The Black Jacks (7 page)

Johnston leaned forward. "I still say you should officially outlaw the Black Jacks and every other group like them, Mr. President. In essence they are Sam Houston's private army, and as such present a threat to this republic."

"You mean this administration," remarked Singletary.

Lamar sighed and dropped the newspaper on his desk. "I would like nothing better. But now is not the time, General. A transparent ruse, and the people would see right through me. No, until they overstep their bounds I can do nothing of the kind."

He turned to a parchment map of Texas, made in 1838, framed on the wall behind his desk, in an alcove between the towering bookcases. "Cast your eyes upon this map, gentlemen, and you will see why the Comanches must be dealt with, and swiftly. We are on the edge of civilization here, and until the Comanches are vanquished, we will remain so. The republic will not expand. The savages create an obstacle to the expansion of Texas sovereignty. Beyond their realm lies Santa Fe—and California. Mexico is too weak to hold on to her northern provinces, and we must have them for Texas, before some other country seizes them."

"I have one more question, sir," said Singletary. "Will you be going to San Antonio to personally address the Comanche chieftains?"

"My secretary, John Morris, will deliver my message to them. Captain Wingate will accompany Mr. Morris with his Ranger company, to ensure the peace." Lamar turned to the papers on his desk. "Now, if you have nothing further to discuss with me, gentlemen, I must get back to the affairs of state."

Outside, on San Jacinto Street, Secretary Johnston bade Singletary and Wingate a brisk farewell and started off with long strides, bound for the War Department building.

"What I don't savvy," said Wingate, checking the street and then the sky and then the street again, like a man who expects trouble but just isn't sure from what quarter it will come, "is why McAllen hasn't called you out on account of what you've written about his wife."

Singletary smiled. "Perhaps because the pen is mightier than the sword, Captain. However, I am somewhat curious myself on that score. I think I shall go ask him."

Wingate peered at him, startled. "You'll stay clear of McAllen if you know what's good for you."

"Where is your sense of adventure, Captain? Come along with me, and we shall see what McAllen has to say for himself."

Wingate's eyes glittered like sunlight on cold steel. "Sure, why not? I'll come along."

"I knew you would. You don't care for him, do you?"

"McAllen? Not a bit. He's Houston's man. And Houston wants to make peace with the Injuns. Anybody who wants to do that is no friend of mine."

"Because the Comanches killed your brother and his entire family."

"All but his little girl. They took her captive. She'd have been better off had they killed her, too."

"Strikes me odd," remarked Singletary, as they began to walk, "that President Lamar would put an Indian killer like you in charge of a peace council?"

Eli Wingate did not respond.

As they approached the Bullock Hotel, they could see that, as had been the case for nearly a week now, John Henry McAllen was in place on the veranda. Almost everyone who was anyone in Austin passed by Bullock's, located near the center of town, and Singletary had it on good authority that quite a few prominent persons—most of them Houston partisans, or neutral taking a moderate stance between Houston's "Peace Party" and Lamar's "War Party"—had dropped by to engage McAllen in conversation. McAllen, mused the newspaperman, looked like a caged tiger on the hotel veranda. This was a man of action, unaccustomed to idling away the hours in a cane chair, drinking Kentucky bourbon and smoking Havana cigars and watching the world go by. Old, rumpled Dr. Artemus Tice was at his side, reading the day's edition of the
City Gazette,
a corncob pipe gripped in his teeth. The half-breed named Joshua sat on the porch steps, whittling on a stick. He looked about as friendly as a rattlesnake. But he did not give Singletary pause; the editor strolled right past Joshua and along the veranda to McAllen and Tice.

"Gentlemen. Please, don't get up."

"I wasn't going to," said McAllen. His frosty gaze slid past Singletary to the Texas Ranger and did not warm at all. "Hello, Wingate." He spoke with a notable lack of enthusiasm.

"Singletary," said Tice, amused, "don't you think 'therapeutic vampire' is a bit extreme? I do confess to owning a thumb lancet, and a twelve-blade scarificator, but I'm really not much for bleeding, these days, and haven't practiced cupping, either wet or dry, in years. I think quinine and calomel sufficient for the treatment of malaria, and while I'm no Thomsonian, I do believe there is something to be said for certain herbal remedies. After all, quinine itself is derived from the bark of the cinchona tree, so why not raspberry leaves, spiced bitters, and Lobelia seed? Still, I must admit, 'therapeutic vampire' has a clever ring to it."

Singletary smirked. "I am glad you are not offended, Doctor." He turned to McAllen. "I must say, Captain, that your presence here is a mystery to me. I would wager you have not lingered for this length of time in one place your entire life. You are a pure American, sir. Your accomplishments provide indisputable proof. Born in haste, you finish your education on the run, marry on the wing, make a fortune at a stroke. Your body is a locomotive, your soul a high-pressure engine, your life a shooting star—and death will overtake you like a flash of lightning. And yet here you sit, like a storefront Indian. I cannot help but wonder why."

"And I wonder why I should answer you," replied McAllen, barely civil. "You have already made my personal affairs your business, and without any assistance from me. Besides, you have never allowed the truth to restrain you."

"Some of my acquaintances suggest your presence here endangers my health. But I do not hold with that notion. You are an honest man, Captain, that much I willingly concede. And I might have cause for concern if what I printed had been scurrilous lies. But they are not lies. We both know as much."

"Were you a gentleman I would demand satisfaction," snapped McAllen. "But all of Texas knows you are not."

"How very southern, sir. I have never aspired to that distinction, no."

Impatient, Eli Wingate stepped forward, a belligerent cast to his sun-darkened features. "I know why you're here, McAllen. Just as I know that I will see you again in San Antonio. I give you fair warning—stay out of affairs that do not concern you."

"Peace on the frontier
does
concern me, sir, and I will go where I please and do what I must to achieve it."

Wingate glowered. Dislike simmered between the two men, and Singletary decided to defuse the situation before it got out of hand.

"We will intrude no further upon your leisure, gentlemen," said the newspaperman. "Good day to you both."

"And good day to you," replied Tice cheerfully. "If you have the need to be purged or bled, Singletary, feel free to call upon me. I will do the honors at no charge. The least I can do for this free advertisement."

"Touché," said Singletary, then he bowed stiffly and left the veranda, followed by the Texas Ranger.

"Bravo, John Henry," said Tice. "Admirable restraint. I expected Singletary to come calling eventually, and I was afraid of what you meant to do to him. He's got plenty of nerve, you have to give him that."

"I've had time to think on it," said McAllen, reaching for the leatherbound copy of the
The Iliad
which lay on a small wrought-iron table between their chairs. "I cannot kill a man for telling the truth. Singletary's death would not erase the shame. And besides, the Old Chief would not approve, would he? Texas is in mortal danger. Personal problems can wait."

Vastly relieved, Tice nodded. Then, as McAllen opened the book, Tice saw the wildflower that had been pressed between the pages of Homer's classic.

"A token of admiration from a secret admirer?" asked the physician.

"Just a bookmark."

"Curious," murmured Tice. For some reason he thought of Emily Torrance. "Curious."

Chapter Six

When Tall Horses found Gray Wolf, the war chief was in his tepee, having just finished a meal of mush made from mesquite beans, buffalo marrow, and bee honey. It was Comanche custom to eat a light meal early in the day, with a heavier meal to follow in the evening, and usually Gray Wolf had a healthy appetite. His pretty wife, Snow Dancer, was a good cook, and she knew what pleased his palate most—her husband was especially fond of raw liver flavored with the contents of the deer or buffalo gallbladder, and the curdled milk taken from the stomach of a buffalo calf was a special treat.

Today, though, Gray Wolf barely tasted the savory mush. He ate only because he knew his body needed nourishment. He would be on the move all day, scouting far to the south and east. The nearest white settlement was less than two days' ride from this camp; the newest enemy of the Comanches—the Texan—was too close for comfort.

Tall Horses was a young warrior, and he stood in awe of Gray Wolf, who, though only a few years older than he, had already proven himself to be one of the greatest fighters of the Quohadi, or Antelope band. This was why Gray Wolf had become one the band's war chiefs. Though young, he was wise beyond his years. And, though a war chief, he was one of the leading proponents of peace.

"Gray Wolf," said Tall Horses, dropping to one knee just inside the tepee's entrance, "Maguara has summoned the council."

Gray Wolf nodded. He was not a member of the council—that distinction was reserved for the old patriarchs—but as a distinguished war leader his opinion was sometimes sought, since the council always pursued unanimity in its decisions.

Tall Horses glanced at Snow Dancer, who sat in the back shadows of the skin lodge on a buffalo robe, nursing her ten-month-old son. Her dark eyes were troubled, reflecting the disquiet in the young warrior's own soul. He turned his attention back to Gray Wolf and found the war chief gazing at him intently.

"Speak your mind, Tall Horses."

"There are many who do not trust the Texans. They will try to persuade the council not to go to Bexar." He knew San Antonio only by its old Mexican name.

"You do not think we should make peace with the whites?"

Tall Horses was not shy about making his feelings known. All that Comanche etiquette required of him was to wait for Gray Wolf to ask his opinion. Every male who had returned from his first war party was entitled to have his say. Among Comanches, individual independence in thought and action was encouraged.

"The white man cannot be trusted. If he gives his word at Bexar he will not keep it. The one called Houston is no longer their chief. Now there is this one called Lamar, who wants to destroy us."

Gray Wolf smiled grimly. "Many have tried to destroy the Comanches before. The Apaches have tried. The Spaniards and then the Mexicans. But all have failed. We survive. Go tell Maguara that Gray Wolf will be present at the council."

After Tall Horses had left the tepee, Gray Wolf stood and glanced at his wife. "You do not think we should go to Bexar, either," he said.

"It is not my place to say," replied Snow Dancer. But he had always encouraged her to speak frankly, and having paid lip service to tradition, she proceeded to voice her opinion. "I agree with Tall Horses, but for a different reason. The Texans will not make peace with us, so it does not matter that they cannot be trusted to keep their word."

"If they do not want peace, then why have they asked us to come to Bexar?"

"It is a trap. They intend to kill us all. Besides, we asked for peace, for a boundary, and they said they would not talk until all the white captives held by the Comanches were brought in. The Quohadi have no white captives. We live too far away to raid the white settlements. For this reason we should not go to Bexar at all."

Gray Wolf stared at his infant son, snug in his papoose, nuzzling the milk-gorged breast of his wife, and felt a keen anxiety. "I will not let anything happen to you or our son," he said softly. "You know that
I
keep my promises."

Her smile was wan. Gray Wolf was a tall, broad-shouldered, exceedingly handsome man, and she loved him more than life itself, and wondered what she would do if she lost him. "I know you will try, my husband."

He kissed her on top of the head. Lately she had been so grave. What had happened to the carefree girl he had married only two summers ago? He remembered that night, after he had returned from his first war party and had distinguished himself by his valor against the Utes, when she had slipped into his tepee and introduced him to the pleasures of lovemaking. Among the Comanches, it was a quite common practice for the girl to make the advances. From that moment on Gray Wolf had eyes for no one else, though he was so good-looking and brave and full of promise that all the maidens in the Antelope Band had vied for his attention. His happiest day had come, nearly a year later, when he took a splendid stallion laden with buffalo robes to Snow Dancer's father, who had silently driven the animal in with his own ponies, in this way signifying his approval of the marriage of his daughter to this bold young warrior.

It was the responsibility of the son-in-law to provide his wife's parents with meat, but in Gray Wolf's case that was no burden, as he was as skilled at hunting as he was in war. And he was fortunate in that Snow Dancer's younger sister was already married, since otherwise he would have had to take her as his wife, also. That was just as well, because Gray Wolf realized he would never love another with the depth of feeling he had for Snow Dancer, and he knew she felt the same way about him. Gray Wolf's love for her was so strong that he refused to lend her to his brother, Running Dog, even though it was customary to do so and Running Dog had long desired Snow Dancer. Brothers were not supposed to exhibit sexual jealousy, and it was perfectly normal for a man to sleep with his brother's wife when the latter was on the warpath. After all, Running Dog would oe obliged to take Snow Dancer into his tepee if anything happened to Gray Wolf. But Snow Dancer did not want to lay with Running Dog, and Gray Wolf could not bear to think of them together. He was Snow Dancer's love for life and she, likewise, was his. This had caused bad feeling between Gray Wolf and his brother, but some things could not be helped.