Lorenzo's Revolutionary Quest (20 page)

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 Gálvez's study.”

Hands clenched, Thomas stalked toward Saber-Scar. “Liar!” he screamed. “Thou said thou found nothing in the colonel's study!”

Lorenzo grabbed Thomas's 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. It's 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.

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 King's Highway from Nacogdoches to Fort Saint Jean Baptiste. He looked up and found everyone frowning in concentration.

“Here's 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. “Let's go.”

Everyone attended to last-minute details—filling canteens,
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 you've 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 didn't need.

“You aren't entertaining nasty thoughts about him, are you?”

“Don't worry, Lieutenant. I don't 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 won't wear a hood!”

“May I, Captain?” Miguel asked, grinning wickedly, holding up a bandanna.

“Be my guest.”

Miguel stuffed the bandanna in the prisoner's mouth, put the sack back in place, and tied it loosely around his neck. Next, Miguel looped a rope three times around Saber-Scar's chest and led him outside. With Red's help, she foisted him onto a horse. Miguel then tied the prisoner's feet to the stirrups.

“I'm impressed, Lieutenant,” Lorenzo said.

“I've transported his kind before. You can't take too many precautions. Captain, Saber-Scar will slow you down. Furthermore, you can't 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. I'll make sure he arrives safely in New Orleans.”

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.”

“I'll see you in New Orleans,” Miguel said brightly. “In fact, I'll 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 Miguel's safety and swung up on Piñata. 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 didn't count because he couldn't 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 King's Highway, a straight shot from Nacogdoches to Fort Saint Jean Baptiste.

Miguel mounted up and grabbed the reins to Saber-Scar's 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, Cabezón 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 can't figure it out. There's something odd about that soldier.”

“What?”

“Don't laugh,” Kokotil said. “I think he's a woman.”

Iron Bear tried to keep a straight face but couldn't.

His companion glared at him through slitted eyes. “I
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?

After three days of hard riding, they were nearly worn out. Some of them were going lame. Piñata and Red's 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 hadn't closed it. I could use some extra men right about now.”

“You could have gotten some fresh horses, too. You need them more. Ours can't go much farther.”

Lorenzo laced his fingers together behind his neck and bent over. He was so tired he could barely think straight. “There's an abandoned French fort a few leagues away. It's on a river that flows into the Mississippi. I may have to leave the horses there.”

“The tribes are friendly around here. I'm sure I can talk them into trading canoes for horses.”

“I hate to lose Piñata.”

“Life is full of hard choices.”

Lorenzo mustered a smile. “It certainly is.”

After a refreshing night's 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 Lorenzo's throat when he saw Piñata 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 wouldn't need it.

Thomas climbed in the lead canoe, and Lorenzo
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 didn't 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. “We're 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. We're 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.

Lorenzo's 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 don't believe in violence, but I don't 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
feet away sat a cabin no more than six feet by six feet. The smoke Thomas had spotted was coming from the chimney.