tree to the next, taking cover until he could reach out, grab Dujardins collar, and drag him to safety. The only sound in the forest was his low moans while Lorenzo checked his wound. It was unnerving, trying to keep an eye on the enemy without making yourself a target. Where had the unexpected shot come from? The twelfth redcoat, the missing man no doubt. Lorenzo suddenly realized Soledad was no longer hiding to his right. Long moments went by. The forest fell silent. A redcoat, hands raised in surrender, walked toward them. Red, still in the treetop, began to laugh. He climbed down faster than Lorenzo thought possible. Soledad prodded the captured soldier forward with a musket. This is the last one, Captain. He was down at the riverbank fishing when all the excitement began. The rest are dead. Red gave his wife a congratulatory hug. We are friends, a male voice called. It sounded like a New Englander. A small, blond man waving a tattered patriot flag eased into the clearing. We need help. We have wounded on the flatboats. Ill be right there! Lorenzo dropped his musket and grabbed his medicine bag. He ran to the flatboats tied up along the riverbank and jolted to a stop. Eugenie sat on a barrel and held a bloody cloth to her forehead.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Lorenzo splashed into the water and hopped aboard. Without thinking, he grabbed Eugenie and pulled her tight to him. He felt overjoyed and scared at the same time. He kissed her and she kissed him back. What are you doing here? he asked. I thought you were coming home by ship. The British captured Philadelphia. I had to flee with the patriots. Lorenzo hugged Eugenie tight. She was safe, and that was all that mattered. Let me see your forehead. He peered at her wound. You have splinters of wood lodged there. A musket shot probably hit some wood and sent chips flying. Molly wasnt so lucky. Eugenie pointed to a small figure on the flatboat deck. A man bent over her, caressing her forehead. Through half-closed eyes, Molly studied the man kneeling beside her brother. Relax, he said in a soothing voice. Im a doctor. I know. Youre Capn Bannister, Molly said. His eyes jumped from her wound to her face, then back again. Have we met? In General Washingtons camp. Dont talk, Bill said. Let him do his work. Lorenzo dug into his medical kit and pulled out a
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small jar. He put it to her lips. Drink. This will ease the pain. She swallowed and grimaced. Next, he took out a wicked-looking instrument. It reminded her of kitchen tongs. She watched in horror as they inched toward her wounded leg. She grabbed his hand. What are you doing with that? Extracting the bullet, Lorenzo said, prying her fingers loose. This will hurt a little, but Ill be as gentle as possible. Molly bit her lips to keep from screaming. She would be brave. She would not cry. She focused on Eugenie, standing behind Lorenzo, smiling down at her. Look here! Lorenzo held the instrument in front of her face and showed her a blood-soaked bullet. Compliments of the Brits. He passed it to Eugenie, who wrapped a handkerchief around it. A souvenir of your first battle with the British. Its not her first battle, Bill said, smiling with brotherly pride. Molly saw the British coming up Brandywine Creek. She alerted General Washington to the danger and nearly lost her life as a result. So youre a spy for General Washington! He reached in the medicine bag and held out a jar, then removed the stopper. A vile smell wafted into the air. You know what this is, Molly? No. It smells awful. She began to feel light-headed. Its monkey blood. Youre not going to put that on me, are you? Its not real monkey blood. Thats just the name my father always called it. Why? I dont know, but Im sure he had a reason. Molly sank into sleep although she tried to stay awake.
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Lorenzo tucked a blanket around her. Shell be fine, Bill. Shell have a scar, thats all. Her brother let out a long breath. Thanks, Lorenzo. In all the ruckus, I forgot to ask. Where are the cattle? Theyll be along shortly. We got some unexpected help from Lipan Apaches. Bill looked confused. Indians? You mean like that fellow? He pointed to shore. Thomas stood there, holding a tomahawk. Whos that? Eugenie asked. The boy he left in the forest, Thomas said, clambering over the edge of the flatboat. Thomas Hancock, maam. Im sorry, Lorenzo said. I forgot you were out there. Aye, and I missed all the fun, Thomas grumbled. Hes not the only thing I left in the forest, Lorenzo said to Eugenie. I brought you some presents from San Antonio, but I left them with Miguel. Whos Miguel? Thats a long story. Lorenzo gathered Eugenie in his arms and told her.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Four weeks later, Lorenzo and Eugenie headed to the gallows on the outskirts of New Orleans. Mo n d ieu! Eugenie exclaimed, looking around. It looks like the whole city is turning out for Saber-Scars execution. Lorenzo agreed. Along the way, he brooded over the cattle drive. In some ways, it had been a failure. In others, a resounding success. Miguel and his newfound friends had managed to deliver one hundred fifty head of cattle to the rendezvous point, not the five hundred General Washington needed. They had been slaughtered, salted, packed in barrels, and sent north by flatboat. Chief Iron Bear and his band had returned home while Miguel and SaberScar headed to New Orleans. Lorenzo wondered what had happened to the rest of the herd and the remuda of horses. He would probably never know. No, it hadnt worked out the way he had planned, but he took comfort in knowing he had done his best and had paved the way for future cattle drives. Still, Lorenzo had learned about the British ambush and stopped it. More importantly, he had kept the Mississippi open. Apparently, there were no British surprises along the Mississippi and the Ohio Rivers. The flatboats bringing Eugenie home had no problem until they reached the outpost established by Saber-Scar.
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The Mississippi River was vital. If the British had gained control of the waterways leading to General Washingtons back door, they would have cut off access to Spanish supplies and could have attacked on another front: the west. The war was far from over, Lorenzo mused. The British had captured Philadelphia, the capital of the United States, and the Continental Congress was on the run. Many who once declared themselves patriots had now turned their coats. These were dreary times. Clusters of people circled the gallows where SaberScar would hang. Lorenzo and Eugenie stopped on the fringe of the crowd. He spotted Bill and Molly heading into town. Worried that an infection might set in, Bill had decided to stay in Louisiana, close to medical care. Molly waved excitedly. Grabbing her brothers sleeve, she dragged him across the street to the spot where Lorenzo and Eugenie stood. Bo njo ur, Molly! Eugenie exclaimed. Youre looking well, Lorenzo said. Legs almost as good as new. See? Molly took a couple of steps. Lorenzo could tell she was trying hard not to limp. Youre a good doctor. Lorenzo smiled. My father was a good teacher. Both Molly and Dujardin had refused medical treatment from anyone except Lorenzo. He appreciated their show of confidence and was glad both were recovering nicely. Thomas threaded his way through the crowd and stopped in front of them. Good morning, everyone! He handed Lorenzo a rolled paper tied in blue ribbon. Lorenzo accepted it. That didnt take as long as I thought it would. A small miscalculation on thy part, Thomas said
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knowingly. Wanting to spare the lad the sight of Saber-Scars execution, Lorenzo had sent him on an errand on the other side of New Orleans. Bill spoke to Thomas. Molly and I are going back home tomorrow. We could take you to your home in New Jersey. I am home, the boy said flatly. I am officially Captain Bannisters ward. Lorenzo had taken Thomas in, just as Colonel De Glvez had taken him in. Thomas was brave and intelligent, with great potential, but Lorenzo would have to step sharp to stay ahead of him. The Hancock family would be disappointed to receive Thomass letter and learn he had become a fullfledged American rebel. The British would be even more upset to lose a talented little agent. Molly and I have some shopping to do before the trip, Bill said. If you will excuse us. He and Molly headed into town, away from the execution site. The sound of hooves, tramping feet, and a drumbeat sounded to the right. People stood on tiptoe and craned their necks to watch the procession. Spanish soldiers on horseback, led by the executioner, marched down the road. A priest rode beside Saber-Scar, giving him last rites, although the condemned man had stated he didnt want them. The redcoat captured by Soledad sat in the New Orleans jail. He had been in uniform and, according to the rules of war, would be exchanged for an American prisoner. Saber-Scar, however, wasnt so lucky. He had been given a trial and been found guilty for the deaths of the vaqueros and Miguels soldiers. Diplomatic privilege is not a license to ignore the law and commit crimes, Colonel De Glvez had pointed out when he sentenced Saber-Scar to die. Saber-Scars horse was led forward and positioned
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beneath the noose, facing the crowd. Greasy, unkempt hair framed Saber-Scars face. He had a jailhouse pallor. Dark rings circled his eyes. He scanned the crowd. Does the prisoner have any final words? the executioner asked. Saber-Scars gaze, a look as hard as flint, rested on Lorenzo. The executioner started to put a hood over Dunstans head. Wait. I do have something to say. He scanned the crowd again, slowly from left to right. An evil grin grew. May everyone in this accursed town rot in hell. In unison, the crowd gasped. Lorenzo was surprised, but knew he shouldnt have been. Saber-Scars heart was black. He would die as he lived. With no sorrow for his own actions. With scorn for all. Lets get out of here, Lorenzo said to Thomas. This is not a sight for a young boys eyes. The words stopped him cold. That was exactly what his father had said to him when Miguel came for an examination. Lorenzo suddenly realized that Pap lived on through him. He hoped he could be the kind of father Pap had been. Lorenzo, Eugenie, and Thomas walked away. There was the sound of a hand slapping a horses rump, a whinny of surprise, then the snap of rope. Timber creaked and shivered as Saber-Scars body swung back and forth. Thomas lowered his head, but kept on walking. He muttered something Lorenzo didnt quite catch. It sounded like, I told thee God would not go with thee. Lorenzos enemy was dead. Sergeant Dunstan Andrews, the erstwhile Saber-Scar, had proven a worthy opponent. What a shame he was on the wrong side. What a wasted life. Lorenzo felt no joy, only pity.
Resources for Teachers

El Camino Real, the Kings Highway, is the oldest highway in the United States. It still exists. Todays travelers can trace Lorenzos route from San Antonio, Texas, to Natchitoches, Louisiana, by taking State Highway 21, sometimes called the Old San Antonio Road. Texas Daughters of the American Republic (DAR) chapters and members have been instrumental over the years in placing commemorative markers along this road. Nacogdoches is the oldest town in Texas. Visit www.visitnacogdoches.org for more information or write the Nacogdoches Convention and Visitors Bureau, 200 East Main, Nacogdoches, Texas 75961. If you visit in person, be prepared to spell Nacogdoches and Natchitoches correctly. The museum curator asked me to do just that! (Natchitoches is pronounced Nak-uh-tish.) Oddly, Los Adaes, the first capital of Texas, is located in Louisiana, just outside Robeline. Fort Saint Jean Baptiste is a short distance away in Nachitoches, Louisiana. Mission San Antonio de Valero was founded in 1718. Commonly known as the Alamo, it has been under the care of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas since 1905. On the internet, go to www.nps.gov/saan for more information or write: Superintendent, San Antonio Missions National Historical Park, 2202 Roosevelt Avenue, San Antonio, Texas 78210. An excellent website by reenactors of La Compaa de Caballera de San Antonio de Bjar is located at www.soldados.org/Bejar. It offers pictures of so ld ad o s d e cuera and focuses on the years 176768.
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About Lila and Rick Guzmn

For several years, Rick and I talked about writing a book together, but we never could find a subject we both liked. Then one night, about 2:00 in the morning, Rick shook me awake with a burning question. Did you ever hear about the Spanish contribution to the American Revolution? Not being at my brightest at that time of night, I squinted up at him and said, What? I found something on the Internet. Ill bookmark it. Look at it tomorrow. The next day, after he left for work and the children headed to school, I went on the Internet and read the one-paragraph blurb that told about a secret flatboat mission in 1776 delivering Spanish supplies to George Washington. I called my husband at work. I have a Ph.D. in Spanish, I said, but I never heard about this. Thats the subject for our book, he replied. A little later, he went to the University of Texas and checked out books on the American Revolution. He spread them out on the dining room table and found a line here and there. When I looked at what he had done, I realized that he had outlined a series of books on the American Revolution outside the original thirteen colonies. Lo renzo s Secret Missio n was the first book in the series. At present, we are working on the next book. It begins in 1779 with a hurricane that rips through New Orleans, leveling the city and leaving the people vulnerable to a British attack. Rick and I write historical novels because there are scads of stories that need to be told. Our research often uncovers startling, little-known facts. A good example is 355, George Washingtons female spy. Rick and I have a long list of subjects we want to write about. We like to hear from our readers and enjoy talking to them. Contact us by email at lorenzo1776@yahoo.com. Please visit www.talk.to/lila for more information.
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LORENZOS

Lila Guzmn and Rick Guzmn

PIATA BOOKS ARTE PBLICO PRESS HOUSTON, TEXAS

In m em o ry o f the Lip an Ap aches, And the vaquero s, A vanished tribe,

Mestizo fo rerunners o f the Am erican co w bo y.

Lila and Rick Guzmn