Home of the Brave

by Jeffry Hepple

  “That’s all well and good, sir, but the fact remains, as you can plainly see, I paid for four thousand, four-hundred and twenty-eight acres.”

  “As you can plainly see,” Austin countered, “each of these parcels has a name on it. Therefore the only way I could adjust your parcel to four thousand, four-hundred and twenty-eight acres would be to take land away from several others.”

  Thomas walked closer to the map. “What about this area that’s labeled Nashville and marked through? There are no names here.”

  “There are some legal difficulties with that grant. It was purchased by a company for profit and will be forfeit. An associate of mine, Samuel May Williams, and I have asked the State of Coahuila for a permit to settle eight hundred families on that grant and on this land here to the north and west.”

  “Will it be approved?”

  “I cannot see why not. But it will take time and the grant has yet to be surveyed.”

  “When will it be surveyed?”

  Austin answered him with a helpless shrug. “After the state has agreed and if and when I can find a competent surveyor to put to the task.”

  “Why would it be difficult to find a surveyor?”

  “Money, sir. I have far more expenses than I have income.”

  “I’ll survey it in exchange for land. Land in addition to the four thousand, four-hundred and twenty-eight acres I’ve paid for, of course.”

  “Are you qualified? This is Texas. Vast and filled with hostile Indians.”

  “I’m a graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York and I spent four years surveying the State of Illinois amid many hostile Indians, sir.”

  “Ah.” Austin raised a finger. “West Point? Are you related to General John Van Buskirk?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m his son.”

  Austin brightened. “I think we may be able to work something out, sir. Depending, of course, on how much additional land you would ask in return for your services.”

  “You must have some idea of how much it would cost to pay for the survey,” Thomas said. “I’d be satisfied if you paid me in land the equivalent of whatever that amount might be.”

  “Yes. That seems fair.” Austin went to his desk and referred to some notes, then sat down and did some calculations on paper. “The low bid is one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. That would be fifteen thousand, six hundred and twenty five additional acres.”

  “Since we both know that your low bid is far too low and will never be honored, why don’t we just say this area at the top of the grant?” Thomas suggested, tracing a rectangle on the map with his finger.

  “That’s probably a million acres,” Austin replied.

  “Closer to two million,” Thomas said. “A hundred miles wide and thirty miles deep, I should guess. I’ll take my original land from that, of course.”

  Austin shook his head. “That’s equivalent to a quarter of a million dollars in cash. I have eight bids here for considerably less. Considerably less.”

  “Yes, sir, but you don’t have the money to pay for any of them.”

  Austin continued to shake his head. “It’s highway robbery, sir. Pure and simple. I won’t agree.”

  “Perhaps you’ve overlooked the fact that by settling with me you also avoid a costly law suit and the bad publicity it would garner.”

  “That is extortion, sir.”

  “And of course you’ll have all this land that I survey available for immediate sale when the State of Coahuila approves your application. I’d estimate that should return two and a half million dollars in profit.”

  “What if the state does not approve my application?”

  “Then you would owe me no more than my original purchase.”

  Austin checked his mathematics then looked up at Thomas. “You know that you may well invest several years in this project and come away with nothing for your effort?”

  “By the time I have completed the survey, the grant will belong to someone. If not you, someone else. I believe that the eventual empresario will pay me for my time at least.”

  “To avoid having to renegotiate with you in the future when you have your survey in hand, I insist on a contract.”

  “Of course. But if you have failed to get the necessary permission in two years, the contract is null and void.”

  “Agreed so long as you are bound by the same term.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Even if it takes me ten years you’ll still have the survey.”

  “Except that if I have the permission and don’t have the survey in three years I’ll pay another surveyor.”

  “If you have the capital.”

  “Yes. If I have the capital.”

  “How about a compromise?”

  “Such as what?”

  “If at the end of three years you have the permission and I have not completed the survey, you may hire another surveyor to work with me toward completion. His fees will be deducted from my land for cash proposal at twelve and a half cents per acre.”

  “I’ll have to get Mr. Williams’ approval first, but assuming he has no objections, I’ll draw up the contract and have it ready for you by this time tomorrow.”

  Thomas shook Austin’s hand then made his way out to the muddy street where Jane was sitting on her horse in front of their pack train.

  She had a large-bore fowling piece, which was longer than she was tall, across her saddle and she smiled when she saw him.

  “Any trouble?” he asked her as he looked about at all the rough looking vagabonds.

  “No. Did you get directions to our ranch?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll explain later.” He looked up and down the street at the adobe buildings. “Should we risk a hotel room?”

  “The hotel would probably be safe but if we left our outfit with that livery stable I fear our horses, mules, gear and the stable master would be gone by morning.” She craned her neck to look back toward the river. “There was a place where the riverbank was undercut that would make a good camp.”

  “We’d be robbed and murdered for certain. We need to hire some men.”

  “I wouldn’t trust anyone in this town. They all look like bandits.”

  “At some point we have to trust someone.”

  “Why?”

  “We can’t just roam this country alone, Jane.”

  “We’ve been okay so far.”

  “We’ve been okay because we’ve always been with a group. If we set out alone we won’t last a day.”

  “This is a fine time to think of that.”

  “I had imagined that it would be more civilized here.”

  She looked around. “Is there a police station or something like that where we could get advice?”

  “I think Stephen Austin is the judge, the police and the military authority here. I’d rather not ask any favors of him. We just had a hard bargaining session.”

  “Well we can’t just sit here, Thomas. Do something.”

  “I am doing something. I’m thinking.”

  “Here. Take this and hold my horse.” Jane handed him the shotgun, slipped off the saddle and trotted after a woman in a gingham dress who was leading a little girl by the hand.

  Thomas watched her nervously as she talked to the woman and then trotted back. “What was all that about?”

  “Mrs. Johnson says that she and her husband have a small farm about a mile down the river and that we can camp there tonight.” Jane took back the shotgun. “Her husband is getting the wheel fixed on their buckboard. When it’s finished, he’ll pick her up at the general store and we can follow them home.”

  “I’m not sure how we’ll be better off on their little farm than camping on the river.”

  “We may not be, but they’ve lived and survived here for five years, so they undoubtedly know more than we do.”

  Thomas shrugged resignedly.

  “You can tell me why we’r
e not going to our ranch while we wait.”

  ~

  The Johnson’s farm proved to be several hundred acres of cotton, a thousand of alfalfa and many smaller plots of vegetables, plus a budding orchard. The main house was built of adobes with peeled tree trunks as beams supporting a flat roof. The kitchen was a separate building half way between the main house and a long adobe bunkhouse. The barns and other outbuildings were frame with rough-sawn lap siding produced in Mr. Johnson’s water powered mill.

  “West Point,” Mr. Johnson said. “Seems like a waste of a good education to come out here and herd cows.”

  “Have another ear of corn, Mr. Van Buskirk?” Mrs. Johnson asked.

  Thomas took one of the small ears from the offered platter with a pair of wooden tongs. “I must say that this is the best corn I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Young corn, just barely ripe,” Mr. Johnson replied. “We get two crops a year but we’re a few weeks early for the harvest. This corn here was knocked down by some wild longhorns. Waste not, want not, I always say.”

  “Are there many of those longhorns around here?” Jane asked.

  Johnson shook his head. “A few once in a while get into the corn but usually somebody shoots ‘em for meat before they get this far. There used to be a band of Wichitas that lived up river. They kept ‘em cleared off. That was until a wild bunch of vaqueros from San Antonio de Béxar shot up their village for no good reason.”

  “I’ve heard they moved north, up the bend of the Brazos,” Mrs. Johnson said.

  “That’s where the big herds of cattle are,” Johnson added. “Buffalo too. North and east of the Hueco village.”

  Thomas wiped butter off his lips with a napkin. “And horses, I hear.”

  “Mustangs,” Johnson said. “Small. Not much good for nothin’. The Indians eat ‘em. They don’t seem to care whether they eat beef or horse. Me, I don’t like horse meat.”

  “They don’t seem to care if the animals are wild or the property of others either,” Mrs. Johnson said. “My sister and her husband have a big dairy herd and the Indians are always taking their Guernsey cows for meat, even though there are wild cattle, buffalo and deer everywhere.”

  “Is there any kind of law to deal with that?” Thomas asked.

  Johnson nodded. “The Texas Rangers, but there’s only two or three hundred of ‘em scattered across the whole state. They operate in companies from rough little forts here and there.”

  “My husband has a contract to survey the area north of here between the Neches and the Colorado rivers,” Jane said. “Would it be safe for us to go up there alone or would we need to hire some men?”

  “Safe?” Johnson shook his head. “I should say not. I wouldn’t wander up around there with less than fifty armed men. Maybe more up on the Colorado. The Comanches up there are mounted and hostile. Not like these Wichitas and Caddo around here. And if you go west of the Colorado yer liable to bump into Apaches or Kiowa and they’re even worse than Comanches. To the east, they’re Cherokees, and they may be the worst of all.”

  “How would I go about recruiting reliable men?” Thomas asked.

  “Men is easy,” Johnson answered. “Reliable is hard.”

  “How about Caleb Hatfields’ hands?” Mrs. Johnson suggested. She looked at Jane and Thomas. “Caleb was gored by a bull last week so his wife took him back East and left the ranch without even lookin’ back. His ranch hands are still out there takin’ care of the herd, but they’ll quit when they don’t get paid on the first of next month.”

  “I wonder if we could buy the ranch and stock from Mrs. Hatfield,” Jane said.

  “It’s too small and overgrazed,” Johnson said. “You’d be better off just buyin’ the stock and free grazin’.”

  “What’s that?” Jane asked. “Free grazing?”

  “Just movin’ the herd on the open range,” Johnson replied. “Of course you gotta make sure you don’t accidently cross land that’s owned by some rancher or he’s like to shoot you and steal your cows.”

  “People do that?” Jane said in amazement. “Free graze, I mean?”

  Johnson nodded. “Some of the biggest herds down south are run by Mexicans that don’t own a lick of land. They fatten the cows on free grass all summer then drive ‘em to market in New Orleans the next fall. Not a bad business if you don’t mind sleepin’ out in the open.”

  “We could do that,” Jane said to Thomas. “We could move the herd wherever you were surveying and gather wild cattle as we went.”

  Thomas looked at Mr. Johnson. “Is that feasible?”

  “Feasible?”

  “Does it make sense?”

  “Sure. Why not? The land yer surveyin’ can’t belong to anybody until you survey it, so it’s open range.”

  “How would I go about buying Mr. Hatfield’s stock?” Thomas asked.

  “Just give the goin’ price of beeves on the hoof to Colonel Austin and let him figure out how to get the money to Caleb or Genevieve,” Johnson said. “Just make sure you register the sale and keep the bill so you can prove they’re yours. You’ll need to get your own earmark too, if you aim to gather wild cows.”

  Thomas nodded. “These cattle that we’re speaking of, the Hatfield’s, are they longhorns?”

  “Yup,” Johnson confirmed. “People keep tryin’ different breeds but they don’t make it out here.”

  May 5, 1829

  Washington, District of Columbia

  The doorman gawked at Marina as she walked up the steps. “This is a gentlemen’s club, Madam.”

  “I know,” she said. “I have business with Doña Carlotta.”

  “There’s a business entrance on the side.” He pointed. “Down the alley. I’ll tell somebody to let you in. Please have your driver park your carriage down the street.”

  Marina nodded, backtracked to the sidewalk, gave the driver instructions and walked to the alley. Toward the rear, a woman was holding a door open. Marina raised her hand.

  ~

  Marina was admiring the office when Carlotta came in. “This is very nice. I was hoping to see what you’d done to the front lobby but the doorman wouldn’t let me in.”

  “I’ll take you upstairs and you can look through the peepholes, if you want.” Carlotta offered Marina a fat envelope. “This is the last payment. Thank you again.”

  Marina shook her head. “That’s not why I came.”

  “I was going to come to you next Monday. You saved me a trip.” She tried to force the money on Marina.

  “I really don’t need the money. Keep it as operating capital and if you’re still doing well next year I might take it.”

  Carlotta sighed. “I should know better than to argue with you by now.” She opened a drawer, put the envelope inside, then closed and locked the drawer. “So, do you want the peepshow?”

  Marina shook her head. “I need a favor.”

  “Name it and it’s done.”

  “Not so fast. It’s a big one.”

  “There’s nothing you can ask for that I wouldn’t do for you. Absolutely nothing.”

  May 18, 1829

  Washington, District of Columbia

  Congressman David Crockett of Tennessee paced the length of the room. “I just can’t understand a man like you supportin’ this legislation, General.”

  “I don’t support it, Davy,” Yank said, “nor do I oppose it. I’m not, and never will be, political.”

  “This has got nothin’ whatsoever to do with politics, General. It’s about regular, every-day human decency. Everybody knows that the passage of this act means the inevitable removal of every Indian east of the Mississippi. Tribes that don’t voluntarily sign treaties are gonna be coerced into it.”

  Yank chuckled.

  “What’s funny about that?”

  “Davy Crockett using words like inevitable and coerced.”

  Crockett looked annoyed. “All I’m askin’ you to do is get me in to talk to Jackson.”

  “If I mentioned your na
me, he’d shoot me.”

  “So you won’t help me.”

  “You don’t seem to understand, Davy. It isn’t that I won’t, I can’t.”

  The Congressman shook his head disgustedly. “The entire world knows that you’re about to embark for Chicago as Jackson’s most trusted advisor.”

  “If President Jackson trusts me it’s probably because I don’t give him advice that he doesn’t ask for or that I know nothing about. This Indian Removal Act is both of those.”

  “How can you say that you don’t know anything about it?”

  “Easy. I don’t.”

  “It’s a simple thing. Jackson’s government wants a legal way to steal land from the Indians.”

  “Oh, hell, Davy. One government or another’s been stealing land from the Indians since the first white man set foot in the New World. Defeating one piece of legislation isn’t going to stop that.”

  “No, but it might stop another Indian war.”

  “There will be Indian wars as long as there are whites and Indians.”

  “Not if the Indians are left in peace on their traditional lands.”

  “You can’t really believe that, Davy.”

  “I most certainly do, General, and I’ll ask you not to call me Davy.”

  Yank stood up. “Nice seeing you again, Private Crockett.”

  ~

  “I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Marina said. “You hardly knew him in the first place, and haven’t seen him in years, in the second.”

  Yank shrugged. “I really like him, Marina. I saw the spunk and intelligence in him back then and now he’s grown into a fine man.”

  “My God, you’re such a softy.”

  With a grin, he swatted air at her. “Let me see your new ball gown.”

  She shook her head. “You won’t like it.”

  “Why won’t I?”

  “It’s cut very low in the front and leaves my back bare.”

  “I like your front and your back.”

  “Will you like the idea of everyone seeing my front and back while you’re far away?”