Land of the Free (39 page)

“You guess
right.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I
must have done a poor job.”

“No. I think it’s a perfect
likeness.”

“Then why do you seem
upset?”

“I also saw the portrait of
your wife.”

“And?”

“And she’s
beautiful.”

“Yes, she is.”

“And I’m a toad.”

He laughed. “The prettiest
toad in the pond.”

She slapped him gently on
the arm. “I’m being serious.”

He nodded. “I can see that.”
He thought a moment. “Marina is like a jewel: Lustrous, shimmering
and hard edged. You’re like a flower: Complex, fragrant and
soft.”

She took his hand. “You’re
the sweetest man.”

September 21,
1812

El Paso Del Norte, Province
of Tejas

“I’ll see your five and
raise you a hundred.” The man sitting across the poker table from
Marina was American, well educated and well dressed.

“I don’t think you have the
ace,” Marina said.

“It’ll cost you a hundred
dollars to find out.”

“You know I don’t have
it.”

“Yes, I do. But I think we
could work something out,” he said slyly.

She looked at him for a few
seconds then nodded. “Just a minute.” She took an envelope from her
coat pocket, tore off a piece of paper and wrote “IOU one hundred
dollars or the equivalent” on it with a stub of pencil and signed
it, “Maria Gomez”. “Here you go.” She added the scrap of paper to
the pot.

He laid out an ace high
straight. “Sorry.”

Marina puffed out her
cheeks. “Not my night.”

“It still might be,” he
said. “The night is young.”

She pushed back her chair.
“Well, I’m broke so let’s go upstairs and find out.”

He picked up the money and
her IOU, got up and pulled out her chair for her. “How about dinner
first?”

She stood up. “You’re the
winner, you make the rules.”

He got his hat from the rack
then walked back to take her arm. “What’s your name?”

“It was on my
IOU.”

“I didn’t read
it.”

“Maria Gomez.”

“Henry Paulson. There’s a
place not far from here that grills goat steaks. Ever eaten
one?”

“Yes. It’s baby goat and
it’s called cabrito.”

“Does that sound good to
you?”

“You’re the winner, you make
the rules.”

“Oh come on, does it have to
be like that?”

“No. Not if you give me back
my IOU.”

He fished in his pocket and
came up with the note, read both sides and gave it to her. “Marina
Cortés. I saw a wanted poster for Marina Cortés. Five hundred
pesos, dead or alive. The likeness was bad, unless you look real
close.”

She examined the back of the
IOU and saw that the piece of envelope clearly showed her name.
“What do we do now?”

He shrugged. “We eat grilled
baby goat, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

She looked around nervously.
“It was an accident.”

“I don’t care.”

She shrugged. “Then let’s
go.”

He took her arm. “What are
your plans?”

“After dinner? That depends
on what kind of dinner partner you turn out to be.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant
what are you planning to do to avoid being hanged.”

She looked up at him. “I’m
open to suggestions.”

“You could work for
me.”

“Doing what and
where?”

“I own a saloon and gambling
parlor in San Antonio.”

“San Antonio? That’s the
middle of nowhere.”

“It’s also a long way from
the Santa Fe hangman.”

“Your point is well
taken.”

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes.”

“Good. Now all I need is one
more yes and my night will be complete.”

“Yes.”

October 7, 1812

Michigan
Territory

James Winslow came out onto
the porch. “Could you help me please, Annabelle?”

She and Yank had just walked
down the steps. “Help you with what?”

“The accounts. I have them
in an awful mess.”

“Can we do it later? John
and I were just going for our walk.”

“I hate to ask,” he said to
Yank. “But would you mind going alone today? I’m getting tight for
money and I need to figure out who owes me what.”

“Not at all,” Yank replied.
“And I’ll pay you everything I owe you as soon as I get back to
civilization.”

“For now just let me borrow
my sister.”

Yank raised his hand to
Annabelle. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

She smiled and watched him
as he followed the path toward the woods, then she turned to her
brother. “What’s this about? I went over your accounts last night
and you’re certainly not tight for money.”

“I wanted to talk to you
alone but he’s always with you.”

She looked back toward the
woods and then nodded. “I knew this was coming.”

“Then tell me what you think
you’re doing? He’s a married man.”

“I’m very much aware of
that, James. And so is he.”

“I think it’s time that he
went back to the army, Annabelle.”

“It’s been six weeks since
he was struck by a cannonball, James. That hardly constitutes
malingering.”

“You know that’s not what I
meant.”

October 8, 1812

San Antonio, Province of
Tejas

“Well?” Paulson asked, as he
helped Marina off the boat.

“Well what?”

“What do you think of San
Antonio?”

“It’s just another village
of mud buildings as far as I can tell.”

“No, it’s the farthest
northeastern extension of the Valley of Mexico and the capital of
the Spanish province of Tejas.” He pointed. “That’s my place right
there.” He pointed to a saloon with a garish sign showing women in
various stages of undress.

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to
say?”

She looked from the building
back at him. “That’s the job you’re offering me?”

He looked puzzled. “Yes. Is
there something wrong?”

“Yes there’s something very
wrong. I’m not a whore.”

“Well you’re sure as hell no
gambler and all I’ve got to offer is cards and whores.”

She shook her head. “I’m not
going to be your whore.”

“I guess you weren’t
listening when I said that San Antonio’s in the Spanish province of
Tejas.”

She gave him an
uncomprehending look.

“I have a wanted poster and
an IOU that the Spanish governor would be interested in.” He
pointed to a huge live oak tree in front of the Spanish mission.
“That’s where they’ll hang you. It’s called El Alamo. You won’t be
a pretty sight dangling from it. Your eyes will bug out, your
tongue will turn black, your bowels will let go.”

Marina looked away from him.
“You seem to have the ace again.”

He smiled.

She shook her head. “You
really had me fooled. I honestly thought that I meant something to
you.”

“You did. We had a lot of
fun together. Now we’re going to make a lot of money together.
Except you won’t share in the profits.”

October 9, 1812

Michigan
Territory

They were about a mile from
the Winslow house, in a glade that they often visited.

“I think I’d better try to
find a way back to American controlled territory, Annabelle,” Yank
said.

“Why?”

“Your brother seems to be
about fed up with me.”

“He’s my brother, not my
father.”

“It’s his home.”

“You needn’t be afraid of
me, John. I understand how you feel about me and I also understand
that we cannot possibly have any future together.”

“I wouldn’t say that it’s
impossible…” He shook his head.

“You were going to say that
your wife could die out there on the frontier.” She raised her hand
to stop his protest. “Do you think I haven’t thought of it
often?”

“No matter how angry I am at
Marina I wouldn’t wish her dead.”

“Nor would I. But if…” She
suddenly recoiled and then screamed as Indians appeared from all
directions.

Yank stepped in front of her
to shield her but the Indians were on them both and he went down
immediately. Enraged, he kicked, punched and cursed until a
tomahawk crashed against his skull.

~

Yank returned to
consciousness slowly.

“Hello Yangee.”

Yank’s head was throbbing
and he had difficulty focusing on the face before him but he knew
the voice. “Hello Tecumseh.”

“I have been waiting for
this day.”

“Have you?” Yank tested the
rawhide binding his wrists.

“You have lost a lot of
blood, Yangee. I think you will die soon.”

Yank looked at his shirt and
pants and saw that they were soaked with blood. “You should build
your fires quickly then, Tecumseh. There is no honor in burning a
dead man.”

“If I had not promised the
white father Brock that I would deliver you to Fort Detroit your
skin would already be crisp and your blood would be boiling. But if
you die on the trail it will be almost as good.”

“You better pray to your
drunken brother Open Mouth that I die. Otherwise, I’ll be coming
for you when the British parole me.”

“Was that your woman,
Yangee? That pretty, soft, little woman with the yellow hair? My
men have enjoyed her. Many times.”

Yank managed to kick the
taunting face but the blow was partially deflected and Tecumseh
retaliated immediately with a crushing blow from his war
club.

October 10, 1812

San Antonio, Province of
Tejas

Marina sat naked on the side
of the bed watching the vaquero who was hurriedly stripping off his
clothes. “How about sharing your whiskey with me?” she
asked.

He looked at her and
shrugged. “Help yourself. It does not matter to me if you are drunk
or sober.” He threw his boots in the corner.

She got up and walked toward
him, picked up the bottle and crashed it over his head. Ten minutes
later, dressed in the vaquero’s clothes and riding a stolen horse,
Marina was headed east toward the dim light of dawn with the vague
idea of reaching New Orleans.

A little past noon, when she
reached the banks of the rain-swollen Guadalupe River, she turned
south, following the river in search of a ford.

October 10, 1812

Fort Detroit, Michigan
Territory

Yank, who was chained to a
ring in a stone wall, raised his eyes as a British Major General
came into the cell. “You must be Isaac Brock.”

“Soon to be Sir Isaac Brock,
actually. I’m to be knighted for my action in taking this
fort.”

“This fort? Where are
we?”

“Fort Detroit.”

“I thought that you were at
Fort George.”

“Indeed I was, but my
staunch Shawnee ally refused to release you to anyone but me. I had
intended to take you back with me immediately, however after seeing
you I doubt that you could survive the journey.”

“I’m not that easy to
kill.”

“Perhaps not, but my
superior would be very cross if I did not see to your health as
best I can. I have sent for a surgeon from the town.”

“Your superior being George
Prévost?

“Indeed. He apparently views
you as his friend. But then having been born in New Jersey, he does
seem to have many American friends.”

“You sound bitter,
General.”

“Oh no. Lord no. Not I. But
it was a bit troubling to be held up after the victory here while
the Baron negotiated an armistice with your General Henry Dearborn
and your American forces regrouped. I now seem to have lost the
initiative.”

“
You’ll forgive me if I
don’t commiserate with you over your troubles.”

“No sympathy is necessary,
Colonel. It is but a minor delay which means that we will crush you
in 1813 rather than 1812.” He looked outside. “Forgive me, but I
must see what is holding up the physician.”

“I’ll wait here,” Yank
said.

October 12, 1812

Queenston, Upper
Canada

Yank was being held prisoner
in a stone barracks in the village of Queenston. If he stood on his
bunk, he could see several neat houses, fields, pastures, gardens
and peach orchards from the barred window.