The Black Jacks

She tried to locate the little boy and girl who had been captured, like her, during the raid. Though it took some time to cover the entire camp, she finally managed to find them. For herself, she just wanted someone to talk to in English, feeling it would be a great comfort to her to do so. And she thought maybe she could be of help to the children; though she was powerless to do anything for them, her mere presence might make them feel better. But the Comanche family that had adopted the children drove her away. From what little she saw of them, Emily concluded that the children were not being mistreated. That was something, anyway. In time they would adapt to their new environment—children were much better than adults at that sort of thing. Emily felt sorry for the true parents. If they were still alive, every day would be a living hell, not knowing what had become of their little ones.

Every now and then she managed to steal a few moments of solitude down by the river fork, away from the village. She would sit on the bank and rinse her feet in the water, just like she used to do in the Brazos behind the Torrance cabin. The great canyon cliffs—her prison's walls—soared high above her, and she would try not to think about all the miles that lay between this place and Grand Cane. She tried to have hope, but sometimes reality got the better of her, and she would weep bitter tears, wondering why Uncle Yancey and Captain McAllen had not rescued her. Would she ever see John Henry McAllen again? The thought was a dagger through her heart. Oh, what a fool she had been to listen to Artemus Tice when he had advised her to bide her time and keep her feelings for McAllen to herself.

Sometimes Gray Wolf followed Emily when she went in search of a quiet place along the fork of the Red River. He never let her see him; she never once had an inkling that he was there, hiding in the trees, and he would stand there and watch her, and when she cried it touched his restive heart.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Antonio Caldero was a legend at the age of twenty-two.

His father, Trinidad, was a ranchero in the province of Coahuila and, though unlettered, exercised considerable influence in provincial affairs, thanks in no small measure to his wife, in whose veins flowed the best Spanish blood. Though Mexico had successfully revolted against Spanish rule, full-bloods like Caldero's mother were still highly respected. Antonio's older brothers were educated in the best schools available and became pillars of the community. But Antonio became the family's black sheep. In his youth he preferred the rough and rowdy company of Trinidad Caldero's vaqueros.

Antonio was strikingly handsome and charismatic. He was slender and agile, with flashing blue eyes and a mane of jet-black hair. He could be very charming when he wanted to be, and extremely dangerous when his volatile temper got the better of him. When it suited his needs he could be as well-ma

Unlike many of his countrymen, Antonio did not fear and despise the Comanches. His father had wisely fostered good relations with the Indians, so that when they rode south to raid they never molested the Caldero ranch. In return for this consideration, Trinidad allowed the Comanches to take an occasional horse or cow.

As he grew older, Antonio had even more contact with the Comanches. A thirst for adventure motivated him to join a band of mesteneros when he was only sixteen; his mother was inconsolable and swore she would never see her son alive again, but the hard life of a mustanger suited Antonio. Mesteneros and Comancheros were cut from the same cloth, and in time Antonio established strong ties with the Indian traders and became a familiar face in the Comanche villages.

When the Texans rebelled against Mexican rule, Antonio rode with a company of irregular cavalry known as the Rancheros, who served primarily as scouts for Santa A

Antonio exhibited no sympathy for the Anglos. He believed it to have been a grave mistake to let them settle in the province of Texas in the first place. They were an unscrupulous and avaricious people. Worst of all, they were Protestant scum. Antonio was a very religious person, a zealous Catholic. Considering his reputation as a killer and a womanizer and a thief, there were some who found this odd, if not ironic. But Antonio's opposition to Texas and Texans bore the unmistakable imprint of a religious crusade.

After San Jacinto, Antonio took it upon himself to keep the disputed strip of land between the Nueces River and the Rio Grande out of Texas hands. He enjoyed no commission, no official sanction from Mexico City, but to his ba

For four years Antonio had waged his undeclared war. The result was that precious few Texas homesteaders dared try to stake a claim to a piece of land south of the Nueces, and the few crazy enough to do so never lasted long. Antonio kept two companies of Texas Rangers busy trying in vain to catch and kill him. When pursuit got too hot, Antonio would slip across the Rio Grande and seek refuge on the vast holdings of his father, land he knew like the back of his hand. Occasionally the Rangers, bold men all, conducted forays south of the river, but while they were indisputably brave, they weren't fools, and they never lingered. Neither did they ever come close to capturing Antonio Caldero. The people were Antonio's allies when he was on the run. He was a hero, another Joachim Murietta, and they would never betray him, neither out of fear nor avarice.

The Rangers did, however, manage to nab a few of Caldero's men—and promptly hanged them. This occurred while Sam Houston was president of Texas, and when word of the executions reached Houston he flew into a rage and attempted to have the men responsible charged. Houston's contention was that the Mexicans should have at least been given a fair trial. But the Rangers suffered no consequences, and the river of bad blood between them and the hero of San Jacinto flowed deep.

Somehow Caldero heard about what Houston had tried to do, and he was grateful. He wrote a note of thanks to the Texas president. The note was found pi

Apart from the physical danger of a journey into the Nueces Strip, Sam Houston was aware of the political damage he might suffer if Texas learned that he was in contact with Caldero—the "Blue-Eyed Devil," as some folks called him. It mattered not that the purpose for meeting Caldero was to rescue a white woman from the Comanches. One could not make a deal with the devil and expect people to understand.

But Houston entertained no second thoughts. John Henry McAllen needed his help and he would give it, and the consequences be damned. The Black Jack captain was in love, and Houston knew what that was like, thanks to Margaret. His friend's future was at stake. As for Leah McAllen—well, Houston had had grave doubts about McAllen's marriage from the first. Not that he'd tried to talk John Henry out of it. That wasn't his style. But he didn't like Leah, if for no other reason than that she had made his friend's life a pure hell. Houston was not one to ordinarily give credence to scandalous rumors, especially when they targeted the gentler sex. but in Leah's case he knew there was more than a grain of truth to all the lurid tales about her shameless escapades. So if John Henry had found someone else, someone who could make him happy instead of miserable, someone who truly loved him, then good for him.