Deep in the Heart

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Nothing! He treats my sister like a common woman!”

  “Let’s go look at the material,” Serena said quickly. She knew Mateo had a terrible temper when stirred, and others had been watching.

  Two of the observers were tall, raw-boned Texans wearing buckskins. They were burned by the sun and unshaven, and they had a rather fierce look about them.

  One of them said, “Come on, we’re not gonna let that greaser get away with that.”

  Mateo whirled just in time to face the two. One of them snarled, “You dirty greaser! You can’t talk to a white man that way.” Without warning, he threw a blow that caught Mateo high on the head.

  Serena screamed and turned to go to him, but the other man laughed and grabbed her. He held her clear off the ground and said, “Teach him a lesson, Bill.”

  The man named Bill leaned over and kicked Mateo in the side, and Mateo cried out and rolled over. He tried to get to his feet, but the rangy hunter knocked him down again.

  “That’s enough from you.”

  The hunter turned quickly and saw who was coming. “What’s that you say, Bowie?”

  Jim Bowie had walked out onto the street, and now he drew the famed knife from his side and said, “You get out of here, and take your friend with you. If I catch you in town again, I’ll cut your gizzards out.”

  Serena gasped, for the two were larger than Bowie and looked very dangerous. But the one who had done the kicking said hurriedly, “Why sure, Jim. We were just tryin’ to teach this fella a lesson about respect.”

  “You heard what I said,” Bowie said coldly. “Now git!” He did not even turn to see the two scurry away but came over to where Serena was kneeling beside Mateo. “Here, young fellow. That was a mite rough.” He helped Mateo to his feet, and Mateo had a dazed look. Blood was running from his nose, and Serena took her handkerchief and began to wipe his face.

  “I’ll see those two don’t bother you anymore,” Bowie said.

  “I don’t need your help,” Mateo said, grabbing his sister’s arm. “Come on, Serena.”

  “Thank you, señor, for your help. My brother is not himself.”

  “Better take him home,” Bowie said.

  Serena got into the wagon, and Mateo struck the horses with the lines. “Git up!” He did not speak all the way home but sat burning with anger, despite Serena’s pleas that he should forget it.

  Brodie came sailing through the front door, his eyes wide, and said breathlessly, “Ma, Mateo has run off.”

  “Run off?” Jerusalem turned from what she was doing and said, “What do you mean run off?”

  “He had a run in with that fellow Travis in town. Two white men beat him up, and he’s run off to join Santa Anna’s army.”

  “That can’t be,” Jerusalem said. She shook her head. “He would never do a fool thing like that.”

  “That’s what Serena said. She’s all broke up about it, and so is her mama.”

  Jerusalem took off her apron and said, “I’d better go and talk to Lucita.”

  “I’ll go with you, Ma.”

  “All right.” She turned and said, “Moriah, you get supper started. We may be a little bit late coming back.”

  “Sir, a young man is outside. He says he wants to volunteer.”

  General Santa Anna looked up from the map he was studying. The tent was large, and the map was spread out on a table. Two other officers had looked up when the aide had come in.

  “A volunteer? You mean for a private soldier?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Santa Anna frowned with displeasure. “Why should I be interested in enlisting a private soldier?”

  Lieutenant Gomez said quickly, “I think you might be interested in this one, My General. He has just come from San Antonio. He lived there a long time, and he knows the area well. He says he has important information and that he wants to serve.”

  “That might be helpful,” one of the officers said. “If he knows the lay of the land, he can be a valuable scout.”

  “He could also be a spy,” the other officer said. He was a tall, thin man, with dark eyes and a thin mustache.

  “I will talk to the man,” Santa Anna said.

  “He’s really very young, sir, but he speaks well,” Lieutenant Gomez said.

  Santa Anna stepped outside the tent and saw the trim, young man standing there. “I am General Santa Anna, and your name is?”

  “Mateo Lebonne, General.”

  “Lebonne? That is not a Spanish name, I think.”

  “No, my father’s an Anglo, but my mother’s pure Spanish.”

  “And you have come to join with us?”

  “Yes, sir, if you will have me.”

  Santa Anna was a tall, thin man with a fine bearing. His uniform was impeccably clean, as always. As a military man, he had proven himself to be an able soldier. He had also proven himself to be more than an able politician, for now he ruled all of Mexico with an iron hand. Part of being a good soldier, he had learned, was always being alert to opportunities, and this young man interested him.

  “Tell me about yourself, Mateo.”

  Mateo began to speak of his family and how his father had died. He also told of the unrest the Texans were starting to feel about the Mexican government. At this information, Santa Anna had looked at one of his lieutenants, who nodded.

  Finally, Santa Anna shrugged, saying, “Well, if you know the area well, we could, indeed, use you.”

  “There’s one more thing, My General,” Mateo said. He looked at the other two officers who had come to stand beside Santa Anna. “How far do your muskets shoot?”

  “What would you say, Colonel?” Santa Anna said, turning to the tall, thin officer. “Perhaps eighty or ninety yards?”

  “Less. Sixty or even fifty.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone shoot a rifle like this?” Mateo asked.

  Santa Anna looked at the long rifle that the young man held out. He was interested in weapons of all kinds and shook his head. “No, what is it?”

  “It’s a Hawkin rifle. If you would permit me, sir, I would like to give you a little demonstration of how accurate it is.”

  “By all means. Choose a target.”

  They walked a short distance to the east of Santa Anna’s tent. Mateo then turned to the general and said, “How far away would you say that pile of trash is?”

  The shorter of the two officers said, “Perhaps two hundred yards.”

  “Do you see that bottle over to the right?” Mateo said.

  “Yes, I can see it. You don’t propose to hit that!” Santa Anna exclaimed.

  Mateo lifted the rifle, held it very still, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  The bottle exploded, and Mateo turned to face the general with a smile.

  “That is the kind of rifle fire you will be facing, General.”

  Santa Anna’s face was grim. “Are there many of those rifles in the hands of the Texans?”

  “Almost all of them have one like it, sir.”

  Santa Anna turned to face the two officers. “What do you think?”

  The tall colonel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We would not want them to pick us off at long range. We must somehow get very close.”

  “I think you are right, Colonel.” Santa Anna turned to Mateo and smiled. “You are a bright young fellow. Suppose I make you a sergeant and a scout?”

  Mateo’s face shone. “That is why I have come, sir.”

  “But you are half Anglo. Could you fight against your own people?”

  “My own people are Spanish, General. I want every Anglo driven out of Texas.”

  General Santa Anna laughed aloud and then slapped his hands together. “That is exactly what I intend to accomplish.” He turned and said, “Lieutenant Gomez, find this young man a uniform and explain his duties to him. . . .”

  Twilight had fallen, and some bats flew out of the trees that sheltered the house. They fluttered across the landscape, but Jerusalem, after one glance, did not no
tice them. She had been to see Lucita and was depressed, for Lucita was crushed over the loss of her son. Mateo had left despite her protests and tears, and there was little that Jerusalem could say to comfort her friend. This was the second visit she had made, and now, as she rode back down the road toward her house, she suddenly saw a wagon traveling in that direction. She had ridden her mare instead of taking a wagon. As she approached, a shock ran through her when she recognized the man sitting in the wagon. She kicked the horse into a gallop and pulled up beside the wagon. “Clay, is it you?”

  “Whoa, boys, stop there!” Clay said and pulled the team to a halt. He turned and nodded. “Hello, Jerusalem. What are you doing out here?”

  “I’ve been over to see Lucita.”

  For a moment she could not think of what to say, but she knew she had to talk to Clay privately. She had done a lot of thinking since he had left, and she wanted to try to clear the air. “Let me ride back with you.” She got off the horse, tied her to the rear of the wagon, and then climbed up to the seat beside Clay.

  When she sat down Clay spoke to the horses. As they moved forward, he turned and studied her. “A little bit late for you to be out.”

  “I’m worried about Lucita.”

  “What? Is she sick? She got back all right, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, she did, but it’s Mateo.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Mateo almost got into a fight with Travis in town, and now he’s run off to join Santa Anna’s army. It’s hit Lucita hard.”

  Clay shook his head and said, “I wish that boy hadn’t done that. It’s going to make it hard on them all.”

  When Clay didn’t say any more, Jerusalem began to talk about all the things that had taken place on the ranch. “The cow had a new calf, a fine one.”

  “That’s good. I could drink about a gallon of buttermilk right now. It’s been a long and thirsty trip.”

  For the next ten minutes, they rode in silence. Jerusalem had seldom felt more awkward. Finally she said, “I missed you, Clay. I was wrong to say what I did.”

  “Well, you just lost your grandfather and was drug off by Indians. You was upset.”

  Jerusalem was grateful for his words. He did not seem angry, and she said, “When Lucita came back and told me you left her, it frightened me.”

  “It scared you? Why’s that?”

  “I didn’t think you’d ever come back, Clay.”

  “Well, I had me a chore to do.”

  By this time they were in sight of the house, and Clay did not say anything until the horses pulled up in front. Darkness had fallen completely, and a pale sliver of a moon hung in the night sky. When he drew the horses to a halt, he turned and faced Jerusalem. “I didn’t like seeing you grieve, Jerusalem, about your boys back in Arkansas.”

  Jerusalem was surprised. “I didn’t know it showed so bad.”

  “I could tell it. It really hurt you, so—” Clay turned sideways and gestured toward the back of the wagon. “I went back to Arkansas. I brought ’em back so they could rest with Josiah.”

  Jerusalem could not move. She stared at Clay in disbelief, then turned and looked at the bulk in the wagon bed covered by canvas. She did not speak for a long time, and finally it was Clay who spoke.

  “I didn’t bring your ma because—well, it seemed right that she was right there beside your pa.” He waited for her to reply, but when she sat looking straight forward and not moving, he said, “Maybe I done a wrong thing, but I meant well.”

  Jerusalem turned around and looked at him, and even in the darkness, Clay could see the tears in her eyes.

  Her voice was a whisper as she said, “Nobody could have done anything to please me more, Clay.”

  The two of them sat there, and the bats fluttered overhead, and from far off came the lonesome sound of a wolf.

  Clay could say nothing. Jerusalem had turned away, brushing the tears from her eyes. When she turned to face him again, he saw the old smile that he liked so well. He gave a gusty sigh of relief. “I got to thinkin’ about it on the way back. I thought maybe I was doin’ the wrong thing. I almost turned back a couple of times, Jerusalem. It’s awful hard to know how to please a woman.”

  Jerusalem reached out and took his right hand. She held it between both of hers and for a moment regarded him in a way that he had never seen before.

  “You know how to please one woman, Clay, and that’s more than most men learn in a lifetime.” She looked back at the shape of the coffins covered by canvas and was silent for a time. Finally she said, “You know that song you sing sometimes, about the rose from New Orleans?”

  “Just an old song I picked up.”

  “I find myself singing the chorus:

  Deep in the heart!

  O deep in the heart!

  Naught can be lost

  That’s deep in the heart.

  “I guess that foolish song has some truth in it after all.”

  “Yes. My boys are deep in my heart. And, Clay, I didn’t think I’d learn to love this place, but Texas is deep in my heart too. Do you think it’s foolish to let a place come to mean so much?”

  “No, I don’t think it’s foolish. Matter of fact, Texas has kind of come to mean a lot to me too. It took a while. I didn’t like it much at first. It’s a place where there are more rivers and less water, and where you can see farther and see less than most any place I know. But it’s a good land—and going to be a free land someday.”

  Jerusalem squeezed his hand and said, “Sing me a little of that song, Clay.” She leaned back as Clay began to sing.

  “I found a rose in New Orleans. . . .”

  Overhead, a big horned owl drifted silent as a candle in a tomb. He banked into a sharp turn, his eyes on the two in the wagon, and then straightened up and flew over the silent land.

  PART FIVE:

  THE ALAMO

  1835-1836

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  The morning sun broke in the east, shedding crimson rays that reflected off the river. The silence of the morning was broken by the three individuals in the flat-bottomed boat who had crossed the river. Clinton jumped out of the bow and pulled the boat up onto the shoreline.

  Clay stood up, balancing himself easily, and smiled at the two boys. “Well,” he drawled, “we done got enough fish here to feed everybody, I reckon.”

  Brodie stood up and picked up one of the burlap sacks, opened it, and looked down inside. “This is the best we ever did on this here trot line.” Reaching down, he carefully pulled up a huge catfish and laughed as it thrashed around, trying to free itself. “You just wait until we get you in a fryin’ pan. You’ll stop thumpin’ then.”

  “Hurry up, I’m tired!” Clinton complained. “I had to do all the rowing to get us back to shore . . .”

  “I swear, Clinton,” Clay said as he leaped ashore, “you’d complain if they hung you with a new rope.” He picked up a second sack of fish and stood looking for a moment at the river. “You know what?” he observed. “This wouldn’t be a bad time for us to get a bath.”

  “I ain’t takin’ no bath,” Clinton said. He picked up one of the sacks and said, “I ain’t gettin’ in that dirty ole river.”

  “Why, Clinton,” Clay grinned. “I figured a good Baptist like you would be the first in, seeing how you Baptists love water so much.”

  Clinton glared at Clay, then turned and without another word trudged away. Clay laughed aloud. “That boy hates bathin’ about as bad as any young’un I ever saw. Well, you and me can have a nice swim.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to,” Brodie said as he stepped out of the boat. “I got to ride over and help Lucita build a fence. Now that Mateo’s left she needs the help.”

  “Yeah, I know how much you love to build fences, Brodie. The last time we built one I could just hardly stay out of your way you were so anxious to get at it.” He laughed at Brodie’s expression and said, “I think the fence building has more to do with the fact you�
��re sweet on Serena. Come on. Let’s have a swim. You’ll smell a little bit better when you get there.

  As a matter of fact, if you’d wash off a bit, she’d be a mite happier to see you.”

  Brodie’s feelings were hurt, for he was a sensitive young man. He muttered something to himself, then grabbed one of the sacks and said, “You go on and take all the baths you want to. I’m going back to the house.”

  Brodie turned and left, and Clay stared after him. As the two young men disappeared, he shook his head. “I keep forgettin’ how downright sensitive Brodie is. Can’t take any joshin’ at all about Serena, but I reckon I was about the same way when I was his age.”

  June had brought blistering heat to the Texas plains, and Clay’s smelly clothes clung to him, damp with sweat. He looked at the river and then hurriedly kicked off his boots, stripped, and ran out and threw himself into the river. He let out a yelp as he hit the water and then began to swim with strong strokes. The river was not overly deep at this point, but there were potholes in it where the big catfish lay. The coolness of the water was refreshing, and Clay, who had always been a strong swimmer, reveled in his swim. He dove down beneath the surface, holding his breath, until his lungs began to ache and spots danced before his eyes, then propelled himself back up to the surface. Rolling over on his back, he spit out a mouthful of water and contentedly bobbed along, caught by the gentle current. Overhead the shredded white clouds decorated the sky, and a red-tailed hawk wheeled and turned sharply, then dropped like a plummet, headed for a prey that Clay could not see.

  Clay finally turned and headed for the bank, once more plunging down and swimming underwater. He came up sputtering where the water was waist deep. As he pushed his hair back out of his eyes, he was shocked when he heard Jerusalem’s voice.

  “Having a little swim, are you, Clay?”

  Instantly, Clay ducked back into the water and spit out a mouthful as he saw Jerusalem. She had come to dump a load of bedclothes on the big flat rock that extended out where she sometimes came to wash clothes. She was wearing a light blue dress and a flat-brimmed straw hat, and her eyes were filled with laughter as she looked at him.