The Baron Brand

by Jory Sherman

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning the South has seceded from the North and each side means to fight over the issue of slavery. Honest Abe has signed a proclamation declaring slavery illegal.”

  “That so?” Martin asked, as Ken set cups of steaming coffee before the two men, then turned to get his own cup.

  “Sam Houston was ousted from his office as governor,” Ed said, “and President Lincoln himself sent some emissaries down to Austin offering Sam troops to get him back at his desk.”

  “And?”

  “Sam refused. Fact is, he and his family have already moved down to Cedar Point.”

  “Down to Galveston,” Martin said.

  Ed nodded. “He tried to get the South to hold together, putting out proclamations and such, but they all failed. I’m afraid it’s too late to do anything now.”

  Ken sat down, blew on his coffee.

  “How come?” Martin asked.

  “Ten days ago, on April twelfth, Confederate forces fired on Fort Sumter.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Charleston. South Carolina.”

  “What’s Confederate forces?”

  “The South has an army. Texas will probably get into it. At least that’s what Houston was trying to prevent.”

  “Meaning?” Martin asked.

  “Meaning, we might have to fight the North. You and your son might be wearing uniforms before long.”

  Martin took a sip of the hot coffee. He fixed Ed in a stare that did not waver.

  “The state legislature ratified an amendment that puts Texas smack dab among the Confederate states bucking Lincoln,” Ken said.

  “And Lincoln called up seventy-five thousand troops to fight those of us who broke away from the Union,” Ed added.

  Martin let out a low whistle. “Jesus,” he said.

  “It looks pretty bad,” Ed said.

  “Bad? It smells to high heaven,” Martin said. “You mean Texas is going to fight to keep slaves? Not this boy.”

  Ed looked sheepish as he bowed his head to bring the coffee cup to his lips. Ken took in a breath, let it out in a deep sigh.

  “You may have to fight someone,” Ken said.

  “What in hell do you mean by that?” Martin asked.

  “Slavery in this country’s a big issue,” Ken said. “A burr under the blanket of a lot of folks.”

  “Well, I don’t cotton to slavery,” Martin said.

  “Those nighthawks Nancy mentioned. Thought you was one of ’em.”

  “Yeah?”

  “They work for me.”

  “Gunslingers?”

  “Not in that way, Martin.” Ken leaned over the table, his elbows bracketing his coffee cup. “There are some who want to make a lot of money over this disruption in the government. I got word that slaves were being brought into the Rio Grande Valley illegally.”

  “Huh?”

  Ken nodded. “Our friend Aguilar is out to get him some cash. He hired a man from New Orleans to smuggle slaves up to his ranch. Aguilar plans to sell ’em on the open market.”

  “Who’s the man in New Orleans?”

  “Reynaud.”

  “I know the sonofabitch,” Martin said.

  At that moment, Nancy entered the room. Her face was damp where she had washed off at the pump and her hands were clean.

  “What sonofabitch would that be, Martin?” she asked, a lilt to her voice.

  But none of the men said a word and Martin stared at her in wonder. She returned his gaze and there was a crooked little smile bending her lips as if they shared some secret together. Martin held his breath, then broke into a smile. He turned to Ken and cracked an even wider grin.

  “Well, Ken, you sure hired yourself one hell of a schoolmarm. She’s top notch in my tally book.”

  Ken smiled and the tension in the room was broken.

  “Sit down, Nancy,” Ken said, “and get to know Martin Baron a little better. I think you’ll find him refreshing after the louts you met in town.”

  “I’m beginning to see that, Ken,” she said. She took a cup from the sideboard where Ken had placed it and poured coffee into it. Ken arose and pulled out a chair for her.

  “I’m sure glad you aren’t one of those nighthawks, Martin,” Nancy said. “Now, what kind of cattle do you raise and how damned big is your little old ranch?”

  22

  A WHIPPOORWILL CALLED from the tree line beyond the thicket behind the Aguilar house and barn on the Rocking A Ranch. Matteo listened to the plaintive ripple of throaty notes and watched the western sky fade from a pale turquoise into a gray pall brimmed with a faint light from the dying sun.

  A lantern sat on the ground, its shortened wick flickering feebly. A thin tendrill of black smoke floated from the tin chimney, just barely visible in the dim light of dusk. Matteo drew a breath and let out a satisfied ahhh sound.

  “Do you hear that bird, David?” Matteo asked.

  “I hear it,” Wilhoit said, his voice soft as a whisper. “Reminds me of home.”

  “This is your home now. Did you have any trouble with the boy? Roy?”

  “No, Ursula told him we were moving to Fort Worth.”

  “Good. We do not want Martin Baron to know too much.”

  “Ursula and I don’t want the boy hurt.”

  “No. Do not worry. One day he will want to be close to his mother. I will give him land and that will be one less friend for Martin to rely on.”

  “Better than trying to run him off the land. Roy, I mean. He’s a pistol, that one. Strong as a bull and with a temper Ursula says he got from his father.”

  “His father was a mean bastard. He had no heart.”

  “I did not know him.”

  “No, and you are better off for it. Your Ursula did not suit him. He had no love for her.”

  David said nothing, for he did not know the truth of it. Ursula did not talk much about Jack Killian and Roy never spoke about his father, to him, at least.

  Matteo stepped out a foot or two and peered into the gathering darkness, toward the impenetrable brasada that he knew was out there, at the south end of the Rocking A spread. “Anytime, now, they should be coming,” he said.

  “If you say so.”

  “It will mean money for you.”

  “I know.”

  “But you do not like it much.”

  “No. Do you?”

  “It is nothing to me,” Matteo said.

  “Then, I hope it will be nothing for me, as well.”

  “Ursula. She is a good woman for you?” Matteo asked.

  “I could ask for no better.”

  “She has fire in her, no?”

  “Matteo, you embarrass me.”

  “A man is not embarrassed by passion, amigo mio. If the woman has no fire in her, she is worthless.”

  “Ursula has more fire than I can handle.”

  Matteo laughed softly. David shifted his feet, either from nervousness, or because one of them was going to sleep. Matteo often talked of intimate things and it bothered David because he wanted his private life with Ursula to be private. But, he knew from the first that she was a passionate woman, lustful, even, and it was something that he was not used to. But, he liked her boldness because he had never been good with women, not smooth and wily as many men he knew were. He was shy, and Ursula complemented that shyness by teaching him ways to make love that he had never even dreamed of and that left him with a feeling of wonder.

  Even after David’s survey had shown that Roy Killian’s acreage was not on Rocking A land, Matteo had offered him two thousand acres and help in building a house if he would stay on, live there, do other survey work. David had accepted because he needed the money, especially now that he had a wife. He had never imagined that Ursula would accept his offer to marry him and move away with him so quickly. He had made sure that the land given to him was properly surveyed, recorded and the deed in his hands showing his ownership free and clear.

  “I read all of your rep
ort last night, David,” Matteo said.

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “I was disappointed that the deed did not show Killian was on my land.”

  “That couldn’t be helped.”

  “But, you wrote something that caught my eye.”

  “The creek,” David said.

  “Ah, you know, then.”

  “Bandera Creek. It could be a problem.”

  “But it is not a problem now.”

  “No. But waterways change course, rivers erode banks, creeks run rampant after rainstorms.”

  “So, what can I do about this Bandera Creek?”

  “Nothing, at the moment. But, I walked it, and it is very close to Roy Killian’s property. And, it could eventually even come on to the Baron range.”

  “We could dam it,” Matteo said.

  “It would do no good if there was a flash flood. I marked the creek so that you would know, could keep an eye on its course.”

  “That is good, David. You mention water much in your report.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you do that? If it is not a problem now, perhaps it will never be a problem.”

  David swallowed a wad of phlegm in his throat. He was no longer listening for the sounds of the deer in the thicket. “Because, since man was put on this earth, water has always been a bone of contention between neighbors.”

  “A bone of contention?”

  “Wars have been started over water rights. Murders have been committed. Friendships have been destroyed.”

  “I did not know that.”

  “In fact, water may have been one of the reasons Cain killed Abel. In the Bible.”

  “I know the story in the Bible.”

  “Abel was a tender of sheep. Cain, a farmer.”

  “So?”

  “So, perhaps they both had to use the same water source and they may have fought over a creek, or a river. Abel’s sheep would have needed water to drink and Cain may have diverted the same stream to irrigate his crops.”

  “But Cain did not kill Abel over water.”

  “No. He killed his brother because he was angry at God.”

  “So, why do you mention the water?”

  “Cain may have already hated his brother over land and water rights. God just gave him a better reason to kill his brother.”

  “Interesting,” Matteo said.

  “Just remember, water is essential to all life. If you can’t get any, and your neighbor has some, you will first ask for water, and then you will try and buy it, and then you will fight for it.”

  “And kill for it, eh, David?”

  “Yes, you would kill for water if your neighbor had plenty and would not give you any.”

  “Then, we must see that this does not happen, do you not think?”

  “That is why I wrote it down in my report,” David said.

  “Good. I will keep my eyes open.”

  Just what Matteo wanted of him, David was not yet sure. But, Matteo asked him a lot of questions about surveying and geology and the legality of Spanish land grants. Some of the questions were beyond David’s expertise, but he answered as best he could and offered to find out whatever Matteo wanted to know.

  So, the two men had formed a tenuous friendship and Matteo had promised that David could earn a living off the land if he stayed with Matteo, helped him expand his ranching and other activities.

  The good part was that Ursula didn’t care how he made his living. She loved him and wanted him and he was happy to comply with so generous a woman. David wanted to earn money, and Matteo had paid him generously for his survey work. But, the business of this night had left him with a fluttering in his stomach, a weak feeling in his knees. What Matteo was doing was well beyond David’s field and he was almost certain that it was not legal. But, in this case, he did not want to know too much, not anymore, really, than Matteo wished to tell him.

  Matteo dug out the makings, offered the sack of tobacco to David, who shook his head. David was too nervous to roll a cigarette and he did not want to have a pipe in his hand when the wagon rolled up.

  “This is a good time of the day,” Matteo said as he spread the thin paper and made a trough with his finger. He shook tobacco onto the paper, spread it evenly with a single finger. Then, he pulled the string on the sack with his teeth and closed it, put it away. He finished rolling the cigarette and licked the flap so that it stuck tight. He produced a box of matches and struck one on the sandpaper side, bursting the head into flame. He lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply. “So quiet you can hear the deer down in the brush.”

  David could not hear them.

  “They sound like squirrels,” Matteo said, “but not so noisy.”

  “I can’t hear them.”

  “It is only a little rustling sound.”

  David tried to hear the sounds, but he could not hear anything above the pounding of his heart. Then, he did hear something, but it was far off, and was not a deer.

  “I think I hear a wagon,” David said.

  “Yes, it is coming. That will be the Frenchman, Reynaud.”

  “You mentioned him. Something bad between him and Baron.”

  “He wants to kill Martin Baron.”

  “And, you don’t care,” David said.

  “Reynaud is a man of many, what do you say? Skills? Purposes?”

  David wanted to say “scoundrel,” but he didn’t. He wondered if Matteo meant to pay Reynaud to kill Martin Baron. He would not put it past him.

  “Why does Reynaud want to kill Baron?”

  “Martin raped his sister. She is with child.”

  “I see,” David said, but he did not understand any of it. He was still somewhat wary of Matteo, even though he had been treated well by the rancher. It was just that he felt uncomfortable around Mexicans because he knew very little of their language. When he was doing the survey on Killian’s land, he would hear the Mexicans speak in their native tongue and it bothered him because he could not understand. He always felt as if they were talking about him. And, now that he thought about it, he felt as if all Mexicans were secretive and that was why he did not always feel comfortable around Matteo.

  “You must not worry about these things, David,” Matteo said. “Reynaud might kill Martin. Martin might kill him. Did you meet the son, Anson?”

  “No,” David said. “I only saw Martin once, briefly.”

  “How did he strike you?”

  David thought about it for a few seconds. Martin had ridden by and stopped to talk to Roy. He had not been able to hear what they were saying, but Roy pointed at him, and a moment later Martin Baron rode up to David and introduced himself. He asked how the survey was going, David remembered, and then had ridden away without comment.

  “I only spoke to him for a moment. He did not say much. It’s hard to figure a man so quickly.”

  “Martin is a dreamer, but he has a feel for the land. He is a sailor at heart, though, and I do not think he will do well with cattle. He has learned much, but he was not born to the land as I was.”

  “I see,” David said, and he was beginning to understand Matteo from what he had just said. He probably resented Martin as a latecomer to what once had been Spanish, and then Mexican, land. He had seen such feelings before with other surveys he had done. Resentment between neighboring landowners. It always ran deep and was sometimes murderous.

  “There,” Matteo said. “There is the wagon. See it?”

  “Yes, I see it,” David said.

  The wagon had emerged from the trees and was headed their way. Three outriders flanked it and carried rifles that glinted faintly in the starlight. Matteo reached down and turned the wick up on the lantern.

  As the wagon drew closer, David saw that there were people in it, all huddled together so that he could not count them. But, he could see bobbing heads. He heard no voices and thought that was odd.

  The wagon pulled to a stop and the driver set the brake and stepped down. He was well dressed, David
noted, wearing a flat-crowned hat, polished boots that gleamed in the lantern glow, and a well-fitted suit.

  “Matteo.”

  “Reynaud. How many?”

  “A dozen. Do you want to see them?”

  “Yes. We have a place for them in the barn.”

  David felt his scalp prickle as Matteo spoke in Spanish to the outriders. Matteo had not told him what cargo Reynaud was bringing, but he was beginning to get a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Two of the outriders grabbed hands and dragged people from the wagon. The other pushed them toward the lantern light where Matteo could take a look at them. Matteo lifted the lantern and held it high, looking into the faces of the people. David counted them, an even dozen, all black people, ranging in age from about twelve, he figured, to men in their thirties.

  The contraband slaves were all barefoot, and some wore clothing made of burlap or cotton. They appeared sheepish as Matteo shone the light in their eyes. He looked at each one.

  “All good?” Matteo asked Reynaud.

  “All sound. They’ll bring top dollar.”

  “Where?”

  “I have an auction set up in San Antonio.”

  “You’ll have to feed them and haul them up there,” Matteo said.

  “Tomorrow night, I will leave.”

  David looked at the hapless Negroes lined up. He didn’t know how sound they were, but he knew they were tired and sleepy. They were so quiet, he wondered if their tongues had been cut out.

  There was something eerie about seeing the dark people lined up like cattle or sheep, silent, unmoving, awaiting an uncertain fate. He could not look any of them in the eye and he had the sudden inclination to take a bath, scrub away the feeling of dirtiness.

  “Reynaud, this is David Wilhoit. David, you will accompany Reynaud to San Antonio? As my agent?”

  “I don’t know,” David said.

  “Do you not trust me, Matteo?” Reynaud asked. He did not offer his hand to David.

  “I trust you. But, I wish David to act as my agent and report to me the results of the auction. He may have to make the next trip to New Orleans.”

  “These people were brought in to Corpus Christi,” Reynaud said. “I have friends there.”

  “Well, David, will you go with Reynaud?”

  David looked again at the slaves, chattel for sale on the auction block. He knew his decision would affect his future, Ursula’s. If he refused, Matteo would hold him in disfavor. If he accepted, he would be bound to the man, and he would be guilty of dealing in contraband. He wished he could discuss it with Ursula first, but he knew Matteo was waiting for an immediate answer.