The fallon legacy, p.39
The Fallon Legacy, page 39
“Then it’s agreed,” Johnson said. “We condemn Bustamente for tyrannical and unlawful conduct, and declare our adherence to the laws of Mexico and the Constitution of eighteen hundred and twenty-four.”
James smiled grimly.
“What about Santa Anna?” somebody else said. “He’s in favor of the Constitution. Shouldn’t we declare for him, as well?”
Another argument blew up, and James left. According to the resolutions, they were in arms against a colonel of the Mexican Army, but they were still loyal subjects of Mexico. It wasn’t what James wanted by a long shot.
Along the bayou stretched cooking fires for the men who had answered Johnson’s call—James estimated over four hundred ranchers and farmers, mounted and armed. The nucleus of a real army if he could get Johnson to see it.
He caught sight of John Austin—no relation to Stephen—a tall, swarthy coasting captain he’d been drinking with the previous night. Austin was squatting by a fire, stirring a pot of stew. James dropped down next to him.
“Afternoon, Fallon.” The coaster tasted his stew and grimaced. “Good thing Taylor White’s been supplying us, or we’d all be starving.” Most of the men had brought supplies for only a day or two, and the game in the area had quickly been exhausted. “I hear he’s not charging for it, neither.”
“Taylor’s a good man,” James said. “Austin, I’d like you to tell Johnson what you told me about those cannon in Brazoria.”
Austin dropped the spoon in the stew and stood. “Might as well. I’m no damned cook, that’s for sure.”
Johnson and the others were seated on the ground in a shady clearing, Johnson with a camp desk on his lap.
“What about duties?” Jack was saying as they walked up. “Bradburn collects twice the rate from most of us, and lets his friends go through free.” He broke off when he saw James. “You decided to join us after all?”
“I want you to hear something,” James said. “Captain Austin, will you tell these men what you told me?”
“Well,” Austin began hesitantly, “you know some coasters do a little smuggling.” A chuckle ran through the assembly. Since Bustamente had raised the tariffs, almost everyone smuggled. “Anyhow, there’s this fellow, I don’t think I ought to say his name, decided he might have to fight off Mexican revenue cutters. He bought himself a pair of six-pounders for his sloop. He’s got them down to Brazoria right now.”
“Cannon,” Johnson said thoughtfully. “Can you get these cannon, Captain Austin?”
Austin nodded. “I expect I can.”
“Is anybody opposed?” Johnson asked the others. “If so, speak up.”
“Hell no, nobody’s opposed,” Jack said, and a few men laughed. Some of the others looked grim, as if the implications of bringing in cannon might be occurring to them. But at least, James thought, no one was speaking in opposition.
“All right,” Johnson said finally. “Captain Austin, how soon?”
“As soon as I get my schooner to Brazoria and back,” Austin said. As they were walking away, he added to James, “If Ugartechea doesn’t try to stop me, anyway. The fort at Velasco covers the approaches to Brazoria.”
“You think he’ll be able to stop you?”
Austin grinned. “I hear you think Texas should be independent. You’re not alone, you know. Ugartechea won’t stop me.”
Two days later the force moved to Liberty, upriver from Anahuac, and camped outside the town. Men poured in until they numbered close to eight hundred. When the cannon came, they would move on the stone walls of Bradburn’s fort.
The last day of June, a Saturday, dawned hot, the few clouds in the sky dissipating quickly under a merciless sun. Rude brush shelters and pieces of canvas sheltered the small army. James was attempting to shave, using a broken triangle of mirror propped on the ground, when one of the patrols came galloping in from the north. Wiping his face, James hurried after them to Johnson’s tent, a square of canvas supported on poles and sagging in the middle.
“It’s Piedras, all right,” Lucius McCoy, the sallow Tennessean who commanded the patrol was saying. A crowd was gathering around the tent to listen. “I’ve seen him in Nacogdoches. He should be about two hours away by now, with maybe two hundred and fifty men, maybe thirty lancers, the rest infantry. He’s got a cannon, too.”
That last brought mutters from the crowd. Everyone was tired of waiting for cannon of their own.
“Get everybody mounted,” Johnson ordered, and the men scattered for their horses.
“We’re attacking?” James said. “If we catch him on the march—”
“We’ll talk,” Johnson said. “I just want to make sure he listens.”
The Texans were impressive as they rode in a column of fours. Their ranks weren’t straight, but the musket or rifle each man carried made up for it. When they came in sight of the Mexican force, Johnson signaled the column to halt, and motioned James and William Jack to ride forward with him.
At the appearance of the Texan column, the Mexicans had been thrown into confusion. Officers galloped up and down the column, beating men with the flats of their sabers to hurry them into formation facing the Texans. The lancers took a position on the left flank, lance points gleaming in the sun.
As the three drew closer, a lone lieutenant rode out rigidly to meet them. He never looked past them to the Texans, half a mile back. “I am instructed by Coronel de las Piedras to demand an explanation for this unlawful gathering under—”
Johnson cut him off. “Convey our compliments to the coronel, Teniente. I’m Frank Johnson, and this is James Fallon, and William Jack. We wish to talk to the coronel on a matter of some importance. So there’ll be no misunderstanding our intentions, our advance guard will remain where they are.”
The lieutenant’s eyes drifted to the Texas column and widened. James hid a smile. “I will convey your message.” The lieutenant wheeled his horse and galloped back to his own lines. They could see Piedras gesticulating at him.
“I don’t think he likes your message, Frank,” James said.
Jack laughed. “Especially that bit about advance guard.”
In five minutes the lieutenant was back. “I will take you to Coronel de las Piedras. You are warned that any hostile move on the part of your … of the others will be construed as an act of rebellion.”
As if, James thought, the gathering of armed men wasn’t in itself rebellion under Mexican law. Johnson seemed to accept it, though, and they followed the lieutenant to where Piedras sat his horse behind the lines.
The colonel was making an obvious effort to ignore the eight hundred armed Texans his men faced. The skin of his round face was tight to the point of bursting, and his neck lapped over his high gold-braided uniform collar. “You say you wish to speak to me,” he said in a high voice.
“First, Coronel,” Johnson said, “you must understand that we are loyal to the Mexican government. We wish to adhere to all points of Mexican law.”
Piedras grunted. “That is what you wish to tell me?”
“We wish to present to you our grievances with John Bradburn.”
“Grievances?”
“He’s violated our rights, Coronel, time and again. He declared martial law and seized property without cause. He has …”
As Johnson droned on, James studied the Mexican soldiers. Like Bradburn’s men, they were for the most part presidiarios, their uniforms barely presentable, their muskets showing rust spots. Even so, if they maintained discipline, they’d be difficult to defeat, especially backed by a cannon and lancers who were definitely not conscripts. It would be clumsy, though.
“ … these charges,” Johnson was finishing up, “will be upheld by an impartial investigation. If Bradburn and the presidiarios are removed, we will submit ourselves to any properly constituted civil authority.”
“I have heard rumors,” Piedras mused. “Very well, I will investigate your charges. If they are well founded, you may rest assured that Coronel Bradburn and the presidiarios will be removed.”
“I thank you, Coronel. To show good faith, we’ll see there are no large gatherings of men in the town or near the fort until after your decision has been reached.” Johnson and Piedras made short bows to each other, and the three Texans rode away from the Mexicans.
James said, “Once he’s with Bradburn in the fort, we’ll have a real fight on our hands. He’ll be wary today, but by tomorrow he’ll be thinking he’s fooled us. We can hit him before he reaches Anahuac—”
“No!” Johnson broke in. “I gave my word. This can be settled peacefully. You’ll see.”
The Texans withdrew, and the Mexicans reached the fort without an attack. The Texans made camp to wait. James retired to Schiller’s Tavern in Anahuac in disgust.
Two days later James was seated in the common room, drinking alone, when Buck Travis walked in. James stared at him as if at an apparition. “I’ll be damned,” he said softly. “The bastard did let you go.”
“I’m glad you can contain your joy,” Travis said as he sat down across the table. He was usually full of energy, but now he was pale. He poured a glass of James’s whiskey without asking and downed it.
“I’m happy to see you,” James said. “I just didn’t think Piedras would really let you go.”
“Let us all go. The presidiarios are marching north with him, and Bradburn is being sent back to Mexico City under arrest. I understand he’s terrified the settlers’ll hang him if they get their hands on him.”
“This doesn’t sound like Piedras, Buck. He hates yanquis.”
Travis barked a laugh and took another drink. “It wasn’t love moved him, James. The man’s convinced Johnson has thousands of men. How he thinks that, I’ll never know.”
Laughing, James explained about the “advance guard,” and Travis joined in.
The smile slowly faded from Travis’s face. “It’s not really finished, you know. Piedras just backed down because he’s scared. Whoever’s sent in to replace Bradburn will be up to his old tricks in no time, and Piedras will be up to his. The only way anything will be solved is …” He trailed off, but James finished for him.
“Independence?”
The two men shared a look of understanding, then Frank Johnson came in.
“William Jack’s looking for you,” he told Travis. “Seems he and his brother want to do a little serious drinking with you. You see, Fallon? We did it peacefully.”
“There’ll be another time,” Travis said darkly.
Johnson grimaced. “There already has been. That damned fool we sent for the cannon, John Austin. Colonel Ugartechea wouldn’t let him pass the fort—the idiot made no secret he had cannon on board—so he raised the damned countryside. They took Velasco three days ago. Word just got here this morning. Seven Texans dead, and thirty-five Mexicans.”
“Austin still has his men together?” James asked. Johnson shook his head.
“They let Ugartechea and his men march for Matamoros, then dispersed. Thank God.”
“I think I’d better get back to Nacogdoches, Frank,” James said. He grinned at Travis. “Until the next time?”
“Until the next time,” Travis grinned back.
“Take the child. I wish a bath drawn,” Lucille told the maid as she handed her Selena, just a year old. Hurrying up to her dressing room, she stripped hastily. Since she had begun taking the baby to the hovel for the weekly ritual she had felt a dirtiness that had nothing to do with the heavy July heat. And the baths didn’t seem to help.
Critically she examined her breasts in the mirror. They were still presentable, if not, at thirty, so high as they had been at twenty. The worst had been that the old woman insisted on her nursing Selena. She had gotten a wet nurse, of course, for Guillaume, almost three now.
She snatched up a black lace negligee as the door opened, thinking it was her bath being brought up. Gerard closed the door behind him, smirking at her.
“Don’t cover all that loveliness on my account, my dear.”
She belted the negligee viciously. “What do you want, Gerard? I am expecting my bath.”
“To talk to you, of course.”
“Zut! You disappear for weeks, and now you return to talk? I suppose you have been involved in the turmoil we hear of,” she sneered. “Another Haden Edwards?”
“Actually,” he said, “I did go up to Nacogdoches before I came home. Piedras has already created a crisis up there with his dealings with the Comanche. No, my dear, this is much better than Edwards, and with less risk.”
“You have an aversion to risks, do you not?” she said drily. “Where have you been, then?”
“Preparing a surprise for old friends. Did you know James Fallon is in Nacogdoches? I think he’s bedding Piedras’s wife, but I’m not sure.”
“You know I no longer follow his activities.” She grimaced at his bray of laughter.
“If he didn’t have such irregular habits, he’d be dead a dozen times over. Don’t take me for a fool, Lucille.”
He took off his coat and began undoing his shirt. He had developed quite a disgusting paunch, she thought. If he didn’t control that hex doll … “You say that Fallon is Isobel de las Piedras’s lover? I know her.”
He was stripping off his trousers. “I don’t want you disturbing that situation.” Naked, he padded toward her.
“Gerard, it is hot, and I am sweaty.”
The door opened, and Luz, her maid, stopped in confusion with one foot in the room. “Your bath, mi dueña,” she said uncertainly.
“Come back in half an hour,” Gerard growled. “I’ll be through by then.”
Face flaming, Lucille let him pull her into the bedroom by her wrist. She would concentrate on Fallon. Locking herself into a corner of her mind, she would ignore the man grunting atop her. Perhaps Isobel, willing or not, could be a key.
“Bets, gentlemen,” the faro dealer said, and James put ten dollars on the queen. There were four other men at the table in Crawford’s, a Nacogdoches gambling den, and they put their money down around the green felt layout. The dealer slipped two cards from the box. Four of spades and jack of diamonds. A man who’d bet on the first card groaned as his bet was raked in. The others waited for the next deal.
“Any more bets?” the dealer asked. The smoke-filled room was busy, a dozen tables split evenly among monte and poker, a roulette wheel and a wheel of fortune. All were crowded by anxious gamblers. The second card out was the queen of hearts. James shifted the twenty dollars to the ace.
“Didn’t expect to see you bucking the tiger,” Henry Cameron said. He had become beefier in the last few years, but it wasn’t fat.
“Something to do,” James said. The ace of spades was the first card; the dealer took his bet. He put a ten-dollar gold piece on the tray. “Sit down.” He lost again.
“Why don’t we find a table someplace else? Can’t talk while you’re gambling.”
“Might as well. I’m losing anyway.” He took a hundred dollars from the table in front of him—he’d started with two—and followed Henry to one of the few tables that wasn’t given over to gambling. “Whiskey,” he told a passing waiter. “What are you doing in Nacogdoches, Henry?”
“Ortiz, your foreman, says you haven’t been back to the ranch since May. That’s damned near three months, James. I thought I’d see if something was the matter.”
The waiter brought a bottle and two glasses, and James poured, studying Henry. “You ever think about politics?”
Henry shook his head. “Politics ain’t for black folks. You mixed up in them goings-on down south?”
“A little.” It was a mistake to involve Henry, he thought. Leonie’s fourth was less than a year old. Hostages to fortune, he seemed to remember reading. “I’m fine, Henry. You can go home with a clean conscience.”
“You look drug through a knothole,” Henry said. “I seen Elena over to San Antonio. That girl’s in love with you, James. You could do a lot worse.”
He felt a rise of irritation. “She’s just a child, Henry.”
“That is no child,” Henry said emphatically. “She’s old enough to be having babies of her own.”
He readied an acid retort, but before he could deliver it the door to the gambling den burst open and a squad of soldiers burst in. The room went silent except for the clatter of the wheel of fortune, still spinning from its last turn. James recognized the sergeant in command, Pedro Marcos. Piedras loved his contempt of yanquis.
He looked around for a handy window and whispered to Henry, “If anything happens, hit the floor and stay there till it’s over.”
Marcos, tall and broad across the shoulders, surveyed the room, a smile appearing on his dark face when he sighted James. “So, Señor Fallon, you are not so hard to find. In the name of the Republic of Mexico, I arrest you—”
James leaped from his chair and dove through the window. Glass showered around him into the alley behind Crawford’s. A musket ball spat splinters from the window frame, and then he was on his feet and running. More muskets cracked. He heard feet pounding after him. A lone man, by the sound.
He pulled his knife, ducked around a corner, and crouched. The feet pounded closer. A shape whirled around the corner, and he grappled it, knife raised—and stopped. It was Henry.
“What in hell are you doing here?” he whispered angrily. “I told you not to get involved.”
“I am involved,” Henry whispered back. “One of those soldiers was headed for the window for a good shot, so I kicked him in the cojones. Got out that window about half a second ahead of a musket ball my own self.”
“Damn it all to hell. Your wife’ll kill both of us. Follow me, and keep quiet.”
By dark alleys they reached Alderman’s Livery Stable, and entered the back way. In the shadows he fumbled for his saddle.
“Fallon?” somebody whispered. “Is that you?” James drew his knife again and remained silent. “It’s Hollins,” the voice went on.
