The Black Jacks

"But if a man such as I can be redeemed, then most assuredly our country can recover itself and, with the blessings of God, its regeneration is certain. Then the head will not be bowed down, nor the hands manacled, nor the feet chained. The people will burst the bonds that confine them. The nation will rise to its strength. It will be done. It is the voice of the people and it will be done. So far as my entire cooperation may be of use, I will lay my shoulder to the wheel. Thank you."

An explosion of cheering and applause seemed to shake the ground. The band broke into a patriotic tune with more enthusiasm than skill. Ba

Shaking hands with a well-wisher, Houston noticed McAllen for the first time. "John Henry! I'm surprised to find you here."

"I just missed you in Galveston, General. I have a favor to ask."

Houston nodded. He could tell that McAllen was greatly troubled. "I am staying in the home of Adolphus Sterne. It is only a short walk. Margaret, my dear, do you mind if I leave you in the capable hands of Mr. Cartwright for a little while?"

"Of course I don't mind. Captain McAllen, my husband has spoken very highly of you, and so often that I feel as though I know you."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Houston."

"I thought for certain that Burnet's hirelings would try something, Sam," said Cartwright.

"I have always felt that I was not born to fall the victim of an assassin, Gabriel. Burnet is given to idle threats."

"I hope you don't underestimate him."

"When my country calls I deem it my solemn duty and my privilege to peril my life upon the issue of her glory. Where duty prompts I shall not shrink, even if a thousand envious daggers thirst for the blood of this heart. I will dare the deed and leave fate to heaven."

The press of supporters near enough to have overheard Houston applauded these valiant words, and Cartwright smiled wryly. "You're in rare form today, my friend."

"I tell you, Gabriel, I am a changed man, and my lovely wife deserves all the credit. Come on, John Henry."

McAllen and Tice fell in alongside Houston, whose long strides quickly carried him clear of the crowd in the square. As they neared the Sterne house, a spacious whitewashed residence wrapped all around with breezy porches, Houston said, "You know, John Henry, I don't recollect that you've ever asked me for a favor before. If it is within my power to do what you ask, consider it done."

"I want to talk to Antonio Caldero."

That stopped Houston in his tracks. "Caldero? I could readily understand if you had said you wanted to shoot the brigand. But talk to him? What on earth about?"

"I need his help. I knew I couldn't get with-in shouting distance of him—unless I had a letter from you."

"Hmm. What do you want with him?"

"A young lady was captured by the Comanches. We tried, and failed, to get her back. I think Caldero could find her for me."

"But why would he? He is no friend to Texas."

"He might do it, if you asked him."

Houston gave McAllen a long, speculative look. "This young lady—who is she?"

"Her name is Emily. She's a niece to Yancey Torrance."

"How do you know she's still alive?"

"If she isn't," said McAllen, "then my life loses its meaning."

This declaration surprised Houston. But he could not doubt McAllen's sincerity. So John Henry was in love with a woman other than his wife. Houston, with his checkered career in the realm of romance, was scarcely one to judge the propriety of that. This was obviously a matter of life and death for his friend, and that was good enough for Sam Houston.

"All right, John Henry. We'll go see Caldero."

"A letter bearing your signature is all that I ask. I don't want to take you away from your other duties."

"My first duty is to my friends. Besides, a letter might not prevent Caldero's men from killing you. But they won't kill you if I'm at your side. Caldero would have their heads for it."

"It's a long ride to the Nueces, General."

"Then the sooner we get started, the better."

Chapter Twenty-six

Emily thought she was in another world. The Llano Estacado—the legendary Staked Plains—were unlike anything she had ever experienced.

This was a land without trees and, it seemed, very nearly without water, a limitless expanse, almost perfectly flat, of wind-scoured sage and goldenrod and other hardy grasses. The Spaniards had given it the name it was now known by because expeditions had driven stakes into the ground to mark their passage so that they could return by the same route, since there were no landmarks. A knack for dead reckoning was necessary for traversing this sea of grass.

Emily didn't know it, but Coronado and his conquistadores had crossed the Staked Plains almost exactly three hundred years earlier. In the canyons of the Palo Duro and the Tule they had found Gray Wolf's ancestors living off the buffalo. Coronado did not linger long on the Llano Estacado. His tents were destroyed by hailstones. His men suffered from a shortage of drinkable water and resorted to using the stomach juices of the buffalo to slake their thirst, an old Indian trick. The incessant prairie wind could drive a man stark-raving mad.

Two hundred and fifty years later the Comancheros ventured out into the Llano Estacado. They traded whiskey, bright-colored cloth, beads, and other trinkets to the Indians. Like Coronado, they did not linger. They came, conducted their business, and went home, which in most cases was Santa Fe; they considered the Staked Plains good for nothing. Leave it to the Indians.

But the plains were good for a wide variety of wildlife. Wolf packs followed the immense buffalo herds in their slow, a

Drought was a common occurrence on the Llano Estacado. The few alkaline lakes usually dried up in the summer months, turning into lifeless alkali flats. Shallow circular depressions, playa lakes, caught rainwater, but in the summer months, when Emily crossed the plains with Gray Wolf, they were usually dry, too, or nearly so, containing only a puddle of sludge which reeked of buffalo excrement.

It seemed to Emily that the only break in the monotony was the canyon where the Quohadi Comanches lived. Steep walls protected the canyon's inhabitants from the winter wind. The color of the canyon cliffs astonished her; there were broad horizontal bands of deep red, salmon pink, lavender, orange, yellow, and white. And there were trees in the canyon, too—tenacious junipers clinging to the steep canyon walls, mesquite and cottonwood growing in the bottom. A fork of the Red River curled in serpentine fashion down the canyon. It had water year-round and did not dry out until it left the canyon and lost itself in the rocky badlands to the southeast. A mile or two miles wide where the Quohadi village was located, the canyon expanded to seven miles in width at its mouth.