by Zack Wyatt
“Hope you’re right. I still can’t shake the feeling that we pulled this off too easily.”
“Ramirez’s ace up his sleeve?” Sands asked.
“Yep. The man’s too smug to suit me. He and his ship have been captured without a fight, and he just sits in his cabin with that damned smirk on his face. Ain’t no man I know who’d act like that—except if he had something he was holding back. But I’ll be damned if I can figure him out.”
Sands had no suggestions to offer. Cotton Blue had occupied his thoughts all morning. For the first time since Dub’s murder in the swamp, he realized what he had to do, what he had known he had to do all along, but had been unable to admit to himself. As soon as Captain Burton released him from this company, he would be riding south after the killer. The death he had seen in Cotton’s face might be his own—he wouldn’t know that for certain until he stood before the man again. One thing he did know; Cotton Blue’s gloating grin would haunt him the rest of his days, and nights, until they stood face-to-face.
Burton released the rail and took a wobbly-kneed step toward the ladder. “Son, I’ll send someone up here to relieve you as soon as I can find a man who ain’t doubled over and puking his guts out. Meanwhile I best get those three sailors back to their bunks.”
Sands watched the ranger captain carefully pick his way down to the ship’s main deck, then lead the Mexicans below. Three hours passed before Holman climbed to the foredeck to take Sands’ place. Once below, he made his way to the Vigilante’s galley and managed to keep down a cup of coffee by nursing it and his stomach with cautious sips for over an hour. Sands then found himself a dry spot in a corridor outside, lowered himself to the floor, and tugged his hat down over his eyes. Minutes later he fell asleep, silently cursing the pitching of the ship.
Jay Parker, Burton’s second in command, nudged Sands awake four hours later to stand guard duty outside Ramirez’s cabin. Sands did so, with little to occupy his mind for six hours except the sound of the rain pounding the deck above and the constant roll of the vessel.
Parker himself relieved Sands from the post, reporting no improvement in the company’s condition. In fact, Captain Burton had been forced to make a dash to the ship’s railing on two occasions.
In the galley again, Sands found a pot of coffee he was certain was the same he had taken a cup from earlier. He forced himself past the bitterness and enjoyed the warmth that flowed out from his stomach to warm his body. The muddy brew also served to wash down three stale biscuits he found on one of the tables.
After his less than satisfying meal, Sands returned to the corridor and sleep. Parker woke him again at midnight; ten minutes later he stood on the foredeck, once more cursing the storm. By two, the wind subsided, and the sheets of water that had fallen from the sky for more than eighteen hours gave way to a gentle drizzle.
Sands saw a star twinkling just above the eastern horizon two hours later, and by six the sky had cleared, aided by a gentle breeze that stirred from the south. Sunrise came forty-five minutes later.
And Ramirez’s ace slipped from his sleeve and fell to the table.
There, gliding up Aransas Bay toward Copano’s mouth were two three-masted ships—neither flying flag nor colors! Sands blinked and rubbed at his eyes, hoping that the vessels were merely a mirage created by the sun playing off the now gently waving water. The ships remained when he looked again.
He slid, rather than climbed, down the ladder to the main deck, then rushed below. Captain Burton and Parker sat in the galley chewing on unlit cigars and cradling steaming tin cups in their hands. Both looked up at him with the expressions of men who had pushed themselves beyond the limits of their endurance.
“Captain, I think you’d best come topside. We’ve got company!” Before Sands could explain, Burton and Parker were on their feet, waving him back to the main deck ahead of them.
“Sonofabitch! Ramirez was hiding something!” Burton shielded his eyes from the harsh morning sun with a hand and stared at the two ships that entered the bay. “The bastard knew! The whoreson was just waiting, biding his time until reinforcements got here!”
“Should I get the men from below?” Parker asked. “We’ve got time to get back to our horses before those two reach us.”
Burton glanced at him. “Yes ... No! Hell, Jay, that’s the sensible thing to do. We could set sail toward Ramirez’s reinforcements, start a small fire in the hold, then abandon ship. We’d blow this ship to the heavens and just might take the other two with her.”
The captain paused, and his second in command eyed him suspiciously before asking, “But?”
“But I’ll be damned if I feel sensible. This ship is ours, and after the hell it put me through last night, I intend to keep her.” Burton’s face, which had been bone weary but minutes before, now appeared to be set in granite.
“Ike, you ain’t really considering what I think you’re considering—are you?” Parker arched an eyebrow, high when Burton didn’t answer. “Those ships could be carrying Santy Anna’s invasion troops!”
“Which is one damned good reason why I’m sticking to the ship. With the Vigilante we can do some serious damage to those two. If worse comes to worst, we can always toss a torch into the hold, then jump overboard.” Burton voice was as firm and set as his expression. “I’m not giving up this ship without a fight—if it comes to it.”
“If it comes to it?” The blank look on Parker’s face reflected the question that formed in Sands’ brain. “Ike, what the hell are you saying?”
“I’m not sure, Jay. I’m still rolling it over in my mind.” The hint of a smile lifted the corners of the ranger captain’s mouth. He turned to Sands. “Go below, round up the boys and have them get into those marine uniforms again. I want them up here and looking official in ten minutes!”
Sands didn’t question the order, but hastened below deck to pass Burton’s orders on to the men. Eight minutes later he led the twelve disguised rangers back topside dressed in their blue-coated uniforms and with rifles shouldered. Under Burton’s direction, the men lined each side of the main deck, six to the port rail, six to the starboard.
“They’ll do as long as nobody gets close enough to take a good look at their faces,” Burton said, his smile growing.
Sands glanced at those unshaven faces. The toll of the storm was more than apparent. Skin that had been deeply tanned by long days under the Texas sun now looked deathly pale. Dark, baggy circles hung beneath most of the men’s dazed eyes.
“Son, now bring our Captain Ramirez topside.” Burton ordered Sands below once again, then looked back to his men. “Get those cannons loaded—just in case.”
Sands found Ramirez standing at the windows to his cabin, grinning from ear to ear as he peered at the approaching ships. The grin left no doubt that the naval officer had indeed known of the other vessels.
“Yesterday’s storm was God-sent. Had it not delayed your captain’s departure”—Ramirez gloated—“I would have been forced to devise a method of forestalling Burton.”
Sands repressed the sudden urge to throw his fist into Ramirez’s face. Instead he reached out and grabbed his arm, dragging him from the cabin up to the main deck and Captain Burton. Ramirez’s eyes never turned to the ranger but gazed out to the two ships.
“Morning, Captain Ramirez. I see you are already aware of our visitors.” Burton glanced at the officer, then leaned his elbows on the rail and studied the bay, casually asking, “Do they carry troops?”
Ramirez laughed and shook his head. “Surely, Captain Burton, you do not expect me to reveal that information. My suggestion is that you run a white flag up the mainmast before my sister ships draw alongside.”
“Jay, are you carrying your hunting knife?” Burton pulled the cigar from his mouth and examined its unlit tip. “Yes. Right here, Ike.”
“Good. Take it from its scabbard and hand it to Sands,” Burton said without looking back at his second in command to see if he carried out the order,
which Parker did. “Now, boy, I’m going to ask Captain Ramirez my question one more time. If the captain refuses to answer me again, I want you to cut off his cojones and nail them to that mast over there. Understand?”
Sands lifted Parker’s blade and ran a thumb over its razor-honed edge with just enough relish to draw the Mexican officer’s undivided attention. “Yes, I think I understand. You want me to geld him.”
Burton merely nodded and stuck the gnawed cigar back into his mouth.
“Come now, Captain Burton, you seriously don’t believe you frighten me with threats of castration!” Ramirez laughed. “We are both civilized men, not barbarians. Only an insane man would consider such action.”
“I don’t remember me saying anything about being civilized, captain,” Burton replied, his gaze still on the two ships sliding across the bay. “What I did say was that I’m Texian ... lot of folks think that means a man is naturally a little crazy.”
Sands pressed the tip of the hunting knife to Ramirez’s crotch, snagged the white fabric of his breeches, and slowly eased the blade upward to open a two-inch rent in the cloth. He smiled at the Mexican officer, who shivered as the cool morning breeze entered the opening to wash over his privates. When Sands lowered the knife again, it was to ease it through the rent and press the cutting edge against the man’s scrotum.
“Captain Burton, I protest! This goes against the laws of—”
“Are those two ships carrying troops?” Burton asked, cutting off Ramirez’s protest.
To emphasize the necessity of the officer’s correct answer, Sands increased the pressure on the blade and moved it a fraction of an inch, just enough to open a hairline cut in the vulnerable skin. Ramirez swallowed, and his eyes widened with the realization he was but a moment away from losing something far more tangible than his pride.
“The Vigilante’s sister ships, the Comanche and the Fanny Butler, are also merchant vessels recently impressed by my government. Their holds are filled with supplies that were to be hidden here in Copano Bay.” The smirk was gone from Ramirez’s face and his voice had risen two octaves.
“Marines?” Burton asked.
“The same as were assigned to my ship—twelve,” Ramirez replied, then sighed in relief as Sands carefully withdrew the blade, leaving his manhood fully intact.
“There’s one more thing I want from you, captain,” Burton continued, and Sands replaced the blade. “When the Comanche and the Fanny Butler are within hailing distance, I want you to invite their captains aboard the Vigilante. Tell them Professor Peoples is with you ... that the Texas army is aware of your presence here ... that ya’ll have to palaver and make new plans. Think you can handle that. Captain Ramirez?”
His voice going up another octave, the Mexican officer nodded and answered a simple, “Yes.”
“Thought you’d cooperate. Now, captain, why don’t you join me here at the rail and enjoy this beautiful day while Jay and Sands go down below and bring up about ten kegs of that black powder,” Burton said around the cigar he idly chewed.
When Ramirez took his place beside the ranger captain, Sands returned the hunting knife to Parker and followed him into the ship’s hold. The young ranger’s mind raced; he wasn’t certain exactly what Burton had in mind, but he had the feeling that Burton’s company would be in command of three ships by noon or they would be dead—and him along with them.
The Comanche and Fanny Butler dropped anchors, one to each side of the waiting Vigilante. Within minutes, landing boats were lowered over the side of the two ships, and their captains climbed down into the small boats to join Ramirez for a parley.
Sands smiled and puffed on the cigar Burton had given him, making damned certain the ash didn’t accidently blow into the open powder keg five feet to his left. The Mexican officer had played his part well, encouraged by only three gentle prods of Jay Parker’s blade along that oh so vital portion of his anatomy. Neither of the two vessels’ captains had even questioned Ramirez’s request that they come aboard the Vigilante.
“Here they come,” Jay whispered beside Sands, then drew on his own cigar until its end glowed cherry red. “This is so damned crazy the old man just might carry it off!”
Or all our pieces will be scattered across Copano Bay! Sands kept his thoughts to himself as he watched the two landing boats cross to the Vigilante and the two captains climbed onto the decks. Their faces visibly paled when they turned to Sands and Parker and the ten kegs of powder stacked at the center of the deck after Ramirez greeted them and briefly explained the situation.
“Gentlemen,” Burton began in perfect Spanish when the two had fully taken in the disguised rangers, and their gazes returned to the kegs of black powder, “I hope you recognize my position. If it comes down to trading shots with these old cannons, my men and I don’t stand a chance of defeating you and your ships.”
He paused and eyed the two newcomers. “To put it simply and save all of us a lot of time, we realize that we’re dead men. But we aren’t going to die alone! All I have to do is signal those two men over there, and they will drop their cigars in that powder keg. A second or two after that, this whole ship will be blown out of the water ... most likely taking your two vessels with her.”
He paused again, allowing the two captains time to contemplate exactly what would occur to the nine kegs stacked beneath the open one—and to the ninety kegs in the hold—the moment either of the burning cigars was dropped.
“There is an alternative ... only one,” Burton began again with the captains’ attention hanging on his every word. “That is, you surrender your ships to me and join Captain Ramirez here aboard the Vigilante while we sail up the coast to Velasco. Of course, it will be necessary to place four of my men on each of your ships to assure that they follow us northward ... and to make certain your men don’t get any ideas about firing on us once we’re under way. It’s my understanding there is black powder on both the Comanche and Fanny Butler. The men I place on your ships all enjoy a good cigar.”
Burton paused one last time to pull a watch from a pocket. He flipped it open with a thumb, then looked up at the captains. “Gentlemen, the choice is yours. Either surrender or I blow us all to hell. You have two minutes to make up your minds.”
With temples a-pound and palms suddenly sticky with sweat, Sands attempted to calmly puff on his cigar while the two captains huddled around Ramirez, whispering in a panicked frenzy.
“One minute,” Burton called out with ice in his voice. Blowing a thin stream of blue smoke into the air, Sands tilted his hat in the direction of the three captains when he heard Ramirez give a hasty account of his threatened castration. The three glanced in his direction. Sands smiled, tapped his skull with a finger, and said, “Loco en la cabeza.”
The expression on the newcomers’ faces left no doubt that they felt that he was indeed quite “crazy in the head,” and capable of tossing his cigar into the open keg.
“Thirty seconds, gentlemen,” Burton spoke again. “Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven ...”
“Captain Burton.” It was Ramirez who interrupted the count. “Both my colleagues have accepted your terms. They will hail their mates and explain the situation.”
“Thought they might.” Burton then turned to Sands and Parker. “You boys keep on enjoying those cigars. I wouldn’t want either of our new guests to think we trust them.”
“Damn! The old bastard did it!” Parker said out of the side of his mouth as he smiled at the three Mexican captains.
Sands released another stream of smoke to disguise his sigh of relief. Almost twenty years separated Isaac Burton from his own captain, John Coffee Hays, but the two men were cut from the same cloth—and both had ice in their veins when they faced an enemy.
An hour later, Burton had transferred four of his men—all with orders to fire the cargo hold at the first sign of trouble—to both the Comanche and Fanny Butler, and by noon the three ships were under full sail heading out of Copano Bay on their journ
ey to the Texas army in Velasco.
Sands studied the lean ranger captain as he climbed to the foredeck to gaze out over Aransas Bay. Burton had done the impossible, not once, but three times. He had taken all three supply ships without spilling one drop of blood. It was crazy. Things like this just didn’t happen, Sands thought. Like Burton had said, he was Texian, and to some men that meant naturally being a bit crazy.
Chapter Fifteen
“Josh!” Jess Mavis’s voice and insistent knocking on the door drew Sands from the restful comfort of sleep. “Josh, Captain Burton wants to talk with you.”
Sands pushed opened leaden eyelids and blinked several times to remove the sleep clouding his vision. “Hold on, Jess. Give me a minute to clear my head.”
“Captain Ike said pronto!” Jess answered from beyond the locked door.
“I’m prontoing as fast as I can!” Sands tossed aside the sheet, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood.
For an instant there was a slight sensation of vertigo. He sucked at his cheeks and shook his head. The solid, wooden floor beneath his feet didn’t feel right; it neither pitched nor rolled, but remained absolutely stationary.
Reaching for his buckskin breeches, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled them on his legs, unwilling to risk a sudden loss of balance. He had heard sailors in saloons of Corpus Christi and Galveston laugh about needing time to get their land legs back, but he had never known what they had meant until now. His five days aboard the Vigilante had acclimated his mind and body to the constant sway of the deck beneath his feet.
Standing once more, he crossed the hotel room and opened the door to admit his friend. Jess walked in and plopped himself in the room’s only chair.
“It’s eight in the morning!” Jess’s perpetual grim spread from ear to ear. “Were you planning to sleep all day?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Sands mumbled as he found a washbasin on a small table near the bed. Filling the bowl with water from a pitcher, he bent over, cupped both his hands, and splashed water on his face.
