Deep in the Heart

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I ain’t eatin’ none of them bugs,” he said, scrunching up his face.

  Jim Bowie laughed and said, “You won’t have to eat many of them out on the plains, son. Just along the coast.”

  “What are things like where we’re goin’, Jim?” Clay asked. “We’d be much obliged if you would lay it out for us.”

  “You know much about the politics of Mexico?” Jim asked as he put an ample portion of crawdads on his plate.

  “Not much. I don’t reckon any of us do.”

  Bowie took a sip of the fiery white wine that burned the throat of those who tried it and shook his head. “Well, here it is in a nutshell. Spain tried everything to settle this part of the world. I guess they own everything clear on up to Santa Fe, but they couldn’t handle the Comanches. Every family that settled would get killed and burnt out. So Stephen Austin’s father, Moses, had the idea of Americans settling there. So he got a big grant of land and aimed to parcel it out to whoever wanted to stake a homestead there. He died before it happened, so his son Stephen is trying to make his father’s dream come true. And he’s been doin’ that now for quite a few years. Funny thing about Austin, though. He had to promise the Mexican government that the settlers would be responsible, law-abiding citizens.”

  “Well, that lets you out, Clay.” Julie smiled. “You may as well hop on your horse and head back to the mountains.”

  “He can let Jake out too,” Clay said, offended by the remark. “I’m as upstanding as he is.”

  “Well, not everybody that comes in fits up to Austin’s high standards.” Bowie smiled. “But there’s some political winds a-stirrin’ that I don’t like. When Austin came here and got the land, Mexico was under Spain’s rule. But they got their independence a few years ago, and since then it’s just been one big fight after another. It seems like things change every other day, and they change the rules on us. Just last year some big muck-a-muck came down from Mexico City and took a look around Texas and decided there were too many northerly Americanos, so they said no more could come in.”

  “But my husband’s already bought the land!” Jerusalem exclaimed. “Will they let us go in?”

  “Oh, they don’t pay too much attention. Somehow Austin’s figured a way to take in just about anybody who wants to. You won’t have any trouble gettin’ in. The trouble is gonna come in two ways. One of them is the Comanches. You bump up against them much, Clay?”

  “No, not so much. Our trouble was more with the Cheyenne up in the mountains and the Sioux.”

  “Well, the Comanches are the worse. They’re the littlest of all the Plains tribes and the meanest. Don’t ever let ’em catch you alive.”

  At that point, Professor Nightingale spoke up. “I’m most interested, sir, in studying the habits of the Comanche. I’ve come a long way to learn all I can about them.”

  “Well, sir, you may have wasted your time, then. Ain’t nothing particulary interesting to learn about ’em. Their habits are to catch people, torture them to death, steal everything they’ve got, and then burn up what’s left.”

  Not knowing what to say, the professor sputtered, “W-what’s the other thing you’re worried about besides the Comanches?”

  “Well, things are in a flux right now. I’m keepin’ my eye on a man called General Antonio López de Santa Anna. He’s an important general, but he’s got big ambitions, folks. From what I hear and see, he’s gonna be trouble one day.” The conversation went on for a long time as they ate, for Bowie loved to talk about all he knew concerning what was happening in Mexico. He told them that he would never be going back to the States.

  He had decided to settle for good here with his Mexican wife and family.

  “Well, Jim, we all thank you for the meal,” Clay said as he stood up.

  “That was right kind of you.”

  “Don’t mention it, Clay. Just make sure you keep your eyes out for trouble.”

  As they were leaving the restaurant, Clay turned back and asked, “How do we get to this Austin colony?”

  “It’s real simple. You take the El Camino Real and head south.

  Anybody can tell you where that is when you’re on the road. It’s about two hundred miles, I’d guess, from here.” He snapped his finger and said, “Clay, I just thought of something. You and Gordon Lebonne, wasn’t you partners for a while in the mountains?”

  “We sure were. Best partner I ever had except for Jake, of course,” he added quickly. “You know Gordon?”

  “Well, he’s been here in Mexico for a while, but he’s had a pretty bad streak of luck.”

  “What’s wrong with him, Jim?”

  “He went into business with a slick operator and lost everything he had about two years ago. Since then he’s been tryin’ to scrape through by herdin’ up these wild longhorns and takin’ ’em to market. But he got hurt pretty bad last month, I heard.”

  “What happened?”

  “One of them longhorns charged him and knocked him off the horse, then rammed one of his long horns into Gordon’s middle. It tore him up pretty bad.” Bowie shook his head. “I heard he’s not gonna make it. He’s got a family too.”

  Jerusalem was watching Clay’s face as Bowie spoke. She saw something change in his features and knew he was concerned for his friend.

  “Where is he?” Clay asked.

  “He’s stayin’ in a little village about seventy miles over the border.

  Wouldn’t be hard to find. I don’t know him that well, but he spoke of you, and I just remembered it.”

  “We grew up together, Gordie and I did,” Clay said. “We ran off together and went to the mountains. Gordie saved my bacon a couple of times when the Cheyenne got pesky. Reckon I’ll drop by and see if I can lend him a hand.”

  “You’d better hurry, from what I heard,” Bowie said. “He might be gone already. When you plannin’ on leavin’?”

  “As quick as possible.”

  Bowie rose up and said, “I’ll be leavin’ early in the mornin’. What about you folks?”

  “I think we’ll be on our way too. I’m anxious to see about Gordie.”

  Jerusalem had kept her eye on Clay when they returned to the camp. She saw him go check the stock, and then he went and stood and stared up at the stars. She walked over to where he stood and said, “What are you thinking about, Clay?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Mostly about Gordie. Looks like the plans he had for himself ain’t gonna work out.”

  “Come on and sit down. I want to talk to you.”

  Clay gave her an odd look, wondering what she had on her mind, and shrugged. They went over and sat down on two boxes they used for seats around the fire. It was very late, and everyone else had gone to bed.

  Jerusalem turned and said, “Clay, you know something about Jake you’re not tellin’ me.” She waited for him to reply. Instead, he changed the subject.

  “You know, we’re headin’ to a dangerous place. Comanches can come out of nowhere, and they always hit those who can’t fight back. Besides, from what Jim says, these Mexicans are going to clamp down on settlers here sooner or later.”

  “I have to go, Clay, but you don’t. You can go back to the mountains or wherever you like.”

  Clay turned to face Jerusalem. The moonlight made her eyes bright, and he said, “You know what? You don’t like to admit that you need people. But you need me if you ever hope to make it.”

  “Yes, I do,” Jerusalem said without argument.

  “Well, I promised Jake I’d help, so after I get you and your family settled, then I’ll move on.”

  The silence ran on for a brief moment, then Jerusalem asked, “Why are you so nervous around me, Clay?”

  “Why, I ain’t!”

  “Yes, you are.” She laughed deep in her throat, a soft sound, and reached over and put her hand on his forearm and squeezed it. Then she got up and turned away, but something came to her. She wheeled and stood facing him. “You know less about women than any man I ever saw, Clay Tali
ferro.” She hesitated, then said, “That song you been singing— about the rose from New Orleans. Tell me about it.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. It’s just a song.”

  “Was there a woman there who left you, like in the song?”

  Clay straightened up and puffed his cheeks out as if he’d been insulted. “You don’t reckon I’d lie about a thing like that, I hope!”

  “Well, I thought it might be just a song you picked up.”

  “Picked up? I’ll have you know I wrote that song my own self—right after I got my heart busted.” He nodded and said sadly, “But you’re only a woman, Jerusalem. You couldn’t be expected to understand how a man’s broken heart can hurt.”

  “What was her name?”

  “What?”

  “What was her name . . . the girl who broke your heart in New Orleans?”

  “Why . . . it was . . . Juanita.”

  “You have to think hard to remember it?”

  “Why, it just hurts me to say it, Jerusalem. Now, don’t give me pain by bringing her up.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll turn in for the night,” Jerusalem said, then turned and headed back toward camp. Just before she reached the wagon, she heard him singing it again:

  Deep in the heart!

  O deep in the heart!

  Naught can be lost

  That’s deep in the heart!

  All flowers may fade

  Their fragrance depart—

  But my New Orleans maid

  Will ever be deep in my heart.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  Julie had been bored with the trip, for every day was the same monotonous routine: travel all day, set up camp, help prepare a meal, then pack up and leave in the morning. But the professor had livened it up for her with his never-ending tales of adventure. Professor Nightingale, whom she called Fergus almost from the beginning, was a fascinating talker. He spoke so rapidly that at first she had trouble keeping up with him, but it was worth the trouble. For two days she had sat beside him in his wagon listening to him rattle on, which helped keep her from getting bored. She was delighted to discover that the seat, both bottom and back, was well padded and covered with a rich tan leather. It was much more comfortable than riding in the other wagons that tossed her about all the time. Fergus also kept a bottle of French wine in a case at his feet, which he gladly shared with her. He sampled it liberally but never seemed to show any sign of it, and Julie found that the sparkling wine made the long hot days more bearable.

  The professor’s wagon was last in the line, and Julie glanced at him, admiring his fine clothes. He told her how Langley meticulously shaved him every morning. He even had a huge brass tub, which he bathed in every night. Julie glanced back at it and said, “I’d like to take a bath in that tub of yours tonight, if you don’t mind, Fergus.”

  “Why, of course, my dear lady. Be my guest. After riding in this heat all day and being covered head to toe with this infernal layer of dust, a warm bath is an absolute necessity.”

  “Why, thank you, Fergus. You’re a true gentleman.” Julie laughed and took notice of his apparel. He was wearing a pair of white trousers, a pale blue shirt, and a string necktie. On his head he wore a top hat, which he insisted was the mark of a true gentleman.

  He turned and gave her a smile and a wink. “I don’t know much about you, Miss Satterfield.”

  “You can call me Julie, but there’s not much to know.” Not wanting to talk about herself, she said, “Are you married, Fergus?”

  “No, bless you! No time for that. Not with my traveling so much.”

  “Any romantic ties to anyone back in England?”

  He shook his head and said, “No, not at present. But tell me about you.”

  “Well, I’m what you might consider a wild woman.”

  “Really! Plan on being one permanently?” Fergus acted as if she had said she had blue eyes or brown hair.

  “I never think about it. Tell me about Africa.”

  “Oh, that’s ancient history. What I’m interested in now is the Comanches.”

  “Well, tell me about them,” she said as she sipped some more wine.

  Fergus began speaking in a didactic fashion as if he were addressing a class. “Well, the first people to Texas weren’t Indians. Almost certainly a land bridge arose out of the northern sea connecting Asia and Alaska, and the first men to see America migrated down this land bridge. But that race probably died out, and a new group came in, probably Mongoloid. Scholars call them the Amerinds, or the American Indians as they were later called. They called themselves merely the People or sometimes the Real Humans. They spread all over North America and down to Mexico. Some of ’em scattered here in Texas. Somewhere along the line, some of them learned to cultivate maize, or Indian corn, but two things happened, my dear, that changed this country.”

  “What were they? What two things?” Julie asked, amazed at all the professor knew.

  “The Apaches appeared on the scene. They were a fierce tribe who feared nothing that walked or breathed, but they were on foot. Their range was limited, but that all changed with the Conquistadores.”

  “What’s that?” Julie asked.

  “Spanish conquerors, my dear Julie. Spain sent them to conquer this new world, and in the south, Central America particularly, they did just that. But they did more than that. They brought horses with them all the way from Europe, and some of those horses fell into the hands of the Apaches and other tribes. The Apaches mastered the horses better than the Conquistadores and became a fierce tribe.”

  “Are they the worst kind of Indians, Fergus?”

  “They were, but at some point not too long ago a group of mounted Indians came down into this country. They call themselves the Human Beings, but other Indians called them Komantcia, or Comanches. They became the greatest horse thieves of all. They are known for spending most of their lives on horseback.”

  “Have you ever seen one?”

  “Not yet, but I trust I shall soon. They’re not too attractive, from what I hear. They are the shortest and smallest of all the Texas tribes, but they drove the Apaches from the plains. The Western Apaches moved into the north. Some of them moved east and became farmers. But in all this land you see, the Comanches defeated the Spaniards on every hand. Their fierce reputation as warriors is enough to keep the Spaniards and Apaches out.”

  Julie shivered suddenly. “I heard enough about them to be scared to death.”

  “They are a bit frightening, but as John Calvin said in one form or another, whatever happens is going to happen. Or as the French put it, que sera sera.”

  Julie reached down and plucked another wine bottle out of its case.

  She popped the cork, tilted it up, and then popped it back in and said, “I hate to be overeducated, Fergus. You can give me another lesson tomorrow.”

  Jumping to the ground, Julie waited until Clay, who was riding his big bay behind the last wagon, came up beside her. He stopped, and she held her arms up. “Give me a ride, Clay. I’m tired of that wagon seat.” She waited until Clay kicked his foot out of the stirrup, then swung up behind him. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against his back. She felt him tense and said, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to bite you. Besides, you enjoy havin’ a woman hug you, don’t you?”

  Clay had never known exactly how to answer Julie. He felt much more at ease with Jerusalem, but Julie was so outspoken that she often embarrassed him. She was pressing against him so tightly that he said, “You don’t have to hold on so tight. You ain’t likely to fall off.”

  “But I want to.” Julie had discovered it was easy to tease Clay. She liked him a great deal and had spent considerable time trying to analyze him. Now she said the thing she knew would disturb him most. “I bet if it was my sister back here hugging you, you wouldn’t fuss.”

  Clay stiffened even more and said, “You ought to be ashamed talkin’ like that!”

  “You think I don’t k
now you’re sweet on Jerusalem? I’ve seen you watchin’ her when you thought nobody was lookin’.”

  “I never done such a thing!” Clay insisted “You are a poor liar, Clay Taliffero.”

  “You got a wicked mind, Julie Satterfield! If you’re not gonna be nice, you can get off and walk.”

  Julie relaxed her hold and sat behind him, swaying with the movement of the horse. Finally, she said, “I know what’s the matter with you, Clay. You’re worried about what will happen when we find Jake.” When he made no answer, she added, “He won’t live with Jerusalem. He never has . . . really. I told her before she married him she was making a big mistake.”

  “Do you have to talk all the time?”

  “It’s funny how well I know you. It’s almost like we were married.”

  “Well, that ain’t likely to ever happen.”

  “No, it’s not. But I’m gonna tell you something. You’re a tough hairpin, Clay. Brodie told me how you ticked off those six Indians with six shots, and he suspected you slit the throats of those that didn’t die right off.” She waited for him to deny it, but he said nothing. “But you’ve got a soft spot that’s gonna get you hurt one of these days. Maybe killed.” She reached up, ran her hand along the back of his head, moving upward, and then shoved his hat down over his eyes. She laughed, slipped off the horse, and ran to catch up with the professor’s wagon. She moved quickly, leaping up into the seat with an easy movement and said, “Tell me some more useless stuff, Fergus. . . .”

  By September the tenth, Clay figured they were at least halfway toward the Austin settlement, where they hoped to find Jake. But late that afternoon, he nodded toward a small settlement of eight or ten houses and said to Brodie, who was riding alongside him, “If I remember right, that’s likely where Bowie said I could find Gordon Lebonne. You find a likely campin’ spot. I’m goin’ in and see what I can dig up.”