Paxton and the Lone Star (51 page)

“Why didn't anyone warn us? What happened to the coast watchers?”

“Came by land, I guess. Lancers hit our place this afternoon. The main body of their advance must have gone on around us earlier. I sent Elizabeth east with Hogjaw and rode in as fast as I could.”

“You see Mila?” Kania asked, trying to be heard above the noise. “Is she safe?”

True shook his head. “Don't know. Hogjaw and Elizabeth were going to collect everyone they could on their way out. I'm sure Mila will be with them. I told 'em I'd meet 'em at Sutherland's tomorrow.” He looked up at the sky. It was getting dark and clouds were rolling in from the north. “What I thought I'd do is head out the Old Cart Road until I get into the hills, then cut south and east for a few more miles before I stop for the night. Firetail's pretty well worn out. Can't take much more than that.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kania shouted. “I'm right behind you.”

Firetail leaped away. Kania swung his mare around and tried to keep pace. The east side of town, what there was of it, was strangely deserted. The horses swept across open lots, around the occasional adobe house, between the forlorn
jacalitos.
Just as they reached the Old Cart Road and turned left, a squad of riflemen in pursuit of a buckboard driven by none other than Kevin Thatche emerged from between two short rows of
jacalitos.
Mildred, sitting next to Kevin, clung to their little boy with one hand and to the edge of the seat with the other. The situation was immediately obvious. Trying desperately to reach the mission, Kevin had forsaken the refugee-choked road in favor of open ground. The only problem was the ground itself, which was littered with limestone rocks and riddled with ruts and erosion gullies. Before True could turn Firetail, the wagon hit one such gully, slammed down, bounced crazily to one side, and threw a wheel.

There wasn't time to think, only to curse and act as the Thatches spilled onto the ground. True on Firetail leaned precariously into the turn, charged across the dry land toward the sprawled and staggering family and the riflemen bearing down on them. Behind him, Kania hurried to the rescue too. One of the Thatches' horses was down and screaming. Crazed, the other reared and, trying to escape, trampled its companion. Kevin had grabbed Mildred and the baby and was pulling them between the team and the Mexican soldiers. True leveled his rifle and fired. His shot was low and took the lead horse in the chest. The animal continued on for a few paces and then went down, spilling the officer head first into a patch of prickly pear. Behind him, horses and riders tried to evade a collision, but the double row of
jacalitos
had bunched them too tightly and they were moving too fast. The horse behind the downed animal tripped. The one behind it broke both front legs and its rider's neck when it tried to clear the entanglement of kicking hooves and sprawled bodies.

True shoved his rifle into its scabbard, reached down, and swept the baby into his arms. “Mildred, too!” he shouted. “You ride with Buckland!”

Kevin grabbed Mildred and helped her onto Firetail. She clutched at True. “Duck!” Kevin yelled, immediately pulling her halfway off.

True looked behind him and saw a soldier aiming at him. He twisted away and heard a gunshot. When he didn't feel anything, he chanced another look. This time the soldier's mouth was open and he was sliding off the horse. Behind him, smoking pistol in hand, Buckland Kania stared in horror.

“Lord forgive me,” the preacher said, still not moving.

“Time for that later,” Kevin shouted, pulling Mildred upright again and slapping Firetail on the rump. “Get 'em out of here!”

“And bring this poor soul into heaven.”

“No time! No time!” Kevin screamed, leaping on behind Kania. “Jesus Christ, go!”

What was left of the squad had regrouped and was preparing to charge again. More soldiers rode down the Old Cart Road toward them.

“Amen!” Kania shouted over his shoulder. “Git, horse! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!”

There was only one direction left: back to the mission. Mildred had her arms wrapped around True's waist. True held the baby in one arm, and guided the sweating, almost blown Firetail with the other. Kania's horse, fresher and wild with frenzy, overtook them. The baby was crying, Mildred sobbing. True heard the whine of bullets overhead and the pop of gunfire almost as loud as the heavier, thudding sound his heart made. He smelled powder smoke, acrid and sharp in his nostrils, and the sweat smell of fear. Vision blurred, became a sluggish progression of frozen images: of scared faces turning toward him, of farmers and storekeepers scattering out of his way, of a horse down, its neck twisted and its head out of sight beneath its body. And a gate that seemed to take forever to reach, but in reality took no more than a couple of minutes.

Suddenly he was through and in the middle of the compound, reining Firetail to a halt next to Kania. The Reverend's face was white from fright and he was fighting to keep his hands from shaking. “You look like you'd better get off that horse before you fall off, Buckland,” True said.

Kania gulped and nodded, looked startled as if he'd forgotten he'd been carrying a passenger when Kevin slipped off his horse and ran to help Mildred from Firetail's back. “Think so,” Kania gasped and, unable to sit his horse any longer, slipped off and buried his head in his arms on the saddle. “I killed a man, True,” he sobbed. “Oh, God, I took a life. Sweet Jesus … Sweet Jesus! …”

Not caring, the crowd of frightened refugees swirled around them. Kevin steadied Mildred with one arm and, his dust-streaked face radiating thanks too profound for words, he took the baby from True.

Gunfire rattled from the walls as the last of the stragglers from town raced through the gates, and then the gates closed. Firetail's chest was heaving, his breathing labored. True's legs were shaking so badly he didn't think he could stand, but he dismounted anyway and held onto the saddle for support. Slowly, dull comprehension seeped into his weary brain. He was inside, Elizabeth was somewhere to the east, and he wouldn't be able to join her. Not with Firetail in such bad shape. He was inside. Trapped inside. Elizabeth was …

First things first, he told himself. First things first. Moving carefully, keeping his mind on each step so he wouldn't think of Elizabeth, he removed Firetail's saddle and let it fall to the ground. Next, he untied his bedroll and, using his blanket, began the long, slow process of rubbing down. The horse's sides were heaving painfully, his muscles quivering with fatigue.
First things first. Save the horse so you can ride out later if you get the chance. Hogjaw will take care of Elizabeth.

“Easy, boy,” he crooned, as much to himself as to Firetail. “Easy, easy. Gonna get you all fixed up. Steady, boy, steady.”

The gunfire subsided. The crowds had quieted. Torches stuck in cracks in the wall and here and there in the ground, gave a fitful light. Firetail stood with head down. Near exhaustion, True made himself stand, let Firetail have a few sips of water, and began to rub him down again. Only gradually did he become aware that he wasn't alone. His eyes bleary, he turned to see Colonel Travis standing behind him and watching him. “What do you want?” True asked wearily.

The shadow of his hand passed over his face and then was gone again as Travis saluted. “Not a thing. Just glad to see you're back after all.” He started to walk away, then hesitated. A small, self-satisfied smile played across his face. “Welcome to the Alamo, Mr. Paxton.”

Chapter XXXVI

Distant thunder woke her. Elizabeth lay flat on her back and looked up through the cedars to a clear sky, and only then realized the thunder was that of gunfire. Instantly alert, she rolled out of her blankets and stood, trying to discern the direction from which the sound came. It was impossible. The dull mutter seemed to surround her. A few feet away, Lottie sat upright and clutched Bethann Elaine to her breast. Scott and Mackenzie had already taken their rifles and moved away from the fire. Elizabeth picked up the rifle she had taken to carrying and joined them at the perimeter of the campsite, just inside the protecting thicket of cedars.

“Anything?” she asked, crawling between them.

The quiet was ominous. Bethann cried out, but was quickly hushed. It was barely light. Far off, a flock of crows discussed the morning in raucous, irreverent tones. Scott shook his head. “Don't know where the cannon fire came from. Someplace from the southwest, by the wind. There were five other shots, though. Hogjaw and Joseph, maybe. They're out there somewhere.”

“We ought to go help,” Mackenzie said, stifling a yawn.

“Where?” Scott asked. “They can take care of themselves. And if they can't, our place is here. We'll wait, see what we see.”

They had already waited a full week. Driving their horses hard in headlong flight out of the path of the oncoming army that was cutting a swath through the land, they had arrived at Sutherland's the day after they had left their homes, and found it deserted. That night, not knowing what to do, they had camped in a creekbed where they could watch for True. The next afternoon, a rider brought them news of the events in San Antonio. The messenger had escaped the mission just before the arrival of the first elements of the main Mexican army, and was on his way to Goliad where he hoped to find Fannin and bring help. He didn't know True personally, but had talked to him briefly just before he'd left. True had asked him to keep an eye out for his people if he passed anywhere near Sutherland's place, and to tell that his horse was in bad shape but that he would join them in a few days if it was humanly possible. That night, Hogjaw scouted around and the next morning, before full light, they moved to their present position.

Hogjaw had chosen their hidey hole, as he called it, with great care. Situated a little more than halfway up a steep hill overlooking Sutherland's, it was invisible from below. Less than fifty yards away, a spring welled out of the rocks. The cold, clear water pooled briefly and trickled down the side of the hill and through the camp. The land had been logged some dozen or more years earlier, and was now covered with a copse of scrub cedar no taller than eight or ten feet. By the end of the day, they had cut an inconspicuous path through the brush, cleared a campsite and observation post, and sat down to watch and wait.

There had been no further word. No other riders passed through the cleared land below them. Hogjaw had gone out to scout each morning and evening. Twice he had brought meat—a goat once, three chickens the second time—but never any news. And it was the morning of the eighth day.

“Someone's coming,” Mackenzie said, looking back toward the campsite.

He and Scott were up and moving with Elizabeth close behind. Ready to reload, Mila, Joan, and Lottie were already behind the Campbells' wagon, which was situated so that it faced the opening through the trees. Scott, Mackenzie, and Elizabeth threw themselves down behind the makeshift wall they had built under the wagon and took aim. “Two of 'em, sounds like,” Scott whispered.

“Comin' awful fast and loud,” Mackenzie added. “Don't make sense.”

It didn't to Elizabeth either, and she was worried. Strangers wouldn't have ridden so boldly into what was surely a well-defended position. Hogjaw and Joseph always rode stealthily.

“Thank God,” Lottie breathed from behind them as Hogjaw and Joseph burst into camp.

Elizabeth wasn't so reassured. Joseph looked worried and Hogjaw's face was pale and twisted with pain. The mountain man was literally holding on to Mama for dear life. Scott and Mackenzie rolled out from under the wagon. Mackenzie grabbed Mamma's reins, and Scott helped Hogjaw from her back and eased him down by the fire. “What happened?” Mackenzie asked.

“Ran into a patrol. Five men. We killed two, the rest took off,” Joseph gasped. Lottie handed him a canteen and he drank deeply. “How bad is it?”

Joan and Scott and Elizabeth were clustered around Hogjaw. Scott had already cut off the left leg of the mountain man's pants to reveal a ragged bullet hole in his thigh. “One of them rascals could shoot,” Hogjaw groaned. “Oh, Jesus, that hurts. I think it's broke.”

“Hush,” Joan snapped. “Get rags, Elizabeth. One long one, some shorter ones. Scott, put your knife in the fire.” She pressed the heel of her hand against the wound to stem the flow of blood. “The bullet's in there,” she said when Hogjaw winced. “It'll have to come out.”

“You ain't tellin' me nothin' I don't know,” Hogjaw said weakly. “You know what you're doin'?”

“I've done it before, if that's what you mean,” Joan said, turning to Mila. “Build up that fire and put on more water. I'll want it boiling. Just a little at first so it'll be quicker. Mackenzie, get these animals out of here. Where's those rags, Elizabeth?”

Hogjaw had lost blood, but seemed to be holding his own. Everyone but Mackenzie, who left to watch the entrance to the camp, worked quickly. Within minutes, the knife and tourniquet were ready, and in minutes more the water was boiling.

“Pour it back and forth between that and the coffee pot,” Joan ordered. “It ought to be clean enough, and a little coffee won't hurt so long as we keep the grains out. Somebody get a stick for him to bite. Lottie, don't just stand there. Get a cleaning rod and stick it in the fire. I'll want it red hot.”

A cold sweat had broken out on Hogjaw's forehead and his face was pale. Elizabeth got blankets from her wagon and covered him, then cradled his head in her lap. Joan's face was grim. “You ready?” she asked.

Hogjaw nodded weakly.

Joan washed the wound with the still warm water, then wadded up a rag and, holding it in place over the arteries, tightened the tourniquet around his leg. “Hold him, Scott. Don't let him kick while I'm cutting. Bite, Hogjaw!”