Davy Crockett 7 Page 2

  Davy did not have an opinion on the matter. The tribes west of the Mississippi were all new to him. All he could say about them for sure was the important lesson he’d learned during his brief captivity among the Sioux—namely, that the Indians weren’t the unbridled brutes many in the States painted them as. In fact, red men were a lot like whites, sharing many of the same dreams and fears. For the rest of his born days he would never forget the young couple who befriended him at the risk of incurring the wrath of their brethren.

  But then, Davy never had been an inveterate Indian hater. He wasn’t one of those who believed the only good Indian was a dead one. Even after he joined the campaign against the Creeks, he never despised them as a race. He had simply been doing his part to ensure no more massacres like the one at Fort Mimms ever took place again.

  Soon the tired travelers were all mounted, forging southward once more. Based on the position of the sun, Davy reckoned the time to be between one and two.

  Earlier, about noon, they had halted to briefly rest in a shallow basin sixty yards north of the spot where the freebooters had jumped him. It was a sheer stroke of luck he had headed out slightly ahead of the others, or the cutthroats might have shot all of them dead before they knew what hit them.

  Hooves hammered as Taylor rode up alongside Davy’s bay. “So how soon do you aim to light a shuck for home, Crockett?” he inquired good-naturedly.

  Davy liked the older Texican. Hell, he liked all of them. They were rugged, independent cusses, much like himself in nature and temperament. Texas was the new frontier, and to it flocked frontiersmen from all across the country. How could he not feel the same allure they did?

  No doubt about it. Texas was intoxicating. In size it was beyond belief, a country unto itself. But its real charm lay in its exotic beauty, natural splendor few states could rival. Davy had crossed countless miles of gently waving prairie grass, grass growing lush from rich brown soil. He had crossed countless clear streams gurgling along sandy bottoms. He had seen giant pecan trees, and many others he had no name for yet were magnificent in their own right.

  Yes, sir. Texas was special. Men like Farley Tanner knew it. So did Moses Austin, whom Davy was anxious to meet. Word had it that Austin was going to set himself up as an empresario and arrange for an influx of new settlers from America.

  Davy had not mentioned this to Flavius, of course. His friend was already put out with him for the unusual turns their gallivant had taken. No, Davy aimed to consult with Austin on the sly.

  Now, answering Taylor, Davy said, “We won’t be leaving for four or five days, maybe more. We’re plumb tuckered out after the ordeal we’ve been through.”

  Flavius Harris overheard and promptly spurred his horse forward. “Four or five days?” he bleated. “Why wait that long? I can be ready to leave the morning after we reach San Antonio.”

  Taylor smiled. “And miss out on our famous Texican hospitality? I’ve got a Mexican friend who loves to throw fiestas. All he needs is an excuse. You’ll eat and drink until you bust a gut. Plus meet some of the prettiest señoritas in all of Mexico.”

  Flavius didn’t give a hoot about the women. Chasing skirts wasn’t for him. But the thought of all that food and drink made his senses swim. How long had it been since he last ate a real meal? he asked himself, and was jolted to realize it had been so long, he couldn’t recollect exactly when. “What kind of food?”

  “You name it. Beef so thick and juicy you can never get enough. Venison sometimes. Beans, pumpkins, tomatoes, chilies. Porridge. Hot chocolate. Tortillas, enchiladas, puchero, and more.”

  Flavius did not know what those last three were, but he’d heard enough. His stomach rumbled loudly enough to be heard in St. Louis and his mouth watered like a gushing geyser. Food was his main joy in life, his passion, his constant craving. “Well,” he said, his voice oddly strained, “I wouldn’t want to be accused of declining your hospitality. I suppose staying four or five days wouldn’t hurt.”

  Davy hid a grin when Taylor winked at him. He was in the Texican’s debt.

  “Life here is grand,” Taylor waxed enthusiastic. “There are regular fandangos, or dances. Or maybe your prefer horse races. Or cockfights. Believe me. There is something for everyone.”

  “You make Texas sound like the Garden of Eden,” Davy joked.

  “I swear to the Almighty, Crockett, at times I truly believe it is.”

  Trees appeared ahead, a sure sign of another waterway. A sparkling stream enabled them to water the horses and fill water skins taken from the freebooters. Within half an hour they were under way, eager to cover as many miles as they could before night fell.

  Becky was astride the smallest of the animals, a frisky mare. She joined the Irishman to announce, “Mother told me we’re going to stay here a good long spell. I think it’s because she likes Mr. Tanner.”

  Only someone of her tender years would make so brazen a statement. “Could be,” Davy allowed. Everyone was aware of the keen attraction Heather and Farley shared. They were like love struck birds, always brushing elbows, rubbing shoulders. Davy would be amazed if there wasn’t a wedding in San Antonio before the year was out.

  “I don’t rightly know if I’ll like this place much,” Becky commented.

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “They speak a different language. Their clothes aren’t the same. Even the food is different, I hear. What if I don’t fit in? Or they don’t like me?”

  Davy was reminded of his stay with the Sioux. “People are people, Becky. Doesn’t matter what they eat or how they dress or how they talk. Peel all of that away and everyone is more or less the same.”

  “Never thought of it that way.”

  More and more vegetation sprouted. Clusters of trees expanded into tracts of verdant woodland. Twice they spied deer. Once, several buffalo in the distance. The sun had just blazed the western horizon vivid hues of red, orange, and yellow when Davy’s keen eyes spied something else.

  Bearing rapidly toward them from the southeast came a column of men. Sunshine reflected off glittering buttons and sword hilts. A banner fluttered from a lance, but it was too far off for Davy to make it out.

  “Uh-oh,” Taylor said, reining up. “This could be trouble. The four of you don’t have legal papers yet.”

  “So?” Flavius said.

  “So those are Spanish soldiers. And if the officer in charge is the coyote I suspect, he’d as soon throw illegal Americans in prison as look at them.”

  Two

  The lancers were a magnificent sight, Davy Crockett had to admit. Although both the mounts and the men were caked with dust, it did not detract from their appearance or their bearing. Sitting their saddles ramrod straight, heads high, lances upraised, they filed with precision across the prairie.

  In the lead was a rake-lean Spaniard whose hawkish features and hooked nose hinted at an aggressive nature. Flashing eyes surveyed the world with grim suspicion. He had a pencil-thin mustache waxed to a sheen, and a neatly cropped beard that jutted from an angular chin.

  “It’s just like I feared,” Taylor said out of the corner of his mouth. “Capitán José Barragan. A regular son of a bitch if ever there was one.” To the other Texicans he said urgently, “Quick. Before they get here. Move up in front.”

  Ormbach, Farley, and Marcy immediately did so, forming a row with Taylor on the left end. They waited calmly, but Flavius noticed that both Taylor and Farley fingered their rifles, and Farley loosened one of those expensive pistols of his.

  Capitán Barragan did not give the command to halt until the lancers were almost on top of the Texicans. He regarded the four with open disdain, then slowly removed his gauntlets and swatted them against his leg, raising puffs of dust. Taking his sweet time, he at last coughed, then said suavely, “Greetings, Señor Tanner, Señor Taylor. I am glad your bid to save the lovely Marcella was successful.”

  Farley Tanner’s jaw muscles twitched. “No thanks to you, Captain. I asked you for help but
you refused, if you’ll recall.”

  Barragan sniffed. “I am a soldier, Señor Tanner. I must follow orders. And my orders are to avoid provoking the Comanches at all costs. There are many more of them than there are of us. If the tribe should ever take it into their heads to drive us out, we would be helpless to resist.”

  Taylor spoke up. “So you do nothing? Even when they raid our settlements and carry off our women? What about Spain’s promise to protect the settlers? Doesn’t that count for something?”

  The Spaniard idly gestured at the forty soldiers behind him. “What would you have me do, señor? Go up against the entire Comanche nation with this pitiful handful? Be reasonable, eh? I do the best I can with the limited resources I am given.”

  Taylor wasn’t satisfied. “What good did it do us to swear an oath of allegiance to Spain if she won’t treat us the same as Spanish citizens? You know as well as I do that if it had been, say, Señorita Varga, the daughter of the alcalde, who was taken, the army would not rest until she was safe and sound.”

  “Ah. Now you touch on politics,” Barragan said. “As a humble soldier, I try to avoid becoming entangled in that web.” His mustache quirked upward. “As for your oath, without it you would not be permitted to remain in Texas.” He mimicked Taylor’s tone. “You know as well as I do Spain has been very generous to you Americans. Señor Tanner, for one, now owns more land than most native Mexicans. And all for taking a simple oath.”

  Farley bristled. “I don’t like what you’re implying, Capitan. Spain has no objection to American settlers moving in. Why should you?”

  In a twinkling, Barragan’s features rippled into a mask of spite, betraying his true feelings. “Because Spain does not know Americans like I do, señor. The officials who decide policy are far away, in Mexico City. They do not see the hunger in the eyes of those like yourself. They do not sense as I do that your kind will not be satisfied until you have taken all of this land for yourselves.” He paused. “I trust you have heard of Señor Austin’s grand scheme to bring in hundreds more? That is just the beginning, I fear.”

  Tanner appeared ready to argue, but Taylor smoothed his ruffled feathers by saying, “Don’t take it so serious, Farley. I doubt the good capitán holds a grudge against us personal-like. He just doesn’t want to see the apple cart upset, is all.”

  Barragan smiled without warmth. “What a quaint way to phrase the situation, Señor Taylor. But true. I would not like for the status quo to be changed.”

  Marcy had been uncommonly quiet during the exchange. Now she interjected, “If you ask me, Captain, you’re barking up the wrong tree. It’s not us Americans you should worry about. It’s the Mexicans. They’re the ones who are talking about revolting.”

  “Ah. You deign to speak to me,” Barragan said with oily relish. “As for the whispered revolution, it is no more than the prattle of discontented children. The Mexicans would not dare to rise up against their rightful masters. We have ruled them for hundreds of years, and we will go on ruling them for hundreds more.”

  Davy found the information quite interesting. From what he could gather, Texas, indeed all of Mexico, was a powder keg waiting to explode. All it would take was the right spark.

  Captain Barragan ogled Marcella Tanner. “I am most happy to see you are alive and well. I have thought of you often since the fandango.”

  “I’m here no thanks to you,” she shot back. “And if I recall rightly, your behavior at that dance was not something a true gentleman would care to remember.”

  Davy had never seen a man flush as deeply scarlet as the Spaniard suddenly did. Barragan visibly had to control his temper before he responded.

  “As always, your acid tongue cuts me to the quick. But enough banter.” Straightening, Barragan gazed directly past the Texicans at Davy, Flavius, and Heather. “I see some new faces, do I not? Perhaps, Señor Taylor, you would do me the honor of introducing me to your friends? And, naturally, they will show me their papers so I can establish they are here in Texas lawfully.”

  Taylor squirmed like a fish on a hook. “I’ll gladly introduce them, but there are a few things you ought to know—”

  Davy did not wait for the Texican to finish. Seizing the bull by the horns, as it were, he plastered a broad grin on his face and kneed the bay toward the officer while extending his right hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” he declared merrily. “Name’s Crockett. Back at home, folks call me an Indian-fighting, bear-hunting, whiskey-loving fool, so I guess that will do for an introduction as good as any other. Might I say you’re just about the finest example of a soldier I’ve ever seen?”

  It was hard to say who was more flabbergasted, the Spaniard or the four Texicans. Barragan took Davy’s hand, but warily, as if he feared Davy intended to bury a dagger between his ribs.

  “Cat got your tongue, old coon?” Davy said glibly. “I take it you don’t meet many Tennesseans in this neck of the woods? We’re not ones for beating around the bush. We say what we mean and mean what we say.” He pumped his arm with gusto and almost laughed at the Spaniard’s comical expression. “So what’s this about us needing papers? I’m afraid, sir, we don’t have any.”

  “You admit it?”

  “Sure do. Why not?” Davy said, still pumping. “We’re not out to break the law. Hellfire, the only reason we’re here at all is because of those ornery Comanches. They stole this lady here, and her sprout—,” Davy indicated Heather and Becky “—and my pard and me had to track them down. We’d never have saved them if we hadn’t run into Mr. Taylor and his friends.”

  Flavius Harris inwardly smiled. He could tell the Spaniard had no idea what to make of the Irishman. Small wonder. His friend had a rare gift for gab. At taverns from one end of Tennessee to the other, Davy had entertained the patrons with tall tales that were pearls to the ear. Flavius often joked that Davy could talk rings around a tree, and it was no exaggeration.

  Capitán Barragan grew thoughtful. “I must confess,” he said at length, “it is refreshing to meet someone with your candor, Señor Crockett. But it is my duty to take you and your friends into custody, I am afraid.”

  “After the favor he did you?” Taylor said bitterly.

  “How is that, señor?”

  “Freebooters.” Taylor waved to the north. “Six of the buzzards. Largely thanks to Mr. Crockett, five of them are bleaching in the sun.”

  “Oh?” Barragan pursed his lips. “Then you have indeed done me a favor. It is those very men I am after. They raided two farms near San Antonio. Murdered both families, and raped the women.” He began to tug on a glove. “How far did you say? I must retrieve the bodies.”

  “Not half a day’s ride,” Taylor said.

  “Excelente.” the officer said.

  “Hold on. You’re leaving?” Davy said. “Aren’t you going to arrest us? If we’re breaking the law, you should.”

  Barragan blinked. “Fascinating. Tell me, señor. Are there many more like you back in—where did you say—Tennessee?”

  “Thousands. Why?”

  “Never mind.” Barragan lifted his reins. “I see no need to take you into custody, señor. But I must ask what your plans are.”

  Davy shrugged. “We figured on resting up in San Antonio a few days, then heading for the States. My wife will have kittens if I don’t mosey home before the leaves turn.”

  “Have kittens?” the captain repeated, and chuckled. “You Americans and your idioms. That is a new one on me. I must remember it.” He clapped Davy on the shoulder. “I like you, señor. You have my permission to go on to San Antonio. Perhaps in a day or two I will look you up. I must file a report and will need certain information.”

  “Anything to be helpful.”

  Barragan glanced sharply at Taylor and Tanner. “Did you hear him, gentlemen? If more of your countrymen shared his attitude, our two peoples would get along much better. Adios for now.” With a crisp arc of his gauntlet, the Spaniard led the column briskly on.

  D
avy waved cheerily, then shifted to find Taylor gaping at him as if he were an apparition.

  “That was masterful, plumb masterful.”

  Chuckling, Flavius moved forward. “Tell me about it. My pard is a regular humdinger. Folks say he ought to go on the stump and maybe run for the legislature, but he’d rather hunt bears than put up with all the shenanigans that go on at the statehouse.

  “A man has to have some dignity,” Davy allowed.

  Marcy Tanner laughed. “Imagine! Telling Barragan he should take you into custody. I thought he’d pop a vein.”

  Her brother motioned. “Let’s light a shuck before the good capitán has a change of heart.”

  In a knot they hastened along for as long as light remained. Twilight had descended and a few stars had blossomed when Taylor veered toward a wooded belt adjacent to a stream. In a small clearing they made camp. Ormbach and Taylor tended to the horses while the women built a fire and the Tennesseans and Farley Tanner roved in search of game for the supper pot.

  Small wildlife was abundant. Rabbits were everywhere. Squirrels chattered at them from the haven of high branches. Birds flitted gaily about. Davy was inclined to settle for rabbit meat for a stew, but Farley insisted on trying for a deer. In a marshy bottom rank with reeds they spooked a buck and three does. The Texican snapped his rifle up, but Davy was a shade faster. At Liz’s retort, the buck dropped in mid-jump.

  Everyone was in high spirits. The worst of their ordeal was over. Soon Farley and Marcy would be reunited with their mother. Taylor and Ormbach could resume their interrupted lives.

  Becky limped about, humming happily. Heather could not take her eyes off of Farley. Flavius dragged a log from the trees and sat close to the fire to watch the dripping chunks of meat slowly roast. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to grab a halfway-raw piece and bite into it. When Taylor came over and squatted nearby the Tennessean roused himself to ask a question that had been on his mind since parting company with the lancers.