Her Inheritance Forever

by Lyn Cote

  She recalled the arrogant Santa Anna and her haughty cousins at Rancho Sandoval. She wanted men like them run out of Texas. But could Scully and others like him do that? And what would that cost her and Dorritt? And other nameless women?

  After the noonday sun had passed over them, Dorritt turned to her. “I can’t stand or walk another minute,” she confessed. “We must lie down and then find some food for ourselves. And Sugar will need to eat too.”

  Alandra nodded, her eyes nearly shutting by themselves. The restless nights were taking their toll on her. She hoped that Scully wouldn’t be hampered by the same weariness today. I have been keeping him up nights too. The thought of lying down alone tonight shook her, but she pushed it away. Scully was not a coward, and she could not give in to fear.

  She followed Dorritt out of the tent. “Sugar!” Dorritt called. “Sugar! Time to eat!”

  The child was not under the tree. Dorritt and Alandra went through the camp, much smaller now that the men had left, calling the child. When they didn’t find her, Alandra stared ahead at Buffalo Bayou. “Where did she go?”

  Dorritt put into words what Alandra feared. “I’m very much afraid she might have gone after Carson.”

  “She couldn’t have gone far,” Alandra said, fatigue making it difficult for her to speak.

  “Yes,” Dorritt agreed. “She can’t walk fast enough to have gone that far yet.”

  Alandra nodded as if in agreement, but these bayous were not safe for a little child alone. There were Texas wildcats, bears, and even gators in the bayous.

  “Maybe you should stay here,” she said to Dorritt. “You look dead on your feet.”

  Dorritt sank to the ground. “I’m just so tired, Lonnie.” Indeed, her aunt looked about to faint.

  “You must stay here and rest, Tía. I’ll go look for Sugar.”

  “I should go with you,” Dorritt said, but Alandra heard the acquiescence in her aunt’s voice.

  “No, I won’t go far. She could not cover much territory. And Carson and I used to play scouting games as a child. I know how to track as well as he does.” Dorritt reached up, and Alandra bent to squeeze her hand. “Rest, Tía.”

  Fifteen

  After that long, hurry-up day, Scully rode beside Quinn as the sun sank close to the horizon. That morning, he and the rest of the cavalry had swum their horses across the bayou. His buckskin had taken hours to dry out. The day had been filled with the sound of marching. He had never heard anything like it, the sound of hundreds of men moving forward. He thought that the soft wet prairie would muffle them, but it had merely muted the noise. The tempo of the march gave him a feeling of urgency, as if he were a fresh horse pulling and rearing to start the race.

  Earlier, when the army had headed east toward Buffalo Bayou, he hadn’t looked back at the women, at Alandra. Deep inside, his instincts had clamored for him to stay and protect his woman. But, of course, by helping defeat Santa Anna, he was protecting Alandra.

  He heard shouting and groaning from ahead and cantered forward. The wagon bearing the “Twin Sisters”—their two cannons—had bogged down in the mud. Tossing Quinn his reins, Scully slid from the saddle. He found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Sam Houston, pushing against the wagon wheel, shoving it through the mire. He and Houston grunted with the effort. Inch by inch they forced the stuck wheels to turn. Finally, the wagon rolled onto firmer ground. Panting, Scully stepped back, better for this exertion. It had released some of his pent-up urgency.

  “Well done,” Houston said, and clapped a muddy hand on Scully’s shoulder.

  Scully nodded respectfully and then hurried to claim his reins from Quinn. The march resumed at the same slow pace. It still grated on him. But an army of nearly a thousand could not cover as much ground in a day as just he and Quinn alone.

  “Who’s that?” Quinn pointed to a figure coming at a run from the right of the troops.

  The two of them rode out toward the man, and as they approached, saw that he was a Negro. When they reached him, he stopped running and bent over, resting his hands on his knees and panting, out of breath.

  “What do you want?” asked Deaf Smith, who had caught up with Scully and Quinn.

  The man looked up and swallowed. “I got a message for the general, for that Sam Houston.”

  “Climb up behind me,” Quinn said. “We’ll take you to him.” The man did as he was told, and the scouts galloped toward the head of the troops.

  “What is it?” the general asked when they dismounted, and the man they brought with them slid from his horse.

  The black man swept off his hat. “I belong to a family near New Washington, sir. I was captured there, trying to protect my master’s home. When the enemy let me go, that Santa Anna give me a message for Sam Houston. Are you that man, sir?”

  “I am. What is the message?”

  “I dearly hate to say this to you, sir. But he told me to tell you, Mr. Houston, that he knows you’re up there in the bushes; and, as soon as he has whupped the land thieves down by New Washington out of the country, he will come up and smoke you out too.”

  Scully gripped his reins tighter. The butcher dared to taunt them.

  Houston looked grim. “Thank you. Have you eaten?”

  “No, sir.”

  Houston waved to one of the men near him. “Take this man and give him a ration. Then let him head home.”

  “Thank you, sir. And if you don’t mind, I think I’ll come along with you. I didn’t take to that Santa Anna. I heard what he done to the men at the Alamo. And I’m a Texian too, sir.”

  Houston studied the man. “Can you shoot?”

  “I can.”

  “I won’t turn back any man who’s willing to fight. Get this man food and a musket and shot.” Houston turned to his officers. But not before Scully saw the shock on many faces. Arming a slave was not done.

  It seemed that Houston didn’t notice the reaction, or pretended not to. He said to the assembled men, “We’ll not be stopping at sunset. We must march to Lynch’s Ferry and get there before the Mexicans. I’ll be darned if Santa Anna is going to beat us there. Smoke us out? We’ll see about that.”

  Scully mounted and let the officers move ahead. The sound of marching started up again. His horse pawed the ground, wanting to be off, and he felt the same way. But he was caught between conflicting impulses. He wanted to take off for Lynch’s Ferry to defeat the sneering Santa Anna. And he wanted to return and protect Alandra. How was she? Well?

  “I am thinking of them too,” Quinn commented beside him.

  “What?” Scully turned to Quinn in the steadily lowering light.

  Our wives.”

  Scully looked down at his horse’s mane, thinking of Alandra’s thick raven hair. Our wives.

  “You’re in love with Alandra. Have been for a long time.”

  Scully’s head jerked up.

  “Don’t try to tell me different.” Quinn grinned. “Why do you think we asked you to go to Rancho Sandoval to protect her?”

  Scully glanced away. “I don’t understand. Why would you think she’d have anything to do with me? I’m just a cowboy.”

  “You’re a great deal more than just a cowboy. I saw that a long time ago. So did Dorritt. So has Alandra.”

  Scully didn’t know what to say. His horse danced, wanting to join the infantrymen marching by in file. He wanted to object that he didn’t have feelings for Alandra, but now he realized that Quinn had seen things much more clearly than he had.

  “Do you think Dorritt married me because of my wealth?” Quinn chuckled. “She married me after I got over thinking God couldn’t do something wonderful for me. Stopped thinking that white New Orleans ladies didn’t marry half-breed leatherstockings. To women like Dorritt—and also to Alandra, who was raised by my wife—it is the man himself, not his possessions or his skin color, that they marry. Don’t get that wrong.”

  “I—I—” Scully stammered. Quinn had never said anything about how he and Mrs. Quinn
had made their unusual match. He wanted to ask if him if he thought Alandra had feelings for him, but then Carson rode up beside them.

  Quinn turned his attention to his son, reached out and gripped Carson’s shoulder. “Son, you’re young to be facing this. But you know how to fight. Ash and I have taught you, and you have learned well.” Quinn looked to Scully, including him in his remarks. “You two just make sure to stay alive. I’ve fought Indians, and when you go into battle, just make up your mind before it starts that whatever it takes, you’re going to come out on the other side, breathing.”

  Scully nodded and, while keeping up with the pace of the marching troops, slid from his tired horse to give the animal a breather. He thought over what Quinn had just said. Was he more than a cowboy? Did thinking about what a man had to go home to, save him in a fight? Wasn’t that what every man thought on the eve of battle? He pondered as he walked his horse. And the now familiar sounds of the marching went on, lulling him.

  The march went on and on until deep into the night. In the moonlight, Scully had kept Houston within sight. Finally, the general gave the signal to halt. The infantrymen threw themselves on the ground where they stopped, exhausted from flattening miles and miles of prairie. They had reached the edge of a stretch of timber. According to the scouts, Lynch’s Ferry was just a few miles ahead.

  Scully glanced at Quinn, who nodded. Though bone-deep weary, the two of them, with Carson following, rode to the head of the army. There, they waited with the scouts who were ready to receive their orders for night reconnaissance. Fortunately, there was a healthy moon overhead.

  They saw the other scouts gathered around Houston, who turned to Deaf Smith. “You better go back and take an ax to Vince’s Bridge. I can’t allow General de Cos with Mexican reinforcements to follow us here. Or leave Santa Anna any way out of this trap we’re setting. I don’t want him to be able to slip through our net and escape.”

  Scully digested these words, then added silently, Or give any Texian that turns coward a way to run. We’re in it now.

  At dawn on April 20, Scully was awakened by the tap of drums. Houston had forbidden the sound of reveille. Who knew how close the Mexican Army was? Scully’s horse grazed nearby, hobbled. Reclining against his saddle, he rubbed his face, his eyes gritty from the short sleep. Houston had finally called a halt to the march well after midnight. After an all-day and most of the night march, the men and horses had been nearly ready to drop.

  Now, the sound of men waking, yawning, and talking was all around him. Standing, he reached into his saddlebag to pull out a sea biscuit. Then the order called on and on down the line reached him. They were to assemble into their files and start forward. No time to lose in their move to reach Lynch’s Ferry first. He snapped to attention and his whole body woke up. The dry biscuit in the side of his mouth like a cigar, he checked his gear and saddled his horse.

  Soon the troops around him had assembled. When the drummers smartly tapped out the beat, the Texians started forward, every face grim, every man eager to meet the enemy at last.

  Anticipation pulsing through his veins, Scully joined the scouts, along with Quinn and Carson. “Why aren’t we taking time to eat breakfast?” he asked.

  “We spotted the Mexican cavalry ahead,” Quinn answered, “near that neck of land where Buffalo Bayou and the San Jacinto River meet near Lynch’s Ferry. We rode back here as fast as we could to tell the general. We’ve got to beat the Mexicans to the timber nearest there.”

  Scully’s gut tightened. We’re getting close. He recalled the troops at Goliad caught out in the open and surrounded. He didn’t want that to happen to this army today. They had to reach, take the timber near the ferry first. He urged his mount to keep up with Quinn.

  They headed for the ferry to continue to reconnoiter ahead of the main body. From behind, he heard that mixture of noises that indicated men were marching. Their cadence had sped up to a double quick march.

  The Texian Army marched on and on. In late morning Scully’s stomach growled. He reached into his pocket and gnawed off another bite of sea biscuit. He let the dry tasteless bread melt into an unappetizing gritty lump in his mouth.

  The timber they’d been aiming for all day was now within reach of the infantrymen. Marching over a rolling prairie made it hard not to feel exposed. The men marched even faster, seeking cover in the thick stand of timber within their sight. Quinn and Carson, who’d been out the night before scouting, cantered up to Scully.

  “Is this it? Where we’ll meet up with the Mexicans?” Scully asked.

  Nodding, Quinn quieted his horse. “We reckon the ferry across to Lynchburg is due east just a short way. We scouts have just been ordered to head there and make sure no Mexican has crossed.”

  Scully, Quinn, Carson, and several other scouts galloped straight toward the river. At the end of the woods, a marsh opened up before what must be the San Jacinto River in the distance. The marsh was thick with dead cattails and dried milkweed from the summer before. As the horses picked their way through the mushy ground, Scully saw something he hadn’t expected. Ahead of them at the river, and guarded by a few cavalrymen, Mexican foot soldiers were loading a substantial new flatboat with boxes. Of what? Provisions for the Mexican Army?

  The enemy’s mounted guard saw the approach of the Texians and bolted. They raced eastward, evidently back the way they had come. The Mexican foot soldiers in their fancy blue and white uniforms abandoned the goods and ran after their cavalry or jumped into the river and swam for it.

  With shouts, Scully and Quinn chased the Mexicans on horse and foot and then turned back. After a brief conference, the barge with food, medicines, and ammunition was towed by lines lashed to saddle horns up the bayou to the Texian camp in the woods. A cheer went up when the hungry troops saw the boxes being unloaded by Carson and other scouts.

  Scully swelled with the feeling of success. The Texian Army had achieved its goal. They had arrived near the ferry and taken the best position there. And in their first encounter with Mexicans, their enemies had run. If Santa Anna was interested in crossing at the ferry, he would have to deal with them first. And they had just captured fresh provisions for the troops.

  Scully and Quinn left the other scouts and rode out of the timber, studying the layout of the future battle site. It felt odd to Scully to look over the prairie in front of them and know that the enemy was so close. Warm relief that Alandra and Mrs. Quinn had been safely left behind filled him. It made it easier to think of what must come. As he looked around, his spirits rose even higher. Houston had chosen the battlefield wisely. There was satisfaction in that. Now Scully was certain all the men who had talked against Houston had misjudged one smart man.

  “We’ve got the advantage,” Quinn said, voicing what Scully was thinking. Where Buffalo Bayou, at their back, met the San Jacinto River, the two bodies of water created an arrowhead of land. Timber covered that arrowhead to the north behind them. To their left, when they faced away from the timber, were a large marsh and the ferry. No army would choose to squish over the soggy swampy soil of the marsh and let their cannon get mired, stuck.

  So the Mexicans would have to march over the prairie, straight into the line of fire from the timber the Texians had already claimed. Also, the gently rising prairie stretching in front of them created a natural defense. When the enemy advanced, they would have to mount the rise in plain sight of the Texians.

  Scully looked over his shoulder, watching the infantry fan out behind the two Texian cannon, the Twin Sisters. On both flanks, riflemen were taking up their places. Had some order come down? Why were they moving into battle formation? His horse neighed and danced. He held it on a tight rein. “We better get with the cavalry or we’ll be in trouble.”

  Quinn nodded, and they galloped back to join the rest of the cavalry, centering themselves behind the infantry. It took time for hundreds of men to be marched into place. Scully and Quinn’s mounts, though tired, still fidgeted within the ranks of the cavalr
y. The troops had been downhearted from being on the run so long. Now, a jittery tension began running through the troops, which Scully felt as well.

  The order came for the cavalry to charge. What? Had the main body of the Mexican Army been sighted? Along with about eighty-five cavalrymen, he started toward the enemy, his heart and horse doing an easy gallop.

  When they were closer, he saw some enemy cavalry huddled in a thin line of trees near the large marsh. But just as the Texians were about to begin firing, they heard the signal to retreat. Their cavalry turned and galloped back. “That just tired our horses,” Scully growled to Quinn, wondering why they’d been called upon to turn back.

  Quinn shrugged. Then, when they were back in position behind the infantry, he leaned over, stroking his winded horse. “I don’t think a lot of these men have ever been in a battle. They’ll be restless. If we get more of these false starts, they’ll just start charging without the order. I hope Houston knows what he is doing.”

  As Quinn’s fear sank in, Scully heard the sound of marching and looked forward. It was not the Texas infantry; it was the Mexican Army. Scully pointed toward the south, where the Mexicans were visible beyond the rise in the prairie. The enemy was advancing in a column toward the Texian line. So, it had started. Excitement broke through him like Gulf waves. “I guess General Houston does know what he’s doing.”

  All the troops, infantry in front of him and the cavalry around him, snapped to attention. The Mexican infantry was marching straight for the Twin Sisters. Did they think they could capture the cannon with the infantry? Was Santa Anna suffering from sunstroke?

  The Texian artillery men scrambled. Then the Twin Sisters began to bark canisters and grapeshot. The Mexicans turned and ran. The Texian ranks roared and hooted at the enemy turning tail. But the Texians obeyed orders not to pursue them—though it was clear they wanted to. Scully’s horse pranced and reared. Scully didn’t blame him.