The Black Jacks Read online

  "Who are these men?"

  "We do not know their identity."

  McAllen glanced at the platform. How exposed Houston was up there!

  "I can't believe we have come to this," said Tice.

  "A great deal is at stake in this election," Cartwright reminded him.

  At that moment Houston was introduced to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my tremendous privilege to introduce our friend and neighbor, the hero of San Jacinto, the man who saved Texas and who is called upon now to do so again—General Sam Houston!"

  The cheers were deafening as Houston stepped to the front of the podium. The day was humid and warm and he had shed his frock coat to stand before them in his shirtsleeves and trademark leopardskin vest. He raised a hand to quell the adulation of the crowd.

  "My fair countrywomen and my countrymen. Greeted so cordially, and with entirely too much flattery, I am destined to fail in the attempt to express the deep emotion of the purest gratitude.

  "When I contemplate the weight of evils under which my country labors, I am impressed with the conviction that our blessed republic shall rise like a phoenix from the ashes. Do not despair, my friends. Texas, and particularly this portion of it, presents an aspect as promising as I have ever witnessed. A few short years ago it was wilderness—uncultivated, unvisited, almost unknown. The eye of enterprise had not yet discovered this spot. But when the manacles of despotism were broken by the glorious contests of our revolution, your enterprise rescued this favored location from the forest. Population flowed in and with population came labor and wealth and commerce. Now this fair city stands inferior to none and the source of delight to all."

  The crowd hurrahed, and Houston permitted them a few minutes before silencing them again with a humble gesture.

  "Texas was menaced by a nation possessing thousands almost to one, and yet Texas achieved her independence and asserted her right to a position amidst the nations of the world. Tell the civilized world that a little band of patriots, animated by the daring spirit and unconquerable love of freedom which distinguishes the Anglo-Saxon race, battled successfully with an empire so powerful and burst the bonds of tyranny, and they will tell you it is false, it cannot be. But here stands Texas. Her history and her position before the world. She is even now courted by the crowned heads of Europe.

  "How has this been accomplished? By the spirit and energy of her citizens, by the valor of her sons, by the inspired language of patriotism breathed by her daughters."

  Such gallant words provoked the crowd to another frenzy of applause and cheers.

  "Yes," said Houston, "yes, it is woman that makes the hero. It is she who instills the fires of patriotism. It is she who inspires every generous and noble purpose, that animates the bosom of man. A nation which possesses patriotic women must ever boast of her gallant sons, brave defenders, and successful generals. What is it that guides the soldier's hand, and nerves his arm in battle, but the anxious desire to defend the near and dear? What animates and sustains the officer, but the hope to win the admiration of the fair, and give security to his home and family? Gentlemen, it is woman who blesses her country, while she blesses those about her. Years ago, when I left home to fight the Creek Indians with Andrew Jackson, my dear mother gave me a musket and my father's ring, inscribed with the word HONOR. 'My door is always open to brave men,' she told me, 'but eternally shut to cowards.' In every endeavor since I have tried to make my mother proud. Yes, gentlemen, women are our inspiration as well as our salvation. For the want of sweet attractions at home, it is too usual among men to have recourse to the grog shop, or, still worse, to resort to the faro bank. Though it may surprise some of you, I speak from experience on this subject."

  The people laughed.

  "When we look about us and within us," continued Houston, his expression grave, "we cannot avoid the melancholy truth that our happiness is impaired by the misfortunes of our country. Our money is depreciated, our credit sunk. Our political institutions and laws have been disregarded or suspended. Our officials forget their duty and their destiny. The whole country languishes under oppression. The proud and industrious man bows his head to adversity.

  "But if a man such as I can be redeemed, then most assuredly our country can recover itself and, with the blessings of God, its regeneration is certain. Then the head will not be bowed down, nor the hands manacled, nor the feet chained. The people will burst the bonds that confine them. The nation will rise to its strength. It will be done. It is the voice of the people and it will be done. So far as my entire cooperation may be of use, I will lay my shoulder to the wheel. Thank you."

  An explosion of cheering and applause seemed to shake the ground. The band broke into a patriotic tune with more enthusiasm than skill. Banners and handkerchiefs were waved. Standing beside McAllen, Gabriel Cartwright looked tremendously relieved when Houston sat down. He joined McAllen and Tice as they circled to the rear of the platform when, after a speech by the mayor, Houston and his wife descended into the crowd.

  Shaking hands with a well-wisher, Houston noticed McAllen for the first time. "John Henry! I'm surprised to find you here."

  "I just missed you in Galveston, General. I have a favor to ask."

  Houston nodded. He could tell that McAllen was greatly troubled. "I am staying in the home of Adolphus Sterne. It is only a short walk. Margaret, my dear, do you mind if I leave you in the capable hands of Mr. Cartwright for a little while?"

  "Of course I don't mind. Captain McAllen, my husband has spoken very highly of you, and so often that I feel as though I know you."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Houston."

  "I thought for certain that Burnet's hirelings would try something, Sam," said Cartwright.

  "I have always felt that I was not born to fall the victim of an assassin, Gabriel. Burnet is given to idle threats."

  "I hope you don't underestimate him."

  "When my country calls I deem it my solemn duty and my privilege to peril my life upon the issue of her glory. Where duty prompts I shall not shrink, even if a thousand envious daggers thirst for the blood of this heart. I will dare the deed and leave fate to heaven."

  The press of supporters near enough to have overheard Houston applauded these valiant words, and Cartwright smiled wryly. "You're in rare form today, my friend."

  "I tell you, Gabriel, I am a changed man, and my lovely wife deserves all the credit. Come on, John Henry."

  McAllen and Tice fell in alongside Houston, whose long strides quickly carried him clear of the crowd in the square. As they neared the Sterne house, a spacious whitewashed residence wrapped all around with breezy porches, Houston said, "You know, John Henry, I don't recollect that you've ever asked me for a favor before. If it is within my power to do what you ask, consider it done."

  "I want to talk to Antonio Caldero."

  That stopped Houston in his tracks. "Caldero? I could readily understand if you had said you wanted to shoot the brigand. But talk to him? What on earth about?"

  "I need his help. I knew I couldn't get with-in shouting distance of him—unless I had a letter from you."

  "Hmm. What do you want with him?"

  "A young lady was captured by the Comanches. We tried, and failed, to get her back. I think Caldero could find her for me."

  "But why would he? He is no friend to Texas."

  "He might do it, if you asked him."

  Houston gave McAllen a long, speculative look. "This young lady—who is she?"

  "Her name is Emily. She's a niece to Yancey Torrance."

  "How do you know she's still alive?"

  "If she isn't," said McAllen, "then my life loses its meaning."

  This declaration surprised Houston. But he could not doubt McAllen's sincerity. So John Henry was in love with a woman other than his wife. Houston, with his checkered career in the realm of romance, was scarcely one to judge the propriety of that. This was obviously a matter of life and death for his friend, and that was good enough
for Sam Houston.

  "All right, John Henry. We'll go see Caldero."

  "A letter bearing your signature is all that I ask. I don't want to take you away from your other duties."

  "My first duty is to my friends. Besides, a letter might not prevent Caldero's men from killing you. But they won't kill you if I'm at your side. Caldero would have their heads for it."

  "It's a long ride to the Nueces, General."

  "Then the sooner we get started, the better."

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Emily thought she was in another world. The Llano Estacado—the legendary Staked Plains—were unlike anything she had ever experienced.

  This was a land without trees and, it seemed, very nearly without water, a limitless expanse, almost perfectly flat, of wind-scoured sage and goldenrod and other hardy grasses. The Spaniards had given it the name it was now known by because expeditions had driven stakes into the ground to mark their passage so that they could return by the same route, since there were no landmarks. A knack for dead reckoning was necessary for traversing this sea of grass.

  Emily didn't know it, but Coronado and his conquistadores had crossed the Staked Plains almost exactly three hundred years earlier. In the canyons of the Palo Duro and the Tule they had found Gray Wolf's ancestors living off the buffalo. Coronado did not linger long on the Llano Estacado. His tents were destroyed by hailstones. His men suffered from a shortage of drinkable water and resorted to using the stomach juices of the buffalo to slake their thirst, an old Indian trick. The incessant prairie wind could drive a man stark-raving mad.

  Two hundred and fifty years later the Comancheros ventured out into the Llano Estacado. They traded whiskey, bright-colored cloth, beads, and other trinkets to the Indians. Like Coronado, they did not linger. They came, conducted their business, and went home, which in most cases was Santa Fe; they considered the Staked Plains good for nothing. Leave it to the Indians.

  But the plains were good for a wide variety of wildlife. Wolf packs followed the immense buffalo herds in their slow, annual migrations. The pronghorn thrived in the open country where it could spot danger from great distances and use its tremendous speed to escape. Rattlesnakes and jackrabbits thrived. Millions of prairie dogs lived in huge "towns" many miles wide; they in turn supported a population of black-footed ferrets, hawks, eagles, owls, and coyotes. Despite the variety and number of predators, the prairie dogs flourished. Not even severe drought could curtail them, since they did not drink water.

  Drought was a common occurrence on the Llano Estacado. The few alkaline lakes usually dried up in the summer months, turning into lifeless alkali flats. Shallow circular depressions, playa lakes, caught rainwater, but in the summer months, when Emily crossed the plains with Gray Wolf, they were usually dry, too, or nearly so, containing only a puddle of sludge which reeked of buffalo excrement.

  It seemed to Emily that the only break in the monotony was the canyon where the Quohadi Comanches lived. Steep walls protected the canyon's inhabitants from the winter wind. The color of the canyon cliffs astonished her; there were broad horizontal bands of deep red, salmon pink, lavender, orange, yellow, and white. And there were trees in the canyon, too—tenacious junipers clinging to the steep canyon walls, mesquite and cottonwood growing in the bottom. A fork of the Red River curled in serpentine fashion down the canyon. It had water year-round and did not dry out until it left the canyon and lost itself in the rocky badlands to the southeast. A mile or two miles wide where the Quohadi village was located, the canyon expanded to seven miles in width at its mouth.

  When Emily arrived with Gray Wolf, the whole village turned out to greet the war chief. Women and children crowded around Emily. An old hag picked up a stick and hurled it at her. Others closed in and clutched at her sunburned legs, trying to drag her off the mule. A sharp word from Gray Wolf cut like a whip and sent her molesters scurrying away. Emily later learned that Quohadi females often mistreated captive women, beating them mercilessly, occasionally even burning them at the stake. Warriors sometimes gave woman captives to wives, mothers, aunts, or grandmothers as slaves.

  Gray Wolf's solicitude for Emily immediately set tongues to wagging. Obviously he wanted her to warm his blankets, though how he could desire one so pale and scrawny was unfathomable. No one was offended that Gray Wolf sought to take a woman so soon after Snow Dancer's death, but that he preferred a white woman to a Comanche maiden raised some eyebrows and engendered no little resentment toward Emily among the young unmarried girls.

  Gray Wolf had arrived before any of the other Quohadi warriors who months before had ventured forth to participate in the great raid, retribution for the Council House betrayal. The men who remained in the village, those too old or too young to go on the warpath, were curious to know why Gray Wolf was not leading the others, as one would expect of the Antelope band's most respected war chief. "Gray Wolf will not make war on women and children," he said—and that was the sum total of the explanation he offered, except to Spotted Tail.

  When the lame Quohadi came to Gray Wolf's skin lodge, he was as intrigued as anyone else by the reticent war chief's return. But Spotted Tail did not ask Gray Wolf for an explanation, and Gray Wolf was grateful for that consideration. Spotted Tail, the pacifist, was the one person he could confide in.

  "You were right," he said. "I saw many Texans die, and yet my heart still bleeds. I grow sick of the killing. I no longer have the stomach for war."

  Spotted Tail nodded sympathetically. "Snow Dancer's death has opened your eyes to the truth, my friend. Now you know the cost of war is too high. And yet now we are in a war. One we cannot win. The Quohadis will look to their greatest war chief for leadership. They will depend on Gray Wolf now more than ever."

  "No warrior will again follow Gray Wolf. I turned my back on my brothers. I told them they were without honor to murder defenseless women and children. In time, a council will be called upon to decide whether I will even be allowed to remain among my people."

  Spotted Tail could manufacture no words of comfort to assuage his friend's anguish. He glanced at Emily, who sat in the shadows of the tepee. "Why have you brought this one back with you, Gray Wolf?"

  "I wanted to let her go. But I could not."

  "She is very brave?"

  Gray Wolf smiled. Spotted Tail knew a lot without having to be told. "Yes. Very brave."

  "My wife will bring her something more suitable than a blanket to wear."

  "Thank you."

  "What of your son?" asked Spotted Tail gently. "I only ask because we both know you never intended to come back from the raid. And yet here you are."

  "Keep him," replied Gray Wolf brusquely, in a futile attempt to mask his sadness. "He will have a better future with you."

  Two days later, Red Eagle and Running Dog arrived with the rest of the Quohadi warriors and the herd of stolen horses. There was much joy in the village at their safe return, and much grief, as well, for the more than thirty brave men who did not come home. Female relatives of the dead wept, cut their hair short, and tore at their clothing. For weeks they would go about in rags as a token of their mourning. Some gashed themselves with knives—these wounds were not allowed to heal until the mourning period was over. The names of the dead were never uttered and never would be again, not for fear of conjuring up ghosts, but rather to avoid reminding those who grieved of the deceased.

  Red Eagle, who had always resented Gray Wolf's prestige and popularity, wasted no time in making his rival's life difficult. Gray Wolf's desertion of the war party had left many of the warriors feeling betrayed. Calls for a council to determine whether Gray Wolf should be punished grew more strident in the days that followed. When the council finally did meet, Red Eagle's hopes were high. But the decision merely to strip Gray Wolf of his status as war chief rather than banish him from the Antelope band fell far short of Red Eagle's goal. Consideration of Gray Wolf's heroic service in the fighting against the Utes and the Apaches was the decisive factor.
r />   For his part, Gray Wolf attended the council but did not speak in his own defense. That he was no longer a Quohadi war chief was of little consequence to him. But the cold contempt with which many in the Antelope band treated him cut deeply.

  Shortly after the return of the war party, plans for the buffalo hunt were set in motion. This was a matter of the greatest urgency, for it was late in the season, and if the hunt proved unsuccessful there would be many empty bellies in the Quohadi village come winter. The buffalo were fat in the summer, they had shed their winter hair and their hides were in prime condition. Scouts roamed far and wide to locate a suitable herd. Luck was with them. One was found not far from the canyon. A dance of celebration was held. It was time for the Comanche harvest. The next day a large portion of the village, men and women, set out after the herd.

  Gray Wolf went along. It was his responsibility to bring home enough meat to feed himself and Emily, and Snow Dancer's death had not released him from his obligations to provide for her family. In addition, he intended to help Spotted Tail bring back sufficient meat to feed his family. The fact that he had given his son away did not mean Gray Wolf would let the child go hungry. Spotted Tail's disability had rendered him something less than a nimble horseman, and horsemanship was essential to success—and survival—in a buffalo hunt.

  On the day of the hunt, the Quohadi men approached the buffalo from downwind and then encircled the herd. They began to ride around the herd in a counterclockwise direction, forcing the shaggy beasts to mill. The hunters approached their prey from the right side, closing to within a few feet before firing arrows into the buffalo's flank, aiming for a spot behind the ribs so that the arrow would pierce the animal's heart. Some of the men preferred to use a lance. Stung by arrow or lance, the buffalo usually tried to run faster, if the fatal blow was not delivered at the outset. But sometimes the beast would turn and try to gore horse and rider. Several men were badly injured, but the Antelope band considered it fortunate indeed that no one was killed.