Home of the Brave (34 page)

“Santa Anna ran away some
time during the battle,” Yank said to Marina. “Houston sent out
search parties for him the next day. He was disguised as a
muleskinner. His disguise was good enough that he might have
avoided capture if some civilian hadn’t bowed to him and called
him
El Presidente
. Even then he could have fooled them except that
muleskinners don’t usually wear silk underwear.”

She laughed. “You’re
kidding.”

Yank shook his head. “It’s
the truth. He also has a cork leg.”

“What?”

“He lost his leg some years
ago and had it buried with full military honors. He wears a false
leg that’s made of cork.”

“No,” she
cackled.

He raised his hand as if
taking an oath.

Marina laughed again. “So is
Texas a free country now?”

“No. Santa Anna signed a
treaty that the Mexican government’s almost sure to
disavow.”

“How can they? He’s the
President.”

“No, he’s a former dictator,
now a prisoner of war.”

“So what’s it going to take
for Texas to gain her freedom?”

“Another war and American
intervention,” he said. “But that won’t happen for a while. Are you
ready to go home?”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I need Sally’s
great-granddaughter to look at this leg and I’d like to see Robert
again.” He looked beyond her. “I guess I also need to see the house
without Uncle Thomas and Aunt Nannette so that stops eating at
me.”

“I didn’t know it
was.”

He shrugged.

“Why haven’t you mentioned
it before now?”

“You’d have said it was
silly.”

“Am I really that
hard?”

“You’re tough one. But I do
love you anyway.”

She looked away for a
moment. “Sally’s great granddaughter’s dead, John. She died soon
after you left. I postponed writing to you about it and then the
time never seemed right.”

“Oh, no,” he said sadly.
“The end of the Sally dynasty.”

“Not really. Abraham’s still
at Van Buskirk Point and so is his sister, Ginger. She’s never
married but he has six children. Oh, and a granddaughter that they
named Sarah and call Sally. She’s a beautiful child with startling
blue eyes.”

“That damn darky kid?” Yank
chuckled. “That’s all Uncle Thomas ever called Abraham.”

“Your Uncle Thomas left him
the house he lives in and forty acres of land.”

“Good. Our family owes
Sally’s family more than we can ever repay.”

October 22, 1836

Washington-on-the-Brazos,
Republic of Texas

The first democratic
election in the new Republic of Texas was concluded when Sam
Houston was sworn in as its first president with former private
Mirabeau B. Lamar as his vice-president.

In 1837 the capital would
move to the new town of Houston, Texas where Sam Houston divorced
his wife, Eliza Allen.

On December 10, 1838,
Mirabeau B. Lamar was inaugurated as President of Texas. The
nationalist faction, led by Lamar, advocated the continued
independence of Texas, the expulsion of all Indians, and the
expansion of Texas to the Pacific Ocean.

In 1841, Sam Houston was
again elected President and Texas policy once more favored the
annexation of Texas to the United States and peaceful co-existence
with the Indians.

Book Two

July 4, 1843

El Paso, Texas

Sheriff Jose Cordova had
been a bandit and pistolero of wide repute until he married Ramona
Gutierrez, the eldest daughter of Alcalde Ramón Gutierrez. “A
tinker reported that he saw this man, Lucky Billy Van, on
Washington Street last night,” he said to his assembled deputies.
“In April, Van killed the sheriff of Las Cruces and three of his
deputies, so I do not need to tell you that he is very dangerous.”
He gave the wanted poster to the closest deputy. “Pass that around.
I am having more printed.”

“I have seen this man only
yesterday,” another deputy said. “He is calling himself William
Lucky, not Billy Van.”

“Where did you see
him?”

“Playing poker at the Palace
Saloon. He is said to be keeping company with Señorita Laura
O’Grady.”

Cordova smiled. “Then we
will know where to find him this early in the morning.” He looked
at his deputies. “Before we go, let me remind you that Billy Van or
Bill Lucky is not just an ordinary bandito. He carries two
five-shot revolvers and is very quick to use them.”

~

Laura O’Grady was a saloon
girl by trade. Employed by the very popular Palace Saloon, she was
paid ten dollars a week plus tips and ten percent of all the drinks
that she shilled. Although intimate contact with customers was
strictly forbidden, the Palace’s management often looked the other
way, providing that the saloon girl was not charging money for her
company or changing partners too often. “Take me with you, Billy,”
Laura pleaded. “I’ve heard that San Antonio is very
modern.”

Billy Van was beside her in
bed, wearing only his silk top-hat and Mexican boots and smoking a
cheroot. “Modern? Indeed so. Only a half-century behind New York
and Chicago.”

“Don’t change the
subject.”

“I was not aware of doing
so. Were we not discussing the contemporary cosmopolitan nature of
that shining city to the northeast, which should properly be called
Saint Anthony?”

Laura started to answer but
screamed as the door to her room burst open and nine men rushed in.
Sitting up to cover herself with a bed sheet, Laura provided Billy
Van enough time to roll off the bed and locate his guns. Ten
minutes later, he and Laura climbed out the window and made their
way over the rooftops to the livery stable, leaving Sheriff Jose
Cordova and five of his eight deputies dead, and the other three
dying.

February 3, 1844

Washington-On-The Brazos,
Texas

“God damn it, Tom,” Sam
Houston shouted. “I’m the President of Texas. You can’t come
barging in here with your pistol cocked, demanding to see
me.”

“I didn’t even pull my
pistol,” Thomas Van Buskirk argued. “I just told your man out there
that I’d shoot him if he didn’t tell you that I was here. And now
that I’m in here I’m not leaving until we have it out over this
blasted Bird’s Fort Treaty you’ve agreed to.”

Houston walked into his
outer office where several heavily armed and excited Texas Rangers
had now assembled. “Everything’s okay. Go on back to whatever you
were doing. My friend is just agitated about something.” He
returned to his office and closed the door. “Sit down,
Tom.”

“I’ll stand, thank
you.”

“Suit yourself.” Houston
walked to his desk, pushed a folder toward Thomas, and then sat
down in his desk chair. “If you’ll read that you’ll discover that
there’s no definition or boundaries to the Comancheria.”

“Read it to me.”

Houston chuckled. “You don’t
trust me enough to sit down, but you trust me enough not to lie to
you about what the treaty says?”

“I trust you, but I don’t
trust your Rangers, and I can’t read without my
spectacles.”

Houston retrieved the folder
and opened it. “There are twenty-four articles. Do you want me to
read them in their entirety or summarize?”

“Neither. Just tell me what
it’s taking away from me and I’ll decide what I’m gonna do about
it.”

“There’s nothing you can do
about it, Tom. The Senate approved it and unless you shoot me, I’m
gonna sign it into law today.”

“I can raise an army big
enough to defend my land and my neighbors’ land from the Republic
of Texas, Indians or any other bandits that encroach on
it.”

“Article one says that the
parties will live in peace and that the existing state of war will
cease and never be renewed. Do you have a problem with
that?”

“No. And don’t be so damned
patronizing or I might change my mind and shoot you after
all.”

“Article two says that
neither party will ever make war on women and children. Article
three says the Indians won’t unite with enemies of Texas. Article
four says if Texas is at war with anyone, an Indian chief will
counsel with the President of Texas.”

“What the hell does that
mean?”

“I don’t know. The Senate
stuck that in there. I don’t understand it, but I don’t see any
harm in it. Article five says that Texas will appoint agents to
hear the complaints of the Indians. Six says that no one can go
among the Indians to trade except by the authority of the
government of Texas.”

“If we can’t trade with the
Comanche for our cattle they’ll steal ‘em and we’ll have to
fight.”

“You’ll be a licensed trader
so that article won’t matter so long as you don’t trade for whiskey
or guns.”

“You know me better than
that.”

“Yes, but that’s what
articles seven through ten are about.”

“Skip ‘em. What’s
eleven?”

Houston looked at the page.
“It says that nobody can pass the line of trading houses without
permission of the President and may not reside on or remain in the
Indians’ territory. Article nine says the same thing about no
Indians crossing the line but there’s no line defined.”

“Then you can’t sign it,
Sam. Worded like that, any damn magistrate can decide that I’m no
longer a licensed trader and that my ranch, or any of my neighbors’
ranches, is in the Indians’ territory.”

“You’re wrong. Nobody can
decide that your land or anybody else’s land is in Indian
Territory. The Constitution strictly forbids the Republic of Texas
from granting land rights to any power other than the Republic of
Texas. So the treaty can’t define Indian Territory without
violating the law, and your ranch can’t be given to the
Indians.”

“Well, Sam, that’s just
plain stupid, since it means the whole treaty is horseshit.” He
pointed out the window. “Do you think Buffalo Hump is gonna stand
for that?”

“It isn’t Buffalo Hump’s
problem. The full title of this document is
Republic of Texas Treaty with the Indigenous Nations of the
Delaware, Chickasaw, Waco, Tawakani, Keechi, Caddo, Anadahkah,
Ionie, Biloxi, and Cherokee
. There’s no
mention of the Comanches. That’ll have to be another
treaty.”

Thomas threw his hands in
the air in exasperation.

“Listen to me, Tom. By this
time next year, Texas is gonna be annexed into the United States.
When that happens, Buffalo Hump will be the problem of the U.S.
Army. All I’m tryin’ to do is hold everything together until
then.”

“Does that mean you don’t
intend to negotiate with the Comanche?”

“No. I’ll negotiate. But it
won’t get anywhere unless the treaty clearly defines the eastern
and southern boundaries of the Comancheria, and that’s not possible
without a Constitutional Convention and an amendment.”

March 23, 1844

Edwards Plateau,
Texas

“I see that you are right,”
Buffalo Hump said in Spanish. “What would you advise me to
do?”

Thomas Van Buskirk shook his
head. “I have no advice for you, only the news I have given
you.”

“What would you do if you
were me?”

“I would fight to the
death.”

“But I cannot
win.”

“No. But you can die with
honor on your own terms.”

“If I die so will the
Penateka Comanche.”

“Yes. That is the destiny of
all Indians, I fear.”

“What if I agree to go to
their reservation?”

“You might live longer to
die of old age, starvation or boredom. But it will be still be the
end of the Penateka Comanche.”

“If I talk to Houston will
he tell me the same things you do?”

Thomas shook his head. “No.
Houston will tell you that you will be happy on the
reservation.”

“Houston has never lied to
me before.”

“Houston might think that
you would be happy to live every day with no purpose or meaning to
your life. I think it would be an end to you and to the people who
follow you. Which of us tells the lie? Me or Houston?”

Buffalo Hump nodded sadly.
“How long do I have before the white man is everywhere?”

“Texas is about to become a
state in the United States. Your time may have already run
out.”

Without another word,
Buffalo Hump swung onto his horse and rode away. When Thomas
mounted and turned his horse toward home the war party that had
accompanied Buffalo Hump followed.

~

Thomas put the coffee pot
near the back of the fire then turned the bacon in the pan with a
fork. “You already have the drop on me,” he said loudly. “Either
shoot or come on in and share my supper.”