by Lila Guzmán
A strange icy thrill shivered through Dunstan as a new plan took shape. Revenge on Lorenzo pushed the cattle to the back of his mind. Dunstan had once heard the story of an Englishman kidnapped from the British Isles and forced to work for years on a Carolina tobacco plantation. Dunstan suddenly realized that killing Bannister was too quick and easy. He could extract a better revenge by making Lorenzo’s life a bloody nightmare. No doubt there were other copies of the freedom papers in the local court. But that would do Lorenzo little good when Dunstan sold him into slavery a thousand miles away.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Dunstan stuffed the letter from George Washington and Patrick Henry in his pocket. This was the proof he needed. He carefully folded the other papers, put them back inside the book, and returned it to its shelf. He scanned the room with a critical eye. Everything was as he had found it. No one would suspect he had been here. He unlatched the window and raised it. Cautiously, he looked out to make sure no one was watching before stepping through.
Thomas, standing across the street, straightened up. Hands clasped behind him, he strolled toward the house as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Dunstan patted his pocket to make sure the letter was there. He had plans. Big plans.
Chapter Sixteen
At dawn on September 9, Lorenzo scouted ahead and paused in a meadow thick with foot-high grass and bright yellow wildflowers. The Colorado River lay over the ridge. He jumped off Piñata and noticed the ground was soggy. A sliver of worry ran through him. Golden grass had crunched underfoot and plains had been dry when he and his men had first passed through. Now everything was springtime green. A heavy rain must have fallen recently. Rivers might be swollen and difficult to cross.
Miguel pulled alongside him and jerked his head toward a curtain of rain to the north. “Look, Captain.”
“I see it.”
Sheets of water drenched the hills. It was impossible to gauge how far away the rain was. Two leagues? Five? The flatness of the land distorted distances.
All it took was a heavy rain upstream to turn a dry creek into a rampaging torrent. Lorenzo had never seen a flash flood, but had heard stories. If a wall of water moved downstream at the precise time the cattle were crossing, everyone would be swept to their deaths.
Leaving Piñata with Miguel, Lorenzo walked along the river, his concentration locked on the murky water to gauge its depth. When he came to a tree with roots protruding out the bank, he paused and studied the rock-strewn shore below. He had to find a good place to ford as soon as possible.
When he and his men passed through earlier, the horses had trouble finding enough water to drink. Now he couldn’t see the river bottom. That worried Lorenzo. It worried him a lot.
Stones and sand abruptly shifted under his weight. He lost his footing and tumbled down the bank into a spray of wet leaves and debris. He landed on his bottom in a foot of water.
Miguel flung himself from his horse and dashed to the tree. “Captain! Are you all right?”
Lorenzo rose and brushed mud from his buckskins. “Well, that was embarrassing.”
“Need some help down there?” Miguel asked, grinning.
Lorenzo ignored him and grabbed a tree root to climb the bank.
A roar like the sound of a waterfall froze him in place. The noise changed abruptly to a giant hiss.
“Get out of there!” Miguel shouted in high-toned desperation. “That sounds like a flash flood!”
A wall of white water surged from upstream, directly at Lorenzo. He grabbed a second root. Frothy water, head high, raced toward him.
Miguel, bracing a leg against a tree root, stretched out his hand. “Grab hold!”
Lorenzo’s fingertips brushed Miguel’s, but an arm of water shot out, engulfed him and yanked him under.
Lorenzo’s heart beat wildly as he struggled not to breathe. Arms flailing, he fought to push himself to the surface. At the last second, when he was sure he couldn’t hold his breath another instant, he popped to the surface and gasped. He gulped in air.
Water dripped from his hair, blinding him. He shook his head and could barely make out Miguel and the two horses. Had the water swept him so far downstream in so short a time?
Lorenzo struggled to keep his head above water, but he swirled around like a leaf in a whirlpool.
Dirty water filled his mouth. Suction pulled him under. He struggled to the surface and pumped his arms in a useless effort to reach the shore. Submerged objects battered his body until he hurt all over.
Engulfed in an eddy of whirling water, he could do nothing but ride it out. Everything happened so quickly, Lorenzo was only dimly aware of zooming around a bend, hitting the shore, then being shoved further downstream by the force of water before he could grab something.
Ahead, a dark object loomed in the middle of the river. Directly in his path lay an uprooted tree. He was headed straight for the trunk.
Lorenzo thought fast. If he became entangled in the limbs to the right or the roots on the other side, he could drown. His best bet was in the center, the tree trunk.
He swam with all his might. No matter how much strength he put into it, he made little headway. Fighting the river current stole all his energy. He felt like his lungs would burst from exertion.
Closer and closer the tree came. If the impact knocked him unconscious, he would drown for sure. Hands straight out, he prepared himself for a battering against the log. He hit. It nearly knocked the breath out of him. He hooked his elbow around an upright tree branch and clung to it. The current tried to rip him loose, but he held on. His chest heaved and his muscles ached.
He lay puffing, heart hammering in his chest. He thought he heard his name over the water’s roar.
He looked up and saw Miguel on the riverbank, lasso in hand. His horse stood behind him. Apparently, Miguel had raced down the riverbank after him on horseback.
“Captain, stay right there,” Miguel called out.
Too exhausted to answer, Lorenzo watched his rescuer twirl the rope once, twice overhead, then throw it.
It landed too far away for him to grasp. Lorenzo’s heart lurched. His fingers were cramping. Before long he would lose his grip on the log.
Miguel pulled the rope ashore. Again the rope sailed across the flood. This time, it landed close enough for Lorenzo to grab.
“Put the rope around your waist, Captain, and I’ll haul you to shore.” Miguel looped the rope around his saddle horn and secured it.
Lorenzo struggled to do as he was told.
Meanwhile, Miguel unbuckled his sword belt, pulled the leather sash that read SAN ANTONIO DE BEXAR over his head, and removed the padded cuera. Next he yanked off his buckskin leggings and boots. He only wore a long-sleeved white shirt and tight blue knee breeches.
At that instant, Lorenzo was glad he wore buckskin and moccasins. Weighted down by his uniform, he would never have broken the surface and would surely have drowned.
Lorenzo felt his grip slipping. If Miguel didn’t do something soon, the tide would sweep him away. Miguel backed his horse up. Lorenzo felt himself being dragged through the raging torrent. He was too exhausted to swim to shore.
Miguel waded in and reached for him. “Grab my hand.” Lorenzo obeyed without question. Raging water soaked them as Miguel pulled him to shore.
Lorenzo collapsed on the riverbank. He lay flat on his back, gasping, chest heaving. He rolled over on his side and vomited what seemed like a gallon of water.
Miguel slapped him hard on the back. “You’ll be fine, Captain, but I must say you look like a drowned rat.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Lorenzo coughed out. “I owe you.”
“Indeed you do, sir.”
“Remind me never to join the navy.”
Miguel laughed. “I admire a man who can look death in the face and keep his sense of humor.”
Lorenzo sat back and swiped wet hair out of his eyes. Slowly his breathing returned to normal.
&nb
sp; Miguel’s thin linen shirt clung to him and made the form beneath it visible. Partly surprised, partly confused, Lorenzo stared at Miguel’s chest. Evident through the water-soaked shirt was a bandage wrapped tightly around his chest and knotted in the back.
Lorenzo had seen his father use a similar bandage many times on patients with broken ribs. Why would Miguel use such a thing? His ribs were fine. Nursing mothers often bound their breasts similarly when they were ready to wean their babes and wanted their milk to dry up.
Lorenzo jerked his eyes to Miguel’s face, then back down to his chest. He couldn’t help but stare. No, he told himself. It couldn’t be.
But it was. Miguel had … Lorenzo couldn’t bring himself to think it.
Miguel crossed his arms over his chest protectively in a purely feminine gesture.
Lorenzo gasped at a sudden realization. Miguel was a girl.
Chapter Seventeen
“Well, this explains a lot,” Lorenzo said. “Why would you pretend to be a man?”
Miguel looked him straight in the eye for the first time. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, start talking. I want to hear this.”
“My twin brother, Miguel, inherited the ranch after Papá died. He had no desire to continue the cattle business, so he went to Spain to study at the university. I ran the ranch while Soledad tended house. She met an Apache brave named Bayé, and they got married. I was sorry to see her go, but glad at the same time. Bayé, was a fine man who had a way with horses.” Miguel paused. “You can tell a lot about a man’s character by the way he handles horses.”
Lorenzo nodded in agreement.
“Then one day, about four years ago, disaster struck. The king of Spain confiscated the ranch, and I had no way to support myself.”
“Did the king take the ranch for debts?”
“No. As punishment.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “My brother was part of a conspiracy against the king and was executed.”
“You assumed your twin’s identity when you joined the army.”
“Correct. I had no family left. I thought about going to Spain. I set out for Laredo not completely sure what I would do with myself. For reasons of security, I dressed as a man. Along the way, I met some soldiers guarding a supply wagon. They welcomed my company and treated me like a man.” Miguel half-smiled. “That was when I got the idea to join the army.”
Lorenzo recalled the day his father threw him out of the examination room. “Papá discovered your secret, didn’t he?”
“Yes. He was a very shrewd man. Soon after I joined the army, he ordered me to come to his office. In private, he confronted me. I confessed everything. Once Dr. Bannister discovered I was using Miguel’s identity, he falsified medical records.”
Lorenzo considered that. It sounded like something his father would do.
“Dr. Bannister showed me how to wrap my chest in this kind of bandage.” She lightly touched it. “It works better than the one I was using.”
“How did you manage to fool everyone?” Lorenzo asked, genuinely interested.
Miguel smiled. “It wasn’t that hard. I was raised around vaqueros. They taught me how to ride and rope and act manly. I was the son my father always wanted. Miguel was something of a disappointment. After Bayé died, Soledad moved to San Antonio to live with me. She knows about the masquerade, of course. Now that you know the truth, Captain, what do you plan to do about this?”
Lorenzo leaned back on his elbows and watched the sky.
Below ash-gray clouds, a hawk hovered on the air current looking for prey. After a moment, it flew away.
“Do about what, Lieutenant? I seem to have gotten water in my ears and have missed most of what you just said.”
Miguel’s worried expression melted. “You have much of your father in you.”
“I take that as a great compliment, Lieutenant.”
“I intended it as such. He was a special man and is sorely missed.”
“It was you!” Lorenzo said in a burst of sudden understanding. “You’re the one who’s been tending Papá’s grave and leaving flowers.” Lorenzo had asked around town, wanting to thank the person responsible, but no one knew a thing.
Miguel blushed. “It was the least I could do.”
Lorenzo stood. He suppressed the urge to help her up.
No. You can’t treat her like a girl. You have to keep thinking of Miguel as a boy, Lorenzo admonished himself.
Miguel found her coat and boots and put them on. She got on her horse and stretched a hand to Lorenzo. He swung up behind her.
They walked toward Piñata, who was grazing on the riverbank. After retrieving her, they rode back to the herd in silence.
Along the way, Lorenzo watched Miguel out of the corner of his eye. Now that he knew the secret, he looked for little mannerisms to give away her true sex, but couldn’t find any. On the ranch, Miguel had years of practice acting manly. She played the part well.
Lorenzo suddenly realized that he and Miguel were united by his father’s secrets. Papá had hidden the fact that Lorenzo had been born into slavery in Virginia. He had helped Miguel hide her true identity. How many other secrets had Papá taken to his grave?
Chapter Eighteen
Dunstan glanced skyward at dark clouds blocking the morning sunshine. It looked like a storm was brewing in the Gulf of Mexico. If he recalled correctly, any time from August to December vicious weather could strike unexpectedly.
Thomas rode at his side with twelve British soldiers behind them. They were headed upriver on the Spanish side of the Mississippi to establish a hideout so they could ambush the flatboats.
Twelve. Dunstan would have preferred twice that number. The ambassador had recognized the importance of controlling the Mississippi and blocking the Spanish supply route to the Continental Army. He had wholeheartedly endorsed Dunstan’s plan and would have given him more soldiers, but there were only twelve soldiers assigned to the embassy.
Dunstan, Thomas, and the soldiers followed deer paths until they came to a bend in the river. Here, the Mississippi made a wide loop. Dunstan understood why Bannister had chosen this spot as the rendezvous point. It would be easy to box cattle in with the river on three sides.
They traveled a mile farther to another wide loop in the Mississippi. For a mile both up and down river, the view was unobstructed. Rebel flatboats would have no chance of slipping by undetected. A curtain of trees lined the river and would hide their camp. This, Dunstan decided, was the perfect place for an ambush, and the officer in charge agreed.
Dunstan took leave of them, noting a blackened tree that had been struck by lightning. It made the perfect landmark. He and Thomas headed due west toward the end point of the King’s Highway. At their backs, ax blows rang through the forest as soldiers felled trees to build a cabin.
Dunstan had lied to Thomas because he didn’t want to travel alone and the boy was quite useful. Thomas would go back to Major Hawthorne if he knew the mission was over. Dunstan had found proof of Spanish aid to American rebels. The cattle were important, as important as Major Hawthorne’s promise to promote him to the officer corps, but Dunstan still had a score to settle with Lorenzo Bannister.
At dawn on September 10, the ninth day of the cattle drive, a rumble sounded over the northern ridge.
Lorenzo scanned the horizon expecting to see signs of an approaching storm. To his surprise, the sky was cloudless, as if someone had placed a pale blue bowl upside down over the world. Lorenzo had a bad feeling about this.
The cattle lifted their heads and stared blankly. Wind howled through the valley, blanketing the low rumble. They went back to grazing.
The rumble grew louder.
“Listen,” Lorenzo said to Red, interrupting him in mid-sentence.
“I don’t hear anything,” Red said.
“I do,” Soledad said. “It sounds like buffalo.”
“What is this buffalo?” Dujardin asked in mangled Spanish.
A huge shaggy beast wi
th a great hump lumbered over the ridge.
Dujardin’s jaw dropped. “Mon dieu!”
Lorenzo’s heart raced. Cattle couldn’t stand the sight of buffalo. It sent them into a blind panic. Buffalo always traveled in herds of a thousand or more. How many were over the ridge? “Everyone mount up!” Lorenzo ordered in a firm but calm voice. He kept his face expressionless so he wouldn’t panic the men.
Everyone leaped into the saddle.
“Soledad,” Lorenzo ordered, “guard the supply wagon. Ambrosio, move the cattle south as fast as you can.”
The cook, repacking the wagon after breakfast, worked a little faster.
Lorenzo called to Red, Miguel, and her soldiers. “Come with me. We have to chase the buffalo away, but whatever you do, don’t fire your weapons.”
Waving coiled lariats, they raced toward the old buffalo bull.
It stopped and looked stupidly at the oncoming vaqueros, then swung awkwardly around and galloped at a surprising speed for its size.
Lorenzo and his companions followed it a short distance. They topped a small rise, then stopped. Every face reflected awe.
A buffalo herd blackened the plain. It looked like a giant hand had scattered thousands of grains of black powder.
Lorenzo had a quick vision of his small collection of cattle being overrun by a buffalo herd the size of the Mississippi. “We have to keep them from coming this way!”
“How are we going to do that, Captain?” Miguel asked. “There are thousands of them.”
“If we can get one bull running in the right direction, the rest will follow.”
“I don’t relish being trampled to death.”
“Then stay in the saddle. Buffalo won’t charge a man on horseback.”
“They will during mating season,” Miguel pointed out.
“This is September, Lieutenant.”
“I hope they know that.”
Bulls tended to go insane during breeding time, July to August. It wasn’t unusual to see two bulls fighting over a female. Heads lowered, bellowing in rage, they would run toward each other and bang foreheads. They never fought to the death, only until one of them gave up and trotted away. In some ways, it reminded Lorenzo of medieval jousting tournaments he loved to read about.
