Gone to Texas (38 page)

"Noelle."

She didn't turn from the window. Though he couldn't see her face, Christopher knew somehow that she was smiling.

"Stay away from us," warned O'Connor, almost spitting out the words. "Noelle's with me now. You're the one who uses people. You used her and then just threw her away. It's too late for you."

"I hope it's not too late for you."

O'Connor slammed the door in his face.

Captain Piedras was accustomed to being awakened at dawn by his orderly. But this morning Lieutenant Riaz was the one to wake him. Piedras took one look at his subordinate's face and knew something had happened.

"They have come," said Riaz.

"Travis?"

"He has brought the cannon."

Piedras was dressed in record time. His orderly always had his uniform ready, brushed out and immaculately clean, the boots polished to a high sheen. Buckling on his sword, Piedras strode out into the presidio yard.

"Have your company of lancers mounted and ready," he told Riaz, and strode across the hard-packed ground to the gate, where he climbed a ladder to an earthen parapet and gazed out over the hewn logs of the stockade wall.

A lone rider was approaching down the road from Anahuac, which skirted a salt marsh at the base of a low, brush-covered ridge. Beyond the marsh lay the bay. The dawn's early light silvered the tranquil surface of the water.

All Piedras could see of the rider at this distance was the flag of truce he was carrying, a strip of white cloth tied to the end of a crooked stick. The captain held out his hand. The orderly was ready as always, and something of a mind reader when it came to the captain's wishes. He promptly handed Piedras a field glass.

"It is Groves," said Piedras, focusing the glass on the lone rider.

He swept the glass further along the road to a collection of men, mules, and a wagon two hundred yards behind the horsemen. There were the brace of six-pounders. There, too, were Travis and Nathaniel Jones. Travis was sitting a dappled gray. The frontiersman stood in the back of a wagon, leaning on his long rifle. Piedras counted ten other men around the cannon. Next he scanned the brush on the ridge, but saw nothing out
of the ordinary there. He paid no attention to the salt marsh. There was no cover to be had there. Even a coyote could not have concealed itself in the salt marsh, assuming it did not sink out of sight in that soggy and treacherous ground.

With a smile he lowered the field glass and descended the parapet, where Riaz was watching his lancers form up.

"It would appear they have accepted my offer," said Piedras. "Orderly, bring my horse at once. Lieutenant, you and I will ride out to see what Señor Groves has to say for himself."

Christopher halted his horse a hundred yards from the presidio and waited until Piedras and the lieutenant emerged through the gate and rode up to him.

"Señor Groves," said Piedras, looking smug, "I take it you have come to surrender the cannon."

"No, sir. I've come to request that you release your prisoners."

Piedras was taken aback.

"Do you know about my grandfather?" asked Christopher. "In case you don't, let me tell you, he is one of the best shots there ever was. I wouldn't try anything, if I were you. At this range he couldn't possibly miss."

"Insolent fool!" muttered Riaz.

Piedras gestured sharply to silence the lieutenant.

"You should reconsider," he said coldly. "I will order the prisoners shot immediately if you do not bring those cannon to me this instant."

"Let them go unharmed or you'll regret it, Captain."

"How dare you threaten me! Surrender the cannon."

"Come and take them."

Riaz couldn't restrain himself any longer. Steel rasped against steel as he brandished his saber. With a shout he raised it to strike.

The bullet caught him dead center. Christopher clearly heard the impact. An instant later the report of
Nathaniel's flintlock rifle reached him. The saber fell from the lieutenant's hand as Riaz pitched backward off the horses.

Sitting his horse between the two six-pounders, Travis was watching Christopher and the two Mexican officers through his own field glass. "Splendid!" he exclaimed. "Right through the heart, Mr. Jones. A very commendable shot."

Reloading, Nathaniel said, "There's nothing very commendable about being a widow-maker, Mr. Travis."

Sawing on the reins to still his prancing horse, Christopher hurled the flag of truce into the dust of the road, glowering at Piedras. The captain, disconcerted, spared the body of Lieutenant Riaz a quick glance, then wheeled his horse and galloped back to the presidio. Christopher made haste up the road in the direction of the cannon.

"Think they'll come out?" asked Travis as Christopher checked his horse beside the wagon.

Christopher turned to look. This was the moment of truth. If Piedras remained behind those walls, all was lost. The minutes crawled like hours. Christopher had to remind himself to breathe. The tension was unbearable. The only man who seemed unaffected was Nathaniel. He was standing in the back of the wagon, leaning on the rifle again, completely calm and composed, watching the stockade like a hawk. Christopher's admiring gaze lingered on the tall, straight, buckskin-clad figure of the old leatherstocking. His very presence gave Christopher a much-needed dose of confidence.

"Here they come!" yelled Travis.

Piedras and his lancers were boiling out of the gate, charging down the road at full gallop, their lances flashing in the soft golden light of the just-risen sun.

Chapter 28

"Christopher, you were right about Piedras!" said Travis with a laugh. "He had to attack. It is his nature."

In stark contrast to Travis, who was flush and edgy with excitement, Christopher sat pale and rigid as a statue in the saddle. His voice was quite calm and steady as he reminded the gun crews to hold their fire until he gave the order. He knew that what he was asking of these untried and untrained men was exceedingly difficult. The lancers were a fearsome sight as they thundered up the road. Yet the farmers kept their nerve and stood their ground.

When the lancers were a mere fifty yards away Christopher shouted the order. "Fire!" The six-pounders spat flame and smoke. The carnage was terrible to behold as the grapeshot ripped through the horsemen. Men and mounts went down screaming. The blast stopped the charge cold and threw the Mexicans into disarray.

At that moment the rest of the men from Anahuac emerged from their places of concealment in the brush along the ridge and fired a ragged but highly effective volley into the lancer formation strung out along the road. The result was devastating. In a matter of seconds thirty lancers were killed or wounded—half the men Piedras had led out of the presidio. The captain himself was miraculously unscathed. He tried to rally his command. But a second blast of grapeshot from the six-pounders finished the job. The remnants of the lancers fled into
the salt marsh. The men pouring down off the ridge blocked their escape down the road.

The mounts of the lancers were immediately bogged down—some sank up to their bellies in the soggy ground. The Anahuacans swept forward across the road, yelling and shooting, an inexorable tide of buckskin and homespun. Through the white pall of powder smoke which hung heavy and acrid in the still morning air, Christopher saw Piedras slump forward in the saddle, wounded. Then he rose up and slashed at a nearby Texan with his sword. The Texan jumped back out of the way and fired his squirrel gun at near point-blank range. Piedras toppled off his horse to lie dead in the marsh, his once impeccable uniform splattered with blood and muck.

The lancers stood no chance. Their horses were immobilized in the salt marsh, and their lances were practically useless against the rifles and shotguns of the Anahuacans. It was just as Christopher had planned it. Though he had not seen the field with his own eyes, Travis had described it down to the last detail, and Christopher had made his dispositions accordingly. Yet he felt no satisfaction in seeing such brave men as these Mexican lancers fall.

In a matter of minutes the firing died down. The handful of lancers who were left threw down their weapons and raised their hands.

"By God, it worked!" said Travis. "Christopher, it worked perfectly!"

"Take charge of the prisoners," said Christopher. "Make certain no harm comes to them. And care for the wounded. Our
and
theirs." He glanced at Nathaniel. "Ready, Grandpa?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, lad."

Christopher dismounted, climbed into the wagon seat, and gathered up the leathers. Glancing over his shoulder at the six powder kegs in the wagon bed, he
gave the reins a hard flick to motivate the mules in the hitch. Nathaniel knelt behind the seat as the wagon trundled down the road. Up ahead, a dozen Anahuacans were engaged in a shooting match with about the same number of soldiers on the parapets. The gate had been closed. Christopher had expected that. He urged the mules into a reluctant gallop. As he barreled past the Texans he yelled, "Keep their heads down, boys!" The men gave a cheer and advanced in the wake of the wagon, firing as they came. A bullet splintered the weathered wood of the seat beside Christopher. Nathaniel's rifle spoke, and a soldier cartwheeled off the top of the wall.

Reaching the gate, Christopher turned the wagon sharply as he checked the mules. Now the Mexicans above had to lean out to fire directly down at them. A few tried, but the Anahuacans made them pay dearly for the attempt. As Christopher detached the hitch from the wagon and sent the mules on their way, Nathaniel broke open all six of the casks with the stock of his rifle. Working fast, they stacked the casks as the foot of the gate. Three men, one of them Tucker, ran up to help them tip the wagon over onto its side. Christopher hoped this would contain the blast.

A powder trail was made using one of the open casks. Christopher told the others to run for it. Drawing a pistol from his belt, he fired point-blank into the powder trail. The powder flared. He turned and ran. Ahead of him he saw one of the Texans go down, hit in the leg. Tucker and Nathaniel helped the wounded man up. They all took a few more strides and then the casks exploded and the blast hurled them to the ground.

When the rain of wood splinters ceased falling, Christopher got up and checked the damage, his vision blurred, his eyes burning in the smoke. There wasn't much left of the gate. Drawing the cutlass, he motioned for the Texans to follow him. He led the charge,
clambering over the debris of wagon and gate, bursting into the yard of the presidio. A soldier materialized out of the smoke and almost ran him through with a bayonet. Christopher struck the man's rifle aside with a downward stroke of the cutlass. One of the Anahuacans shot the soldier down. Christopher felt the man's hot blood spray his face. There were a few more shots fired, but the fight had gone out of the garrison. The Mexicans who were still standing surrendered.

It was over. Christopher felt suddenly listless and tired and a little nauseated. He just stood there, not seeing or hearing anything, looking at the body of the dead soldier at his feet. Nathaniel shook him out of it. They went to find Klesko and the Stroms.

Travis met them at the gate, looking solemn.

"You had better come with me, Christopher."

They walked up the road a hundred yards. Christopher saw the gray Travis had been riding, cropping at a clump of grass a few feet off the road. Lucas was standing near the horse. Then Christopher saw the body Lucas was standing over.

"We only lost three men," said Travis. "But I regret to inform you that one of them was your friend."

Christopher stared at O'Connor. The Irishman lay sprawled on his back, sightless eyes as blue as the Texas sky. A gaping bloody wound caused by a lance.

"He joined us up on the ridge," drawled Lucas. "Guess he didn't want to miss the shivaree. Fought like a devil."

"I wonder what made him change his mind," mumbled Christopher.

"We have won a great victory today," said Travis. "The men who fell on this field will be forever honored."

The words rang hollow to Christopher.

"I'll dance a jig . . . " he whispered, but couldn't finish.

Two days later, Christopher found Travis in his law office, packing books and papers into a small parfleche valise.

"I heard you were leaving," said Christopher.

"As should you, my friend. As should you. I wouldn't be surprised if we both had a price on our heads after what happened."

Christopher shrugged. "Who knows what the future holds in store. But that's not why you're leaving."

"No." Travis smiled like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He took a half-empty bottle of sour mash from a desk drawer and held it up. "Care to join me?"

"Don't mind if I do."

Travis poured two glasses and offered a toast. "To Texas. May she one day be a republic of free men."

Christopher drank to that. "You know, Will, the people here don't hold it against you."

"Perhaps not. If they have forgiven me, fine. But I cannot forgive myself. Someday, somehow, I will make it up to them."

"Know where you're going?"

Travis shook his head. "But we will meet again, Christopher. I feel it in my bones. Like you said, the Mexicans may not come tomorrow or next week or even next year. But they
will
come. And I will be there to meet them. As will you. I must admit, I have learned some important things from you. One has to do with running away. This is the last time you will see me turn tail and run, I promise you that." He grinned as though he was joking, but Christopher knew he wasn't.

Filling up the glasses, Travis knocked back another shot and gasped at the liquid fire exploding in his belly.

"So," he said, "your mother is on her way to Arcadia?"

"Yes. With my grandfather and Klesko. I'm waiting here."

"Waiting for what?"

"A ship to come in."

Travis corked the bottle and dropped it into the valise. He threw a quick, pensive look around the room. "You know, I never thought I liked this place—until today. Now I'm rather sorry to leave it." He sighed. "Funny, but I never have really felt as though I belonged, no matter where I went. And I just don't think being a lawyer is my true calling. But I know that somewhere out there is the answer. Do you belive in destiny, Christopher?"