The Black Jacks (33 page)

"He'll come home," said old Roman, and settled resolutely into a rocking chair. "And I'm gwine sit right here till he do."

"You a crazy old man. You gwine sit dere, day and night, for who knows how long? Bessie shook her head. "Leastways, I won't have to worry 'bout you killin' yourself by workin' in dat garden all day."

Rocking back and forth, Roman didn't say anything, his eyes glued to the lane that led down to the river road.

"Ol' fool," muttered Bessie, and turned to go inside. She paused at the door and glanced back. The fondness in her eyes as she gazed at the old man belied her words. She knew he would do it. He was stubborn enough, and devoted enough to Marse John, to see it through. And tonight she would come out after he was asleep and put a blanket around him and touch his weathered face and say a little prayer.

Chapter Thirty-two

The caverns had been formed millions of years ago in an uplift of limestone. Water had done the work, leaking through cracks and crevices, dissolving the limestone; the flooding which followed heavy rains roared through these passages, widening them. Dripping water formed stalagmites, stalactites, columns, and flowstone. Blind albino fish swam in underground streams. Some of the main openings into the underground labyrinth were sinkholes ranging in size from ten to hundreds of feet across.

The Indians of the region had always known about the caves but seldom used them, believing they were inhabited by spirits and were a gateway to the realm of the dead. Located two or three days' ride northwest of Austin, they had sometimes been used by outlaws who sought to be beyond the reach of the law but didn't care to venture too deeply into Comancheria.

McAllen didn't have to ask anyone where to find the caves. He had come across them two years earlier, during a pursuit of Penateka raiders who had stolen some horses and burned a few cabins in the Brazos River country. He and Joshua arrived a few days early for the rendezvous with Antonio Caldero. He hadn't expected Caldero to be waiting for him—the Mexican bandit couldn't risk lingering in any one place too long, especially north of the Nueces. No, the waiting was McAllen's job. And it was a hard one.

In one of the larger sinkholes they found a game trail, a route taken by deer and other creatures to reach the bottom, where a pool of cold springwater was available year-round. McAllen and Joshua led their horses down this steep trail and camped at one of the many entrances to the caverns. There was plenty of firewood from cedar and scrub oak trees that had been uprooted at the rim of the sinkhole and washed down to the bottom by floodwaters. A damp, cool draft wafting up from the black depths of the caves would have been a pleasant respite from summer heat, but a cold front, the first of the year, blasted through on the day of their arrival, bringing rain and chilling gusts of wind with it. All McAllen and Joshua could do was huddle in the mouth of the cave with blankets draped over their shoulders and watch the rain fall from a low gray sky.

Exactly fourteen days from the delivery of the note to Grand Cane plantation, Caldero appeared. He was not alone. In fact, the first McAllen knew of his arrival was the sudden appearance of five
bandoleros
at the rim of the sinkhole.

Caldero came down the game trail alone, on foot. McAllen went out to meet him. The
bandoleros
watched him like hawks, while from the mouth of the cave Joshua kept a close eye on the Mexicans, his rifle ready. McAllen had explained the situation to the half-breed, but he didn't expect Joshua to let his guard down; regardless of the circumstances, these men were still bandits, and they hated Texans. One wrong move on anyone's part and all hell would break loose.

"Con permiso, señor,"
said Caldero, pausing two-thirds of the way down the game trail, and McAllen gestured for him to come the rest of the way.

"You've found her?"

Caldero nodded. "She is with the Quohadis, in the Canyon of the Palo Duro. Do you know of this place?"

McAllen shook his head.

"Not many white men do—and live to tell of it. The place is very far from here."

"How far?"

Caldero shrugged. "Ten days. Maybe more."

"You mean you've never been there?"

"Once. Many years ago."

"Then how do you know that Emily is there?"

"My friends, the Comancheros, tell me."

McAllen grimaced. He did not consider Comancheros to be very reliable sources. "How can you be sure it is her?"

"I know the Quohadis took her—it was a Quohadi arrow which you showed me. I know the Quohadis have only three white captives: a young woman, a little boy, and a little girl. She is the one. But if you do not want to go and see for yourself. . ." Again Caldero shrugged.

"I'll go. Just tell me how to get there."

"Señor,
I could have told you that in my letter. No, I am going with you."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because you would not get into the canyon alive."

"But why? Why are you doing this, Caldero? We are enemies, you and I. So why are you helping me?"

Caldero strolled past McAllen, scanning the sinkhole, looking at Joshua, at the horses over by the spring, at his men on the rimrock above, silhouetted against the sky. Finally he turned, his expression grave.

"I will tell you. Thanks to you, Sam Houston will become president of Texas, and that is a good thing for my friends, the Comanches. It is good, too, for Mexico. It means there will be no war—at least for the time being."

"I didn't realize you were such a peace-loving man."

"I know there will be a war. I know that eventually the Comanches will be destroyed, and your land will spread like a plague to the west. You will even try to take Mexico. But now that Lamar is out, this will not happen right away. I will have time to prepare for the war that is coming, because, my friend, you will build your towns on the banks of the Rio del Norte over my dead body. And the Comanches, too, will have time to prepare. In a few years they will have rifles with which to fight you. They have learned a lesson, you see. And the Comancheros will sell them the rifles. Time is what your enemies need, Captain, and thanks to you they will have it." Caldero smiled at the look on McAllen's face. "You haven't thought about what you have done in that light, have you?"

"No."

"Well,
es verdad.
It is true. So you have done me a great favor, and I will repay it by helping you find the woman you love. And there is one other reason I help you. I
am
a romantic at heart, as Houston said. You would die for this woman, wouldn't you?"

"I'd rather live."

"But you would give up your life to bring her home, and I admire that. So we go now, eh?"

"The sooner the better," said McAllen, and headed for the mouth of the cave, where his gear was located.

McAllen wasn't sure how far he could trust Antonio Caldero. If you did not believe a man's motive, then you could not believe in the man. Was Caldero telling him the whole truth? Not that it really made much difference in the final analysis. McAllen wasn't about to turn down Caldero's help.

He couldn't imagine why the bandit leader would go to all this trouble just to betray him to the Comanches. The fact remained, however, that his life was in Caldero's hands. His and Joshua's. McAllen wished there had been some way to keep the half-breed out of this. They had survived many dangerous situations together, but none quite so perilous as this one. But he knew there was no hope of stopping Joshua short of breaking both his legs—and maybe not even then.

From the caves of the Colorado, they traveled north by northwest for two days, and then turned due west for two more. The rolling hills became flatlands interspersed with barrancas, and then, beyond the Cap Rock, they arrived at the Llano Estacado, that limitless sea of grass where only the rattlesnake and the prairie dog, the buffalo and the Comanche Indian felt at home.

On the fifth day they crossed the trail of more than a hundred men on iron-shod horses. Horse droppings told Joshua that the sign was a day old. Caldero came to the same conclusion.

"Who are these men?" Caldero asked McAllen. "Who would venture so far out onto the Staked Plains? They are not
mesteneros
or Comancheros. There are no wagons, no extra horses, and these men come from the east, not the west. No, these men travel light and move fast, like a war party. But they are white men, not Indians."

"There can be only one answer."

Caldero nodded grimly. "Texas Rangers." He scanned the featureless prairie. "They are looking for the Antelope band."

I've got to reach the Quohadis first,
realized McAllen.
If I don't, Emily will be in grave danger.
Even if the Rangers knew there were white captives in the Comanche village they would not hesitate to attack. And if Emily got killed, well, that would be a damned shame, but no Ranger would lose sleep over it.

McAllen studied Caldero's face. "I hope you're not even thinking about quitting on account of this."

Caldero smiled. "What makes you think a hundred Texas Rangers scare me?"

"They scare me. And it's more like a hundred and thirty. Two companies."

"What will they do if they catch you riding with us, Captain?"

"What Rangers always do. Shoot first and ask questions later."

"What are they doing so far from home, I wonder?"

"My guess is that Lamar sent them. If they can bring him a bushel of Indian scalps he can tell the voters he's paid the Comanches back for the big raid."

"Then I must warn my Quohadi friends." Caldero was watching McAllen closely. "What do you say to that?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

Caldero nodded.
"Muy bien.
Then we go. With luck, we can reach the Canyon of the Palo Duro before the Rangers do. I presume they do not know exactly where it is."

"If they don't," said McAllen, "they'll find it. You can count on that."

The next three days were very anxious ones for McAllen, so that when at last they reached the mouth of the canyon where the Antelope band lived and found no sign of the Rangers having been there before them, he was greatly relieved. That night they camped on the edge of the badlands and built no fire.

"Tomorrow," Caldero told him, "you and I will ride in alone."

"Not alone. Joshua's coming along."

"It must be just the two of us."

"Forget it. He's coming with us. If your men try to stop him he will kill them."

Caldero glanced curiously at the half-breed. "You have a high opinion of him, Captain."

"Yes, I do. I've seen him work. Also, he just looks like a kid. He's as old as you are, Caldero, and every bit as dangerous, believe me."

Caldero shrugged.
"Sí.
He will come with us."

McAllen didn't get a wink of sleep that night. Tomorrow was the moment of truth. What would it bring? Would his long search for Emily finally be over? What would he do if it turned out that she was not in the village of the Antelope band, after all? What if it turned out that she was no longer alive? These things he could not bear to contemplate. She had to be there. She just had to be. The dawn seemed to take forever.

When it finally did come he was in the saddle and entering the Canyon of the Palo Duro with Caldero and Joshua. They followed the fork of the Red River. The canyon gradually narrowed. McAllen had the distinct feeling they were being watched. But for over an hour they rode ever deeper into the canyon without seeing any sign of the Comanches.

McAllen abruptly checked the gray hunter, causing Caldero to stop as well.

"Have you changed your mind, Captain?" asked the bandit leader.

"There's just one thing. You don't tell your Indian friends about those Rangers until I've gotten Emily back. I don't understand much of the Comanche lingo, but I'll know by their reaction if you tell them. And if you do, I'll kill you."

Caldero studied McAllen's face for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I believe you.
Vamanos."
He angrily kicked his horse into motion.

Then, suddenly, the Indians appeared, materializing on all sides of them, a dozen of these warlords of the Llano Estacado, on their painted ponies, with their red lances and buffalo-hide shields. Caldero called out to them in their own tongue.

"Our welcoming committee," he told McAllen.

"They don't look too happy to see you."

"It is you, Captain, that they are not happy with."

They continued on, encircled by the twelve watchful warriors. Soon McAllen could see the skin lodges among the trees on both sides of the river, scores of tepees, hundreds of Indians gathering to witness their arrival. He searched the congregation for Emily. So consumed was he by his quest that he gave scarcely a thought to his situation, which was not one any sensible Texan would want to find himself in. There was no welcome on those Quohadi faces. They knew he was Tejano, their mortal enemy.

A warrior approached and grabbed Caldero's bridle. He and the bandit leader engaged in a brief and spirited dialogue. Then the warrior walked away, pushing through the crowd.

"That was Red Eagle," Caldero told McAllen. "War chief. He remembers me from when I rode with the Comancheros. He was angry that I had brought a Tejano to this canyon. I told him we were here to find a white woman. He seemed interested to hear that."

"So what now?" asked McAllen. They sat on their horses, surrounded by the grim, silent crowd.

"We wait for the council to be called. The council will decide two things. Whether you will be permitted to trade for the woman, and whether you will be allowed to leave this canyon alive."

Chapter Thirty-three

The Quohadi council was convened immediately. McAllen, Caldero, and Joshua were brought before the chiefs, and Caldero was permitted to speak, presenting McAllen's case. McAllen half expected the bandit leader to warn the Comanches about the Texas Rangers, in spite of his threat. But Caldero kept to the topic at hand. When he was done, the chief named Red Eagle rose to speak. He angrily harangued the council. Antonio Caldero could be trusted, but the Texans—McAllen and Joshua—could not be allowed to live. They would go back and tell others how to find the Canyon of the Palo Duro.
If they only knew,
mused McAllen,
that a force of Rangers is on the brink of finding this canyon anyway.
Of course, if they did know, he would be the first to die.