Home of the Brave (24 page)

“I know your name, Señor
Billy Van,” the police chief said, without moving toward his
pistol. “If you run you will be hunted down and hanged.”

“Hunting and catching are
likely to be two different things.” William Van Buskirk backed
toward the door and vanished.

March 30, 1832

Two Alone Ranch, Coahuila,
Mexican Province of Tejas

“I don’t care if Buffalo
Hump feeds his band on our cattle, Josiah,” Thomas argued. “We
can’t fight him and the Mexicans at the same time.”

“The Mexicans ain’t gonna
come back, Tom,” Captain Whipple said. “If they was, they woulda
been here by now.”

“I don’t mean here, Josiah.”
He picked up a letter from his desk. “This is a copy of a letter
from a lawyer named William Barret Travis to Stephen Austin. In it,
Travis claims that Bradburn is completely out of hand and because
of that, there’s a substantially large organization that’s
advocating Texas independence.”

“That suits me just fine,”
Whipple replied with a grin.

“Then don’t stir up the
Comanches please. Unless they start cutting out whole herds, let
them take all the beef they need. If we have to fight for Texas
independence, I’d rather have the Comanches attacking the Mexicans.
Beside, they keep the Cherokee, the Apache and Kiowa at a
distance.”

“Can I talk to you in
private a minute, Tom?” Captain Lagrange asked.

“I know what yer gonna ask
him, Charlie,” Whipple said. “There ain’t no need t’ go slinkin’
off and tellin’ secrets.” He grinned at Thomas. “He wants t’ marry
yer sister.”

“Dang it, Josiah,” Lagrange
complained, “I’ve been practicing all night and you spoiled
it.”

“You don’t need practice to
talk to me,” Thomas said, “but you might want to rehearse your
proposal before you ask Anna.”

“No need for that,” Lagrange
said with a big grin. “She asked me, and I said yes.”

Thomas laughed and slapped
him on the back. “Well then brother-in-law to be, I believe I’ve
got a gourd of mescal up at the house that needs to be passed
around.”

April 15, 1831

Upper Colorado River,
Coahuila, Mexican Province of Tejas

Anna and Charlie Lagrange
were watching the river from a blanket that was spread in a huge
field of bluebonnets. A picnic basket and the remnants of a meal
had been pushed aside. Quincy was sleeping peacefully with his head
in Charlie’s lap.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t have
a big wedding or go on a real honeymoon,” Charlie said, stroking
the little boy’s hair.

“I’m not sorry,” Anna
replied. “The wedding was perfect and being here with you, right
now, is all I would ever want.”

He studied her for a moment.
“I need to ask you a question, Anna.”

“Uh-oh.”

“I want the truth. I really
need the truth.”

“Double uh-oh.”

“I’m serious.”

“I see that. What’s the
question?”

“Do you love me?”

She giggled. “Yes, you
idiot. I love you more than words can say.”

“I thought maybe you needed
a husband and a father for Quincy and I was just
convenient.”

She shrugged. “There was
once some truth in that but after the first time you visited my bed
I was hooked on you.”

He smiled. “So you’re just
using me as a sex object.”

“Yes. And if Quincy wasn’t
liable to wake up I’d use you right now.”

“Bad idea.” He pointed
toward a grove of trees. “Josiah sent a squad of riflemen out to
watch over us.”

“Thomas says that we have an
informal peace with Buffalo Hump and that the Comanches will keep
the hostile tribes away.”

“I know what Tom says, but
Josiah doesn’t trust Buffalo Hump.”

“He’s never even spoken to
Buffalo Hump. Thomas has.”

Charlie shrugged. “Josiah
was there twice when Tom met with Buffalo Hump and I trust Josiah’s
instincts.”

“More than Thomas’s
instincts?”

“Yes. Tom still has one foot
in the city. Josiah’s a frontiersman
through-and-through.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you a frontiersman
through-and-through?”

“No. But I’m further removed
from the city than Tom.”

“Josiah seems to have no
compassion for the Indians, whatsoever. I don’t understand
him.”

“He’s very easy to
understand. You can either be a friend or an enemy of Josiah. He
doesn’t recognize anything in between. He’ll put his life on the
line to protect a friend or to kill an enemy. Indians are his
enemies.

“Yet he’s sweet to Jane. And
to Mother and the rest of us, who have Indian blood for that
matter.”

Charlie shook his head.
“Okay, so maybe he isn’t so easy to understand.” He looked down at
the sleeping child. “I hate to wake him but my leg’s going to
sleep.”

Anna crawled around him and
moved Quincy, patting him until he was sound asleep again. “I want
to have your baby while Quincy’s still little.”

“I’ve been doing the best I
can.”

She giggled. “It was an
observation, not a command.”

“We’ve been together for
quite a while now and you haven’t gotten pregnant. What if I can’t
father children?”

“So be it.” She sat down
again and looked at the river. “But before you start kicking
yourself, remember that it could be me or it could be something
else.”

Charlie lay back and looked
at the clouds. “What would you say to starting our own
ranch?”

“If that’s what you
want.”

“I don’t know what I want
except that I don’t want to keep rangering.”

“I have money. You can quit
any time.”

He shook his head. “I don’t
want to live off you or in a room in Tom’s house. I want us to be –
independent. Our own family with me as the head of the family. Am I
making any sense?”

“Of course you are.” She
thought a moment. “We could build our own house inside the stockade
or somewhere else on the ranch.”

“Is that what you
want?”

“No. I want what you want.
But I’m lazy and sharing the work and profits seems easier than
starting from scratch.”

“I think I’d rather have a
place of our own.”

“Okay. We’ll start looking
whenever you want.”

April 17, 1832

Washington, District of
Columbia

Sam Houston jerked open the
door to his boarding house room and leveled a cocked pistol at the
man who had knocked.

“A fine way to greet an old
comrade,” Yank said pushing the muzzle aside and walking past
Houston into the room. “Stinks in here, Sam. What are you
smoking?”

“You better get out of here,
Yank.” Houston let the hammer down and closed the door. “I just
heard that there’s a Federal warrant out for my arrest.”

Yank dropped his hat on the
rumpled bed, sat down in the room’s only easy chair and put his
feet up on the threadbare ottoman. “I know. I just came from the
White House. President Jackson and I have a plan.”

“Jackson? What’s his plan?
To kill me?”

“No, to help
you.”

“Jackson wouldn’t piss on me
if I was on fire.”

“He’s mellowed a bit. I
think he’d piss on you now.”

“That’s not funny, Yank, the
man hates me.”

“He was damned angry at you
for abandoning your office as Governor of Tennessee by getting
involved with John Allen’s little girl. But he doesn’t hate
you.”

“You sound like him, God
damn it. I didn’t abandon my office; I just didn’t run for
reelection. And, Eliza Allen was seventeen. And I married her,
didn’t I?”

“You married her when
Colonel Allen showed up at the Governor’s mansion with a scattergun
in one hand and his daughter in the other,” Yank
chuckled.

“What’s the difference? I
married her. I’m still married to the little bitch, by
God.”

Yank rubbed his eyes. “Then
who’s the Cherokee beauty that lives at your Fort Gibson trading
post and claims to be your wife?”

He waved his hand. “Well I
was drunk when I married her.”

“You’re always drunk, Sam.
You knew damn well that you still had a wife in Tennessee when you
married that Cherokee woman and you also know how Jackson feels
about duty and loyalty to women.”

“I know that he has such a
tight view of right and wrong that nobody can live up to his
standards.”

Yank took a breath and let
it out. “If you want to get out of this mess in one piece you’re
going to just have to trust me, Sam.”

“I trust you, Yank, but I
don’t trust Jackson. Not any more.”

“Well I’m telling you to
trust Jackson so it all comes down to whether you trust me enough
or not.”

Houston paced the room. “Why
do these things always happen to me? I just started to get my life
back together and then this happens.”

Yank waved his hand. “Sit
down, Sam; you’re beginning to make me nervous. The marshals won’t
have the warrant for at least another hour.”

Houston moved Yank’s hat and
sat on the bed. “I’ll go mad in prison, Yank. I can’t stand close
places.”

“You won’t go to prison but
you might have to pay a fine.”

“That’s the same as prison.
I don’t have a dime.”

“I’ll lend you whatever you
need.”

Houston jumped as another
knock sounded on the door.

“Relax, I’ll get it.” Yank
walked to the door, opened it, ushered in a neatly dressed man, and
then closed the door. “Sam Houston, may I present Francis Scott
Key, famous poet, writer of national anthems and District of
Columbia lawyer. Your lawyer, in fact.”

“How do you do, Governor?”
Key crossed the room, shook Houston’s hand then dragged the ottoman
over toward the bed and sat down. “We don’t have much time, so
please tell me briefly what happened.”

Houston looked past Key at
Yank.

“Go ahead, Sam,” Yank
soothed. “Just tell it like it happened and let Frank decide what
you’ll tell the judge.”

“I don’t know where to
begin,” Houston said. “Should I start with Stanbery’s
insults?”

“On second thought, maybe I
better give Frank the background and you take up the story where
you put him in the hospital,” Yank suggested.

“He woulda killed me if his
pistol hadn’t misfired,” Houston argued.

“Please do give me the
background, General,” Key urged, seeming to ignore Houston’s
comment.

Yank nodded. “Sam is an
adopted member of the Cherokee Nation and a staunch advocate of
Indian rights. Last month he came here to testify before Congress
about frauds that are being perpetrated upon the Cherokees by
certain U. S. Government agents. After Sam’s testimony, Congressman
William Stanbery of Ohio made a speech on the floor of the House
accusing Sam of being of being in cahoots with Congressman Robert
S. Rose and John Van Fossen. In case you didn’t know, Rose and Van
Fossen were caught selling rations at inflated prices to Indians
being relocated under the Indian Removal Act.” He nodded to
Houston. “Tell Frank what happened after that, Sam.”

Houston took a deep breath.
“Well to start with I don’t even know John Van Fossen or Robert
Rose.”

“Skip that and stick to what
happened between you and Congressman Stanbery,” Key said. “I know
who they are.”

Houston bobbed his head.
“Okay. I wrote to Stansbury, told him that he had it all wrong and
that I wanted to talk to him.”

“If I may interrupt again
please, Frank,” Yank said. “Stanbery made the whole thing up so he
could attack President Jackson’s Indian Removal Act by attacking
Sam. You’ll be able to see that if you get the transcript of his
speech.”

“Thank you.” Key made a
note. “Go on please, Governor Houston.”

“Stanbery wouldn’t answer my
letters,” Houston said, “but I was told by a number of people that
he was carrying two pistols and a dirk and that he was bragging
that he planned to use them on me.”

Key nodded.

Houston pointed out the
window. “Then the other day, when I was walking down Pennsylvania
Avenue, past Mrs. Queen’s boardinghouse, who comes out of there but
Stansbury. Well, as soon as he saw me, he went for his pistol. I
wasn’t armed but I was carrying a hickory cane and so
I...”

“Wait,” Key interrupted.
“Why do you carry a cane?”

“I got shot in the leg by a
Red Stick arrow at the Battle of Horseshoe Bend,” Houston replied.
“It still troubles me at times.”

“Go on,” Key said, writing
furiously.

Houston shrugged. “That’s
about it. I beat him with the stick and they took him to the
hospital.”