The Black Jacks

"You may not be going anywhere if you don't get that wound tended to. Now sit down. That's an order."

McAllen did as he was told. For the first time the despair that he had been keeping at bay got the better of him. "Of all the people in the world," he muttered, "why did they have to take her?"

Turning to Stewart, who was laid out on the table in the cabin's common room, Tice pretended not to hear McAllen's remark. There was no good answer to the captain's question.

His wound cleansed and dressed, McAllen got back to his plantation early that afternoon and was relieved to find it untouched by the Comanche scourge. Though the danger had passed, Joshua had kept everyone on the east bank of the Brazos. Only when he saw McAllen on the landing near the sugar mill, gesturing for him to bring the others over, did Jeb proceed to load the boats.

Leah was in a perfect rage. She had been sitting for hours on a dirty old log in this wretched heat, and the incessant exertions of Ruth, her personal servant, in fa

"Where is Charles—I mean, Major Stewart?" she asked, alarmed.

"In town. Yancey's place. He took an arrow in the leg, and Dr. Tice thinks he has a concussion. Don't worry. He'll live."

Leah's hand flew to her mouth. Belatedly, she realized she ought to demonstrate some concern for her husband. "Are you badly hurt?"

"I've been hurt worse," he said, giving her a strange look. "But thanks for asking."

She saw that he had taken the black shell jacket from the wardrobe, the one the women of Warren County, Mississippi, had made. The one he had worn in the Seminole campaign and the war for Texas independence. She had seen him in it a few times, the first occasion being the Galveston victory ball her parents had put on, the night she had first met John Henry McAllen. Since then he and his men had do

"You're going after them?"

"I am," he said. "They took Emily Torrance. Killed Mary Torrance. We found her down by the river."

"Oh, my heavens!" gasped Leah. "The poor girl." She did not know Emily Torrance personally, but the thought of anyone being made prisoner by those hideous savages . . . It was simply too horrible to contemplate.

"I'm sure you'll be able to look after Major Stewart," said McAllen dryly. The black jacket do

He told Jeb to hitch up a wagon so that he could bring Stewart back to the plantation. Leah went down to the veranda to see him off, but while McAllen bid Bessie and Roman affectionate farewells, he was very perfunctory in his parting with her. Leah knew something was terribly wrong. Perhaps she had gone too far with Major Stewart. She had done so because she didn't have any respect for her husband. How could she? He knew about her flirtations, her infidelities, and still he did nothing. She didn't love him, either—at least she didn't think she did. Now, though, she was afraid. Afraid he might have reached the end of his rope. Might divorce her. How humiliating that would be! Oddly enough, she felt jealous of Emily Torrance. Her husband was riding into the jaws of death to rescue that girl. It was so romantic. Like something out of a Sir Walter Scott novel.

As she watched McAllen ride away, with Jeb driving the wagon alongside, Leah realized for the first time that Joshua was nowhere to be seen. It was odd to see her husband without that mute half-breed around. Maybe Joshua had been killed. Well, I won't waste any tears if that is the case, she decided.

Then she had a thought so awful she actually felt guilty just for thinking it.

Maybe she would never see John Henry again. What if he was killed on the trail of those red devils? Being a widow was a noble thing, and far better than divorce! But she would have to wear mourning black for a respectable period of time. Oh, well. A small sacrifice, really. She gazed out across the fields of young sugarcane, her eyes sparkling with newfound interest. She'd never before been the least bit interested in the plantation before. But if John Henry didn't return, this would all belong to her. Leah cut a wicked glance at Bessie and Roman, who stood at the top of the veranda steps watching McAllen ride away. They looked so sad and worried. Well, they would most certainly have something to worry about when she became the mistress of Grand Cane, mused Leah, and without John Henry to protect them. Oh, yes, there would be some changes made. . . .

Will Parton read over four fresh graves in the Grand Cane cemetery late on the afternoon of the Comanche attack. To some, the haste with which the dead were laid to rest was a bit unseemly—normally, the deceased would lay in an open coffin at least overnight, while family and friends gathered to have their last look and pay their respects. Though Nathan Ainsworth, the carpenter, had died in valiant defense of the settlement, some went right to work making the coffins, while others dug the graves in the shade of the oak grove west of town. On a rise, the cemetery was well situated, overlooking the town and the river beyond.

Along with Ainsworth and Mary Torrance, farmers George Sellers and Jellicoe Fuller were also buried that afternoon. Fuller's charred remains had been found in his burned-out cabin. He had given a good account of himself, for several Comanche dead were discovered, as well. The Indian corpses were hauled away and left unburied for the wolves and the turkey vultures. There would be no Christian burial for the heathens.

McAllen and the others took some comfort in the knowledge that all the women and children, save for Mary and Emily Torrance, had been spared thanks to the plan for their evacuation, which had succeeded as a consequence of the brave sacrifice of men like Fuller, Ainsworth, and Sellers. Still, the Black Jacks grieved, for those three had been friends and comrades-in-arms for many years. A longing for vengeance burned like red-hot coals in the warlike souls of the survivors.

Following the conclusion of the service, the Black Jacks congregated at Deckard's tavern. When all were present and accounted for, McAllen rose to speak. The others knew what was coming. The black jacket their captain wore said it all.

"I intend to set out after the Indians in one hour's time," said McAllen. "We have a full moon, and with any luck the night will be clear. Which means we might be able to steal a march on the enemy."

"We're with you, Captain," said Matt Washburn.

The others loudly concurred.

"We can't all go," said McAllen. "The wounded must remain behind. Their task will be to look after things here. I don't think the Comanches are coming back, but we can't leave our town and our families unprotected."

George Scayne grimaced. His arm, broken by a Comanche war club and set by Dr. Tice, rested in a sling. "Hellfire, Captain," he groused, with a smile.