The Black Jacks

The Indians of the region had always known about the caves but seldom used them, believing they were inhabited by spirits and were a gateway to the realm of the dead. Located two or three days' ride northwest of Austin, they had sometimes been used by outlaws who sought to be beyond the reach of the law but didn't care to venture too deeply into Comancheria.

McAllen didn't have to ask anyone where to find the caves. He had come across them two years earlier, during a pursuit of Penateka raiders who had stolen some horses and burned a few cabins in the Brazos River country. He and Joshua arrived a few days early for the rendezvous with Antonio Caldero. He hadn't expected Caldero to be waiting for him—the Mexican bandit couldn't risk lingering in any one place too long, especially north of the Nueces. No, the waiting was McAllen's job. And it was a hard one.

In one of the larger sinkholes they found a game trail, a route taken by deer and other creatures to reach the bottom, where a pool of cold springwater was available year-round. McAllen and Joshua led their horses down this steep trail and camped at one of the many entrances to the caverns. There was plenty of firewood from cedar and scrub oak trees that had been uprooted at the rim of the sinkhole and washed down to the bottom by floodwaters. A damp, cool draft wafting up from the black depths of the caves would have been a pleasant respite from summer heat, but a cold front, the first of the year, blasted through on the day of their arrival, bringing rain and chilling gusts of wind with it. All McAllen and Joshua could do was huddle in the mouth of the cave with blankets draped over their shoulders and watch the rain fall from a low gray sky.

Exactly fourteen days from the delivery of the note to Grand Cane plantation, Caldero appeared. He was not alone. In fact, the first McAllen knew of his arrival was the sudden appearance of five bandoleros at the rim of the sinkhole.

Caldero came down the game trail alone, on foot. McAllen went out to meet him. The bandoleros watched him like hawks, while from the mouth of the cave Joshua kept a close eye on the Mexicans, his rifle ready. McAllen had explained the situation to the half-breed, but he didn't expect Joshua to let his guard down; regardless of the circumstances, these men were still bandits, and they hated Texans. One wrong move on anyone's part and all hell would break loose.

"Con permiso, señor," said Caldero, pausing two-thirds of the way down the game trail, and McAllen gestured for him to come the rest of the way.

"You've found her?"

Caldero nodded. "She is with the Quohadis, in the Canyon of the Palo Duro. Do you know of this place?"

McAllen shook his head.

"Not many white men do—and live to tell of it. The place is very far from here."

"How far?"

Caldero shrugged. "Ten days. Maybe more."

"You mean you've never been there?"

"Once. Many years ago."

"Then how do you know that Emily is there?"

"My friends, the Comancheros, tell me."

McAllen grimaced. He did not consider Comancheros to be very reliable sources. "How can you be sure it is her?"

"I know the Quohadis took her—it was a Quohadi arrow which you showed me. I know the Quohadis have only three white captives: a young woman, a little boy, and a little girl. She is the one. But if you do not want to go and see for yourself. . ." Again Caldero shrugged.

"I'll go. Just tell me how to get there."

"Señor, I could have told you that in my letter. No, I am going with you."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because you would not get into the canyon alive."

"But why? Why are you doing this, Caldero? We are enemies, you and I. So why are you helping me?"

Caldero strolled past McAllen, sca

"I will tell you. Thanks to you, Sam Houston will become president of Texas, and that is a good thing for my friends, the Comanches. It is good, too, for Mexico. It means there will be no war—at least for the time being."

"I didn't realize you were such a peace-loving man."

"I know there will be a war. I know that eventually the Comanches will be destroyed, and your land will spread like a plague to the west. You will even try to take Mexico. But now that Lamar is out, this will not happen right away. I will have time to prepare for the war that is coming, because, my friend, you will build your towns on the banks of the Rio del Norte over my dead body. And the Comanches, too, will have time to prepare. In a few years they will have rifles with which to fight you. They have learned a lesson, you see. And the Comancheros will sell them the rifles. Time is what your enemies need, Captain, and thanks to you they will have it." Caldero smiled at the look on McAllen's face. "You haven't thought about what you have done in that light, have you?"

"No."

"Well, es verdad. It is true. So you have done me a great favor, and I will repay it by helping you find the woman you love. And there is one other reason I help you. I am a romantic at heart, as Houston said. You would die for this woman, wouldn't you?"

"I'd rather live."

"But you would give up your life to bring her home, and I admire that. So we go now, eh?"

"The sooner the better," said McAllen, and headed for the mouth of the cave, where his gear was located.

McAllen wasn't sure how far he could trust Antonio Caldero. If you did not believe a man's motive, then you could not believe in the man. Was Caldero telling him the whole truth? Not that it really made much difference in the final analysis. McAllen wasn't about to turn down Caldero's help.

He couldn't imagine why the bandit leader would go to all this trouble just to betray him to the Comanches. The fact remained, however, that his life was in Caldero's hands. His and Joshua's. McAllen wished there had been some way to keep the half-breed out of this. They had survived many dangerous situations together, but none quite so perilous as this one. But he knew there was no hope of stopping Joshua short of breaking both his legs—and maybe not even then.

From the caves of the Colorado, they traveled north by northwest for two days, and then turned due west for two more. The rolling hills became flatlands interspersed with barrancas, and then, beyond the Cap Rock, they arrived at the Llano Estacado, that limitless sea of grass where only the rattlesnake and the prairie dog, the buffalo and the Comanche Indian felt at home.

On the fifth day they crossed the trail of more than a hundred men on iron-shod horses. Horse droppings told Joshua that the sign was a day old. Caldero came to the same conclusion.

"Who are these men?" Caldero asked McAllen. "Who would venture so far out onto the Staked Plains? They are not mesteneros or Comancheros. There are no wagons, no extra horses, and these men come from the east, not the west. No, these men travel light and move fast, like a war party. But they are white men, not Indians."

"There can be only one answer."

Caldero nodded grimly. "Texas Rangers." He sca

I've got to reach the Quohadis first, realized McAllen. If I don't, Emily will be in grave danger. Even if the Rangers knew there were white captives in the Comanche village they would not hesitate to attack. And if Emily got killed, well, that would be a damned shame, but no Ranger would lose sleep over it.