by Lila Guzmán
The answer became obvious when Iron Bear spotted the men driving them: the French rustlers Chien d’Or had brought into the camp.
In a hostile gesture, they pulled arrows from their quivers and set them in bow strings.
Chief Iron Bear’s men acted on instinct and responded in kind. They waited.
It was a standoff, neither side anxious to fire the first shot. Tension hung in the air. The awkward moment stretched.
Suddenly, a rustler jerked his bow up.
Fear shivered through Iron Bear to see it aimed straight at him. Before he could react, an arrow whirred through the air and hit the rustler in the stomach. He doubled over, then toppled from his horse.
The other warriors followed Kokotil’s lead and fired a volley of arrows. The three remaining rustlers were shot through the heart.
Iron Bear urged his horse forward and surveyed the corpses. He sensed Kokotil beside him. “You saved my life.”
“I couldn’t let any harm come to you. You still owe me two horses.”
Iron Bear laughed. “It warms my heart to know I mean so much to you.”
“You can buy a lot with two horses!” Kokotil exclaimed.
Iron Bear ordered his men to round up the cattle, and they obeyed without question.
As he watched, a terrible thought came to him. Spanish soldiers were probably out looking for the stolen cattle. If they found Iron Bear’s men with them, they would assume they were rustlers. He and his braves could be in bad trouble.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Iron Bear drifted to the back of the herd. He needed to be alone so he could think. How could he get rid of the cattle? He prayed for guidance.
The sound of creaking wheels rode the breeze.
Puzzled, Iron Bear turned. To his amazement, a wagon emerged from the woods. He expected a patrol of Spanish soldiers, not a wagon.
Iron Bear stared at the man driving it. His hair looked like it was on fire. Iron Bear had never seen hair like that. Clearly, this was a sign. But what a filthy sign it was. The man’s clothes were mud-spattered, and he had dark rings under his eyes.
Iron Bear waited by the side of the road.
The redheaded man slowed the wagon and squinted at him, obviously sizing up the threat Iron Bear posed. His hand slid to his pistol.
“Buenos días,” Iron Bear said, struggling to remember a language he hadn’t used in years.
“You speak Spanish,” the driver said in surprise.
“I learn from monks when vaquero.”
The man nodded toward the cattle. “Mine.”
Iron Bear lifted an eyebrow. “Yours?”
“Yes. Big storm. Cattle run …” The man flicked his fingers out, indicating they had scattered.
“Stampede,” Iron Bear said, recalling a word that struck terror in every vaquero’s heart.
“Yes! Stampede!” The man’s face lit, as if a sudden idea had come to him. He took a gold coin from his pocket. “You. Me. Cattle. We take to the Mississippi.”
Iron Bear rubbed his beardless chin and considered the offer. “How much you pay?”
“Five Spanish pillar dollars.”
“Ten.”
The man nodded.
“Ten for each man,” Iron Bear said, to make sure there was no confusion over the amount.
The man paused and counted heads. He let out a low whistle. “Ten for each man.”
A generous offer. Spanish money would buy food if game got scarce in the winter.
This would work out well for his tribe. Recalling the way Spaniards sealed a deal, Iron Bear thrust out his hand.
The man shook it firmly.
Iron Bear sent two warriors home with the captured game to feed the tribe and the message that he and the others would return by the full moon.
Lorenzo kneaded his forehead and looked around the room. The silence grated on his nerves. He hadn’t realized until this moment how accustomed he had become to the vaqueros’ constant singing.
They were gone. Lorenzo’s mind rebelled against that fact. He squeezed his eyes shut. Anxiety gnawed at the pit of his stomach. His first command was an utter failure. All this work, all this loss of life, for nothing.
What should he do now? Send a messenger to Colonel De Gálvez warning him about the British? Lorenzo immediately rejected the idea. He needed every hand. He pulled out his calendar and winced at the date. The flatboats were due at the agreed-upon rendezvous point any day now. There wasn’t enough time to send a message. He ran his hand through his hair. He had failed. Fifty head of cattle! That was all he could deliver to General Washington.
But a larger problem loomed. The British outpost. If only he knew where it was … if only he knew how many redcoats were there.
He squatted in front of Saber-Scar. “Where is the hideout?”
Saber-Scar didn’t react to the question.
Lorenzo forced his head up and asked again. “Where is it?”
Still no response.
Lorenzo was about to search Saber-Scar’s pockets when a commotion started beyond the walls. It sounded like cattle lowing. At first, Lorenzo thought it came from the corral. Then he heard voices he didn’t recognize.
The cabin door burst open. Dujardin, eyes wide in surprise, stepped inside. “Red is here!” he exclaimed.
Lorenzo rushed outside, leaving Dujardin with orders to guard Saber-Scar and Thomas. Everyone else followed close behind.
Soledad flew to her husband’s open arms. They held each other tight and cried.
Lorenzo’s heart lodged in his throat. He had given Red up for dead. “Welcome back,” Lorenzo said in a voice heavy with emotion. His gaze went to Apaches on horseback driving fifty or so head of cattle toward the corral.
“Soledad!” an elderly man with silver braids called out. He slid down from his horse and strode toward her.
Soledad’s face shone with joy.
He opened his arms wide, and she stepped into his embrace.
She hugged him tight, then stepped back. “I’d like you to meet Iron Bear, chief of my tribe.”
Lorenzo dipped his head. “It is an honor, sir.”
Miguel bowed.
After driving the cattle into the corral, Iron Bear’s men joined them. One of them tilted his head, eyed Miguel curiously and slipped over to her. Saying nothing, he studied her up and down, then walked around her. With a grunt, he stood at her side.
She looked at him with evident distaste and folded her arms across her chest.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Lorenzo said to Red. “I didn’t expect you to bring company.”
“Didn’t expect to bring company.” Red told Lorenzo about running into Iron Bear and his warriors. “Me and the chief got to know each other pretty good on the way here. He seems like a regular fellow.”
“So how did you end up with the wagon and the cattle?” Lorenzo asked.
Red scratched his neck in embarrassment. “Somehow I got lost during the stampede.”
“You weren’t lost.” Miguel’s gaze slid to Lorenzo. She smiled. “You just didn’t know where you were.”
Red laughed. “By the time my horse stopped running, there weren’t nobody around. Decided to head due east to the Mississippi and follow it south. Got lucky and happened upon wagon ruts. Found the wagon but the cook wasn’t nowhere around.”
“Chien d’Or’s gang attacked after the stampede,” Lorenzo said, “and killed the vaqueros.”
Red drew his mouth into a tight line. “I don’t think that’s what happened to the cook. There wasn’t any blood in the wagon. I bet he fell off during the stampede.”
“We’ll probably never know,” Lorenzo said. “What we do know is that the British have an outpost and they intend to ambush the flatboats.”
Red’s whole body tensed. “The Brits have an outpost? Where? How did you learn that?”
Lorenzo explained what had happened in his absence.
“Good Lord, Captain! If we lose the Mississippi, the war is over. The
Brits are to the north in Canada and to the south in Florida. They can attack by sea up and down the eastern coast. If we lose the west, the Brits have us surrounded. All they have to do is tighten the noose and we’re dead.”
“I know. I was just about to search Saber-Scar for information when you arrived.”
“Let’s do it.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
With Red at his side, Lorenzo went back inside and walked over to Saber-Scar. He hadn’t moved and still sat hunched over, with his hands bound behind him.
Thomas was across the room. It looked like he was trying to put as much distance as possible between him and Saber-Scar.
Red came to a dead halt when he saw Thomas. “Where’d the boy come from?”
Lorenzo explained it to him and introduced Thomas.
The boy swiped hair out of his eyes with one hand and offered the other to Red. “Tis a pleasure to meet thee, sir.”
Frowning slightly, Red shook hands with the boy. “Likewise.”
“Where is the hideout?” Lorenzo asked Saber-Scar.
No response.
Lorenzo began to search his pockets.
Saber-Scar cursed and spit in his face.
Anger flashed through Lorenzo. He punched Saber-Scar in the jaw. “Do that again,” Lorenzo growled as he wiped away spittle with his sleeve, “and I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
Saber-Scar glared defiance at him but behaved.
Lorenzo riffled through Saber-Scar’s pockets. The only thing he found was an elegant-looking document filled with flourishes. He unfolded it. “Saber-Scar is a diplomat,” he said in disbelief.
“And I’m king of England,” Red said.
“Look at this,” Lorenzo said, showing him the paper. “This changes everything.”
“It changes nothing,” Red growled. “He’s still a lying British dog!”
“But now he’s a lying British dog with diplomatic privilege. That complicates matters. This is something Colonel De Gálvez will have to deal with.”
“What about the boy?”
“I’ll send him home. Thomas, where do you live?”
The boy looked surprised. “Hancock’s Bridge, New Jersey.”
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.
Chapter Thirty-Four
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 S
aint Jean Baptiste.
Chapter Thirty-Five
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.
