Davy Crockett 7 Page 10

  The Englishman was poised for a fatal slash. Every iron muscle on his neck and wrist bulged. Another second, and the deed would be done. But he met Davy’s stare, met it and paused, hesitating so long that murmurs broke out among the freebooters. “Bold words, raccoon-head,” he said at last, “but you’re not holding a gun.”

  “It’s not me you need to worry about.”

  “Oh?” Tar lowered his arm a trifle. “Then who is going to fill me with lead?”

  “They are,” Davy said, and nodded toward the creek and the high reeds that framed it. Simultaneously, he pumped his arms several times in the agreed-upon signal. Immediately, Flavius and Taylor and the twenty Mexicans rose in a row, rifles tucked to their shoulders. Every last muzzle was trained unerringly on the gigantic form of Blackjack Tar.

  The freebooters cursed and shouted in alarm, raising their own weapons. Some started to rush toward the creek but were halted in midstride by a roar from their enormous leader. Although some of the cutthroats were between Tar and the creek and in the line of fire, he was so huge, so massive a target, that the riflemen in the reeds were certain to put enough balls into him to slay him instantly.

  Tar realized that, even if many of his men did not. “No one move!” he shouted. “No one shoot! Anyone who does will answer to me! And by the queen’s garters, I’ll have your head on a platter!”

  The freebooters did not like being held at bay. They grumbled, they nervously shifted, they flexed fingers on their weapons. But such was the power Tar had over them that not one renegade opened fire.

  The giant grinned down at Davy and jabbed his cutlass at the Texicans. “Your idea, I take it?”

  Davy nodded.

  “Arranged before you even snuck into camp, I’d guess?”

  Davy smiled.

  “Set up just in case you were caught?” Tar chuckled. “A tactic worthy of me. But how did you know I wouldn’t kill you on the spot last night? Say, in the tent?”

  “I met an actor once, in Memphis. About talked my ear off over his cups. Went on and on about how every thespian should have a flair for the dramatic,” Davy related. “You have the same flair. You’re part showman, Tar. The way you set your hair on fire. That cloak. How you like to swagger about. I reckoned you’d want to make a show of our deaths. And I was right.”

  “You took an awful gamble. I admire that.” Tar lowered the cutlass to his side. “There’s more to you than I suspected, lad. I underestimated you. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  “You won’t get the chance.” Davy raised his wrists. “Untie me. Untie all of us. And be quick about it. All I have to do is call out and twenty-two slugs will rip through you before you can bat an eye.” He had the giant dead to rights. He read it in Tar’s expression. But someone saw fit to butt in.

  “Don’t do it, Cap’n,” Quint angrily interjected. “Drop down flat, so they can’t hit you, and me and the boys will rush those blighters in the cane.”

  The idea appealed to Tar. Davy could tell. “Do you honestly think you’re faster than a bullet?” he asked. “A swarm of bullets?”

  Tar chewed on his mustache and glanced at the Texicans. Taylor picked that moment to holler, “Free your captives now or else there will be hell to pay!” The faces of the men holding the rifles were set in firm resolve, the rifles themselves as steady as rock.

  “Cut them loose, Mr. Quint.”

  Quint growled and gestured. “I’ll be damned if I will, Cap’n! We can’t let a bunch of scurvy buggers tell us what to do. It ain’t our way. We’re the free company! Let’s show them what for!”

  The giant’s eyes glittered like the tips of twin rapiers. “I will only say this once more, Mr. Quint. And count your lucky stars that we go back a long way together, or I would personally separate that stupid head of yours from your shoulders.” He leaned toward his lieutenant. “Cut them free.”

  The sea dog barked instructions. Men rushed to obey, then moved back again. Davy tried to stand, but his legs lanced with pain. The blood flow had been cut off for too long. He had to get them working again quickly.

  Every second of delay was critical. Some of the freebooters were fidgeting and eyeing the Texicans as if inclined to disobey Tar. All it would take was one careless cutthroat to start a bloodbath.

  His jaw clenched, Davy slowly rose. Wobbly, he shuffled in a small circle, lifting each leg high in turn. Heather also stood, but Farley and Priscilla were still on their knees. “Our weapons, Tar. All of them.”

  The Englishman issued commands. Muttering oaths and protests, freebooters brought the guns and knives and tomahawk. They even brought the two extra pistols Davy had taken from the slain sentry, pistols he passed out to each of the women. Holding Liz again filled him with renewed confidence. Pointing her at the giant, he said, “Shuck your pig sticker and your flintlocks. You’re coming with us.”

  A hush fell over the band. Blackjack Tar became the center of attention. What the giant did next, Davy knew, would determine whether he and his friends lived or died.

  “Where do you think you’re taking me, Yank?”

  Davy told the truth. “To San Antonio to turn you over to the Spanish authorities.”

  Many of the freebooters snickered or chortled, but Blackjack Tar wasn’t one of them. “Overstepping yourself, aren’t you, Crockett? Your piddling bunch is going to take me all that distance? With my boys dogging your heels every step of the way?”

  “Your men won’t give us a lick of trouble.”

  “And why is that?”

  Davy hiked Liz so the barrel was inches from the Englishman’s face. “Because if I so much as see a blade of grass move when it shouldn’t, I’ll send you into the Hereafter.”

  Quint cursed. “He’s bluffin’, Cap’n. He knows that if he kills you, we’ll skewer these landlubbers like pigs on a spit.”

  Tar was undecided. Davy needed to shift the scales in his favor, so he declared, “When a man has nothing to lose, he’ll risk losing everything. I reckon you’re as aware of that as I am.”

  “Say the word, Cap’n,” Quint goaded. “Just one word. In another minute this upstart will be a bloody smear on the grass.”

  The outcome hung in the balance. Then a rifle cracked, over in the reeds. Taylor’s gun spewed lead and smoke and a hornet buzzed past the giant’s head. “What’s the delay over there?” Taylor shouted. “Quit stalling, Tar, or the next shot will be between your eyes! Let the captives go!”

  A flush of resentment was the only emotion Tar betrayed as he dropped his cutlass and unlimbered his brace of pistols. “You’ve won for now, coon butt,” he said to Davy, “but I wouldn’t give odds on my reaching San Antonio. It’s a long way off through rugged country. Anything can happen.”

  Davy moved around behind Tar and jammed Liz against his spine. “Start walking. Keep your hands out from your side where I can see them at all times. And whatever you do, don’t trip. My rifle has a hair trigger.”

  Glancing once at Quint, Blackjack Tar obeyed, smiling jauntily and strolling along as if he did not have a care in creation. Several freebooters moved to intervene, but he stopped them with a flick of a finger. “In due time, mates,” he said. “All in due time.”

  Farley brought up the rear to protect the women. It was as plain as the nose on his face he was eager to shoot someone— anyone at all. None of the freebooters tempted fate, though.

  The skin between Davy’s shoulder blades prickled with every stride he took. Enough guns were fixed on his back to turn him into a human sieve if just one of the renegades was careless. Crossing the open space seemed to take forever. Tar didn’t help matters by moving at a turtle’s pace despite being repeatedly prodded.

  Across the creek, Flavius Harris was as jittery as a hound with fleas. He couldn’t wait for his friend to reach safety. To that end, he plunged into the water and waded halfway across so he had a clearer shot at the freebooters.

  Davy checked behind him often. Quint and a majority of the cutthroats were
edging forward in a ragged line, but so far they were behaving themselves.

  “See, Crockett?” Tar said. “My boys are loyal. And greedy. Under my leadership they’ve taken more bounty in six months than they had in six years. They won’t let anything happen to me.”

  At the water’s edge the giant stopped. Davy poked him hard. “Go right across and keep on walking until I say different.”

  “Getting a jump on my men won’t save you. They’ll stick to you like glue.” Tar hopped off the bank and twisted. “Tell you what. I’m feeling generous. Let me go, and I give my word no harm will come to you or your friends. You’ll be free to go, unhindered.”

  “Worried, are you?” Davy said.

  “Not in the least. You’re the one who champions lost causes.”

  “Hush.”

  Flavius sidestepped so the giant would not come within reach of Matilda. He wouldn’t put it past Tar to make a grab for the rifle or try another desperate means of turning the tables. “Hurry,” he urged. “Our luck won’t hold all day.”

  Some of the raiders were pressing much too close to Farley and the women. Davy pivoted, sighted on Quint, and warned them to stay back. Reluctantly, they complied, but Quint was fit to be tied.

  Taylor gave Heather and Priscilla a pull onto shore. The matriarch collapsed against him, fatigue and stress combining to weaken her formidable constitution. “Sorry,” she blurted. “I’m not as spry as I used to be.”

  “You’re doing fine,” Taylor said with pride.

  The caballeros in the middle parted to permit them to pass. Their gun muzzles never dipped, a fact not lost on the foremost ranks of freebooters.

  Per Davy’s directions, the horses were tied less than ten yards into the trees. Extra mounts had been brought for Heather and Priscilla, but there wasn’t one for the Englishman. Heather solved the shortage by offering to ride double with Priscilla. Davy tied Tar’s wrists, and with Farley’s help succeeded in boosting the titan up. Once the women were in the saddle, Farley yelled, “Pronto, amigos!”

  Maintaining their skirmish line, the caballeros backed out of the reeds, never once turning their backs to the wolf pack hungry for their hides.

  As soon as the hands were under cover, they sprinted to the horses. Farley took control. A yip and a wave of his arm sent the rescuers galloping to the southwest, the Mexicans riding in a column of twos.

  In their wake rose heated bedlam as the freebooters rushed to their own animals. Davy motioned at Flavius. “We have to slow them down,” he said, reining to the left toward a tall willow. The lowest branches were within easy reach. Snaring one, Davy clambered from the bay and swiftly climbed. Ten feet was enough to give him a crow’s-eye view of the meadow. Quint was snarling commands right and left. Blankets and saddles were being thrown onto prancing mounts, cinches tightened, bridles secured.

  Planting his feet on a pair of closely spaced branches, Davy braced his back against the bole and raised Liz. The range was approximately one hundred yards. For most, a formidable shot. For Davy, who had won turkey shoots and target contests at distances of one hundred and fifty yards or better, judging the elevation and angle was second nature. He waited until almost all the freebooters were raring to go and a dozen or so had begun to head for the creek.

  Quint lifted an arm to signal. His fingers were splayed wide and he was half-turned in the saddle when Liz boomed.

  Flavius, watching closely, saw the sea dog’s middle finger spurt into the air at the end of a miniature scarlet geyser. Beyond Quint a cutthroat took the brunt of the ball in his rib cage and was flung like a disjointed rag doll to the sod.

  Automatically, rifles and pistols were flourished. But a strident cry from Quint prevented a volley from being unleashed. Tar’s lieutenant was doubled over in agony, his pumping hand pressed to his shirt, yet he had the presence of mind to keep the free company in check.

  Davy cupped a hand to his mouth. “That’s your last warning! Follow us and your leader dies!” Without delay he swung from limb to limb to the lowest, slid off onto his horse, and flew like the wind after the Texicans.

  Flavius didn’t trust the freebooters as far as he could chuck a bull. Again and again he scoured the vegetation to their rear for evidence they were being pursued. Soon he had a crick in his neck that no amount of rubbing would relieve.

  Davy was glad his plan had worked. The previous night, shortly after Farley was taken captive, he had ridden back to find Taylor. The Texican had been dead set against his being the one to put his life in harm’s way, relenting only when Davy pointed out he didn’t know a Spanish participle from a Latin adjective. Taylor could communicate with the caballeros where Davy and Flavius could not.

  Taking Tar had been Davy’s brainstorm, a spur-of-the- moment decision. Insurance, as Tar had phrased it, enabling them to escape with their lives. But Davy wasn’t fooling himself about their prospects.

  Tar had been right about one thing. The freebooters would stop at nothing to get him back in one piece.

  That was Davy’s edge. So long as the cutthroats believed he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the giant dead, they’d hold off. What they couldn’t possibly know was that Davy had pledged to never again take a life in cold blood. He’d done it once, to spare Heather Dugan and Becky unending misery and abuse. That once had been enough. Guilt would gnaw at his soul for the rest of his days.

  Flavius hankered to catch up with the others. He imagined freebooters hard on their heels, imagined them in every shadow, in every thicket, every cluster of trees.

  Having the brown stallion under him was reassuring to a degree. Flavius had never owned an animal so splendid. On the grueling ride from the ranch the stallion had never flagged, never displayed the least little fatigue. It possessed extraordinary stamina and speed. Flavius couldn’t wait to return to Tennessee and show it off to his wife and kin.

  Matilda. Flavius had not thought about her in a couple of days, which was unusual. As much as they had spat and hissed when he was home, he missed her terribly. When they were together they fought like cats and dogs, but when they were apart he pined to be at her side.

  Life was strange, Flavius had decided. Try as he might, he could never figure out why the Almighty had seen fit to set the world up the way it was. Having folks suffer like they did, what purpose did that serve? Having them go from the cradle to the grave as ignorant of the true nature of things as they were the moment they popped naked into the cruel world was downright unfair.

  Flavius could go on and on. People liked to tease him, joke he was as thick between the ears as he was through the middle, but they misjudged him. Many a time he had lain on a grassy knoll on a sterling summer’s day, watching fluffy clouds waft by while wondering about the meaning of it all.

  He used to think he had all the answers. All anyone had to do was live by the golden rule and go to church as regular as clockwork to enjoy prosperity and peace their whole life long.

  It had come as a shock to learn suffering and death made no distinction between the god-fearing and the godless.

  Look at the Tanners. Nicer people you’d never want to meet, yet in recent months Marcy had been kidnapped by Comanches, Walter had died pining for her, and now the family was locked in a war of wits and endurance with a raving band of vicious freebooters. What had they done to deserve any of that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  It was a hell of a note, Flavius mused. Being born wasn’t an invitation to lifelong happiness. Being born was an invitation to fill a grave.

  “It just ain’t fair,” Flavius said.

  “What isn’t?” Davy asked. He was surveying the hills ahead for a trace of the Texicans.

  Embarrassed by his lapse, Flavius replied, “I was thinking out loud, is all.”

  “About what?”

  Flavius wasn’t inclined to say. His pard would only brand him as silly. “Nothing much. Forget it.” It was added proof, if any were needed, that pondering the mysteries of life was more trouble than it was worth.
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  Davy glimpsed the tail end of the column and pointed. “There! Let’s catch up.” A flick of his reins and a jab of his heels were sufficient to goad the bay into a gallop. Tugging his coonskin cap low, he wound among the trunks with superb skill.

  The two caballeros at the rear spotted the Tennesseans and let out a yell. Farley Tanner and Taylor, at the head of the rescue party, slowed to a walk long enough for the southerners to join them. From then on, hour after hour, they fled through the pristine wilderness, never stopping, not even to give their tired mounts a breather.

  It was Davy’s intention, previously agreed on by Taylor, to push on right through the night. By morning they would be within a few miles of the ranch, and safety.

  Fate dictated differently.

  An hour before sunset, Heather called out in alarm. Davy shifted, anticipating freebooters, but Priscilla Tanner was to blame. She must have dozed off and had half slid from the saddle. Heather’s yell woke her up, and she clutched wildly at Heather’s back to stay on. Cutting on the reins, Davy brought the bay in alongside their mount and looped an arm around her waist as she started to fall. Her fingers clawed into his shoulders as he swung her clear, then wheeled the bay so he could set her down.

  Farley was there in the blink of an eye. “Mother? What’s wrong?”

  “She’s tired,” Davy said. And who could blame her? For the past couple of nights she had barely slept a wink. “She needs rest. I say we call a halt until sundown so she can nap.”

  “Nonsense,” Priscilla huffed. “I can hold my own. Give me a minute to catch my breath and we’ll be on our way.”

  Farley startled her by sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to a shaded spot under a tree, where he lowered her as gently as a feather. “You’re sleeping, and that’s all there is to it.” He stifled a protest by pressing a finger to her open mouth. “For once in your life, you’ll do as you’re told.” Smiling, he kissed her forehead. “Please.”

  “Only because you insist, my dear.”

  Flavius had to hand it to the Texican. If he were to try bossing his ma around, she’d slap him silly or beat him over the head with a rolling pin. Harris women were noted for their prickly dispositions, Matilda having one of the prickliest. Caballeros formed a circle around the women and the horses. Saddles were loosened. Water skins were swapped freely. Jerky was handed out. Little was said, and other than the warbling of a songbird and the sigh of the breeze, the forest was quiet.