The Black Jacks

McAllen was glad the men had not scattered to the four winds. They had fought together against Seminoles and Santa A

Of the twenty-eight men who had followed McAllen to Texas, twenty-one lived nearby, either in the town of Grand Cane or on farms in the immediate vicinity. There was Artemus Tice, the eldest of the Black Jacks, a doctor by trade, a man who loved books and quiet reflection, but who could fight right along with the best of them. Will Parton had become a preacher—McAllen and the other Black Jacks had built him a church two years ago—but that didn't mean he wouldn't grab a gun and light out after those "heathen" Comanches when called upon. George Scayne had opened a store in Grand Cane, and A. G. Deckard, who had lost an arm in the Everglades, ran the local tavern. Nathan Ainsworth was a carpenter who could make everything from cradles to coffins, while Cedric Cole ran the ferry and did a brisk business. Yancey Torrance was Grand Cane's blacksmith. His wife was the local schoolmarm, and his son Braxton was the best rifle shot in Brazoria County.

While McAllen considered every Black Jack his friend, these were the men closest to him, and it was at Yancey's house, just off the river on the outskirts of town, that he stopped.

Yancey and his son were working in the smitty when McAllen rode up, and Yancey walked out to meet his captain wearing a grease-smeared leather apron and a toothy smile. Yancey Torrance was a big bear of a man. His barrel chest, salt-and-pepper beard, and dark eyes twinkling with merriment gave him a Falstaffian look. But while Yancey could seem the gentlest of giants, McAllen knew he had a warrior's heart. Yancey loved a good fight, and McAllen had seen him kill a man with his bare hands.

"John Henry!" roared Yancey, delighted. "When did you get back?"

"Late yesterday." Dismounting, McAllen handed Escatawpa's reins to Joshua.

"Did you see the Old Chief?" Like McAllen, Yancey and the other Black Jacks revered Sam Houston.

"I did. He's sending me to San Antonio on an errand. There could be trouble. Can you spare a week or two?"

Yancey did not hesitate. "Sure. Brax can take care of things here." He cocked his head to one side. "Could this trouble have anything to do with the meeting at the Council House?"

"It does, in part."

"And the other part, could it be that old slang-whanger, Singletary?"

"So you know about that," said McAllen with a sigh.

"Aye, that I do," said Yancey solemnly, his Irish brogue becoming more pronounced, as it did when strong emotions surged within him. "What are your plans, then?"

"I had pla

"I'll crack his skull open like a ripe pecan, if you say the word, Captain." Yancey laid a brawny hand on McAllen's shoulder. "But there'd be no pleasure in it for me. I'm not one to punish another for telling the truth."

McAllen nodded. Brutal honesty was Yancey's trademark, and McAllen respected him for it. While others who were aware of his domestic difficulties might waltz around the truth, Yancey Torrance never flinched from telling it the way he saw it.

"You look like something the cat's dragged in," said Yancey. "You need a shave and a hot meal and a dunk in the river with a bar of lye soap. That'll make a new man out of you." He did not have to ask to know how McAllen's homecoming had fared. "When do you aim to leave?"

"I'm on my way. Pla

"Tomorrow morning's soon enough. You'll be our guest. Mary's off to the schoolhouse, but Emily can cook something up for you right quick."

McAllen glanced at Yancey's cabin, a good stout structure built of square-cut cypresswood and river stone, up under the tall trees along the banks of the Brazos. A willowy, barefoot girl with long, unbound auburn hair, wearing a plain homespun dress, stood on the porch smiling shyly at him. Emily was Yancey's niece. Her parents had perished in a flood back in Mississippi, and Yancey had taken her in, and loved her as his own daughter. She was a quiet, unremarkable girl, pretty in a plain way.

"That's fine," said McAllen. It felt good to be welcome somewhere. "Tomorrow is soon enough."

After cooking breakfast for their guest, Emily Torrance was thrilled when Uncle Yancey told her to go inform Dr. Artemus Tice of Captain McAllen's arrival. She ran down Grand Cane's solitary dusty street to the dogtrot cabin which served as the physician's office and residence. Tice was sitting in a barrel chair with his feet propped on the corner of a cluttered desk in the office, Chomel's Pathology open in his lap.

"Captain McAllen is here, Dr. Tice!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

Tice peered at her over the pince-nez perched on the tip of his nose. He was a small, slender man of fifty. His appearance was rather seedy; as usual, his brown broadcloth suit of clothes looked like they had been slept in for a week. They always reeked of smoke and chemicals. His gray hair was in a perpetual state of disarray. Even his friends considered him brusque and a bit eccentric. But for Emily Torrance he always had a smile and a kind word. A childless widower, Tice treated her like the daughter he would never have.

"Is he, now? Well, I thought it was the Second Coming. You really didn't have to tell me, child. I would have known by the sparkle in your eye."

Emily blushed. "He is staying the night, and leaving for Austin in the morning."

"Austin?" Tice tossed the big, well-used book onto his desk and rose, removed his spectacles, folded them carefully, and slipped them into a coat pocket. "We had better go find out what's brewing in Austin, then. Now, where the dickens is my corncob pipe?" He began a methodical search of his desk.

Emily was horrified. Tice was rather absentminded, and she knew from experience that a search for his pipe could take a half hour. "Oh, do please hurry, Dr. Tice."

"Patience, child, patience. John Henry will be here all day. Isn't that so?"

Emily brushed a tendril of auburn hair out of her eyes. She had always felt able to confide in Tice. He was the only person she could really talk to. He was a good listener and never belittled her, and kept the secrets she shared with him in absolute confidence. With Tice she could freely speak her mind and expect sound advice when she needed it, which was more than she could say for Uncle Yancey and Aunt Mary. She loved Yancey and his wife, but Yancey never seemed to really understand her, and Mary was always too preoccupied with other things to pay much attention.

"It just isn't fair," she said, "that Captain McAllen doesn't feel welcome under his own roof."

Tice knew Emily so well that he could read between the lines of what she said, and now he suspended his search for the corncob pipe and turned to gaze at her with mild surprise etched upon his kindly features. "Well, I'll be. I never realized."