The Second Western Novel

by Matt Rand

  Stevens shrugged. The repetition of those lies was no longer even interesting.

  Nelson said, “Wait. He winds up by saying that I’m to surrender all claims and leave Texas at once. I will have no trial, but if I want to protest this action, I can appeal to Mexico City from the United States.” His laugh was brittle. “I know from experience the speed with which the Mexican government works.”

  Stevens said in a strange voice, “It’s here, Nelson. This means—”

  Nelson motioned him quiet. He wanted nothing said before Blanco’s emissary. He looked at the man and said, “Tell Don Victor he will receive my answer later.”

  The man looked uncertain, and Nelson snapped, “I said later. If you’re wise, you’ll be out of town before dark.”

  The man drew a deep breath and murmured, “Gracias, señor.” He was moving rapidly by the time he reached the door.

  Nelson stood up, and his face was bleak. “It’s war, Chauncey. Austin will come in with me, and so will De Witt. If one American can be driven out by using false charges, they must know all Americans will be treated the same. I’ve got to get word to Hunter.”

  Stevens asked, “Are you going to say anything about it tonight?” He jerked his head toward the increasing sounds of revelry.

  Nelson grinned faintly. “Why, no. There’s nothing anyone can do about it tonight. I think I’m going to join them.”

  He went down the street and let the merriment wash around him. He drank of each bottle offered and stopped at each broached keg. The liquor fumes mounted and lightened his worried thoughts and pushed tomorrow far away. He accepted the poundings and maulings in high spirits and returned them with zest. And in the telling and retelling, a minor skirmish became a major victory, the winning of an entire war. He wished it were the winning of an entire war.

  One of the less drunken men rushed up to him and said excitedly, “Nelson, horsemen coming. About a dozen of them. From the north.”

  His words swept the whisky grip from Nelson’s mind. “Get some of the men who can at least stand up,” he ordered, and walked rapidly toward the north edge of town. He had known better than to allow this celebration to proceed this far, and he also knew why he had not stopped it. It was a blotting out of thought, an attempt to push away a moment that inexorably marched at them. He had not thought it would march so quickly.

  The half-moon gave a pale light, and Stevens stood beside him and peered at the advancing riders. “What is it, Nelson? They’re riding in openly, and they’re only a handful.”

  Nelson’s gaze was as intent as Stevens’. “I don’t know.” He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes for better vision. If he was not mistaken, he had seen a feathered headdress on one of those riders.

  He stared long, and when he spoke, a jubilant ring was in his voice. “They’re Indians, Chauncey. And Hunter’s with them. He’s bringing them in for a council of war. We’ve won them.”

  Two dozen men crowded up behind Nelson and Stevens, and he explained again who the riders were.

  “Indians, huh?” one of the men exclaimed jubilantly. “Indians like noise. If they’re going to join us, we gotta give them the proper welcome.”

  Before Nelson fully understood his intention, Briscoe pulled out his pistol and fired into the air. The echoes of the shot were still rolling when another report hammered on its heels.

  Nelson yelled, “Stop it! Hold on!” His words were crowned by more crashing reports.

  The band of horsemen stopped at the first shot. They scattered at the following volley, and half of them wheeled their ponies and raced off into the night.

  Nelson ran about knocking down extended gun hands. “Goddamn it,” he raved, “stop it!” He finally achieved some semblance of order, and bawled, “Hunter! Hunter! It’s O’Shaughnessy. Come on in.” He said, “Stay here,” and raced toward the horsemen.

  Hunter rode out to meet him, his face sharp with suspicion.

  Nelson said, “They were just celebrating. We smashed Payne last night.”

  The suspicion faded from Hunter’s face. “I saw the gun flashes at the sky. And no bullet came near us.” He accepted the findings of his mind rather than Nelson’s words. He twisted in the saddle and made a sign, and five Indians rode toward him.

  Nelson said, “There’s food and whisky in town. What about the others?”

  He looked in the direction the other half of Hunter’s party had taken. They were no longer in sight.

  Hunter said sourly, “That was Bowles and some of his subchiefs. I doubt he was really frightened. He wanted an excuse. He didn’t want to come in the first place. He’s been getting whisky and presents. I don’t know where from.”

  Nelson’s eyes were concerned. They could not have picked a worse time for their celebration.

  He said, “Will your people follow you instead of Bowles?”

  Hunter grunted, “They’ll listen to me.”

  Nelson walked beside the horses to where the men waited. He said, “Feed them. And give them whisky.”

  The stolid faces remained unchanged, but he saw the gleam come into their eyes. He said, “Hunter, if you’ll come with me…” He jerked his head at Stevens to follow them and led the way to the office.

  Inside he lit a candle and handed Blanco’s letter to Hunter. “This came this afternoon.”

  He waited until Hunter had finished reading. When he looked up, Hunter’s eyes were unreadable.

  Nelson said, “I have no doubt that even now Saucedo is moving to carry out Blanco’s orders. If I’m forced out, Payne will be left in a position to take over the claims I have. Can you deal with him?”

  Hunter spat out a vicious tirade against Payne.

  Nelson grinned. “I thought you’d feel that way. Tomorrow morning we’ll—”

  Brenner ran into the office, his face excited. “Nelson,” he burst out, “Tribble and the rest are gone.”

  “Gone?” Nelson echoed the word, his tone unbelieving.

  Brenner nodded. “The guards joined the celebration. They said they were gone for just a little while. When they got back, someone had unlocked the door.” He said slowly, “I guess Tribble and Payne still have some sympathizers left in town.”

  Nelson’s eyes were savage as he stared at Brenner. He could rave and storm at the guards, and it would not bring back Tribble. It would be equally useless to search for the men who had freed the prisoners.

  His rage broke, and he slammed his fist on the desk. This damned celebration was becoming more costly by the minute.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Payne rocked back and forth in his chair, and his eyes watered with laughter. “I can just see you, Sam, walking along and showing those bony shanks to everyone. Did they have to hold the women back?”

  Tribble’s eyes were murderous. He slammed the bottle down on the table so hard that it broke, and the whisky made a dark, wet stain.

  “Goddamn him,” he said huskily. “He paraded me down the main street without my pants. I’ll kill him for that.”

  Payne wiped his eyes. Each time he thought of it, the laughter welled anew. But perhaps he had better not torment Tribble any more at the moment.

  He watched Tribble open another bottle. The man was drinking the stuff as though it were water.

  He said, “Go easy, Sam. We’ve got work to do.”

  Tribble scowled at him and lifted the bottle.

  He’s mean-mad, Payne thought. It was odd how different things affected different men. Tribble had taken a whipping from O’Shaughnessy, and it had not affected his pride nearly so much as this last incident. Pride, Payne thought, and grimaced. It was an expensive luxury. But he would never convince Tribble of that.

  He said, “You’ll get your chance at O’Shaughnessy, Sam. Simmer down and listen.” He said sharply, “Sam,” and Tribble looked at him.

  He said, “O’Shaughnessy moved faster and harder than I thought he would. But he didn’t win nothing. In fact, I’m thinking he hurt himself. He killed a few and sca
ttered the rest.” His smile had a wry twist as he thought of his own flight. Scattered was a mild word. “Saucedo will be taking action against him now. And I think Austin will be afraid to buck Saucedo. He’ll be saving his own hide. I’m going to see Austin, then ride on down to San Antonio. Maybe I can prod Saucedo a little. I want you to round up everybody you can. Tell them they can have their land free after O’Shaughnessy’s thrown out. Tell them they’ll be free to take everything O’Shaughnessy’s people brought in.” The promise of unlimited loot would fetch them. They would gather in greater numbers than ever before.

  Tribble asked sullenly, “Shall I bring them here?”

  Payne looked around at the sala of his home. It was a comfortable room, a comfortable home. His eyes fired with passion. No one was going to take it from him.

  “Better not. O’Shaughnessy might come here. Hold them at Jacoby’s.”

  He stood up and moved to the door. He looked back, and in his mind he saw Tribble without his pants. Laughter burst from his lips, and he went out of the room holding his side.

  * * * *

  Tribble’s face flamed. He stood up and kicked his chair to one side. He walked to it and stamped on one of the legs. The sound of the breaking wood was no sop to his anger. He went into a frenzy, kicking and stamping at the chair until it was nothing but firewood. The crowd’s hooting laughter still rang in his ears. So they laughed at him—Payne and all the rest. The story would spread and spread, until each time he approached a group of men he would hear snickers. He would be damned if it would be that way. One thing could wipe it out. His eyes gleamed with wild, reckless savagery. Killing O’Shaughnessy would wipe it out. No man would laugh at him then.

  * * * *

  For the past two days, war hysteria had been raging in Nacogdoches. Rumors and counter-rumors filled the air, and inflated prices began to tumble. A week ago a six-room house made with real lumber could not have been bought for eight hundred dollars. Yesterday it was offered for two hundred, and today its owner was willing to accept a hundred.

  If the rumors keep on, Nelson thought with grim humor, tomorrow he’ll pay someone to take it. The weak ones were already fleeing back to the safety of the States, and Nelson had no doubt that the returning caravans would swell until only a hard core of determined men was left.

  He did not censure the men who were leaving. Most of them were married men, and their families came first in their thoughts. He had tried to make Leah return with some of them, but she had stilled his words with a smile and a shake of her head.

  “Leah,” he had protested, “haven’t you heard the stories?”

  “How much truth is in them, Nelson?” she had asked.

  He admitted that there was little at present. He discounted the rumors, but not what they portended. Rumors were like a strengthening wind that heralded the approach of a storm. The town was filled with them. One could get a dozen different versions from as many different men. All the troops in Mexico had already crossed the border into Texas. Hushed voices spoke of thousands of men and horses, bringing with them cannon big enough to batter down the thickest of stone walls. A sighted lone rider was instantly swelled into two hundred of the Mexican cavalry, and a man’s nerves had to be steady to keep from stampeding under the lash of a runaway imagination.

  He walked into his office, and Leah asked, “Any news, Nelson?”

  She meant official news, and he shook his head.

  “I won’t fight the Mexican government unless they force me to,” he said. “But I’m declaring this section of Texas a republic. Hunter and Fields will be in later to sign with me.”

  He sat down and scowled at a piece of paper. His brow wrinkled in thought, then he wrote furiously. He stated the unjust treatment, the promises broken by the Mexican government. He wrote a long paragraph about a despotic government forcing men, red and white, to take up arms in defense of their inalienable rights.

  “Nelson,” Leah said.

  He frowned at the interruption.

  “Nelson, the new republic needs a name, doesn’t it?” Her voice was shy. “Could it be called Fredonia?”

  He tasted the name and liked it. He stood up and crossed to her. He bent his head and kissed her. “I like it, Leah. I’ll use it.”

  He incorporated the name of the new republic into the document. He defined its boundaries and proclaimed what would be given to the Indians. He read the several pages over and could find nothing lacking. It only needed signatures to become official.

  It was growing dark when Hunter and Richard Fields entered the room. Fields was a striking-looking Indian, taller than the average, with pride of race in his face and carriage.

  Leah lighted candles as Nelson handed the document to Hunter. Hunter read it aloud, and Fields slowly nodded.

  “How many men can you raise?” Nelson asked.

  Hunter looked at Fields. “Five hundred?”

  “Five hundred,” Fields replied. His voice was low and sonorous.

  Nelson’s heart was elated at the figure. “We have two, perhaps three hundred we can count on around here. And I’m sure Louisiana will furnish a like number. I doubt that Mexico can spare enough troops to put down that many. Her own government is none too secure. I think Mexico will accede to our terms.”

  He picked up his pen and signed his name with a bold flourish. Hunter signed next, then Richard Fields. The shadows cast by the three men were grotesquely big and very steady as they bent over the document. A little wind blew in through the open door. As the candle-light flickered, the shadows wavered and broke.

  Nelson folded the declaration and said, “I’ll get this off to Saucedo at once. Have your men ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

  Hunter nodded. “Richard will ride back tonight. I’ll return in the morning.” He gripped Nelson’s hand. His voice was gruff as he said, “I’ve lived a long time with a dream. I thought there was no chance of its coming true. Now—” He did not finish, only increased the pressure of his hand. He turned abruptly and stalked toward the door, Fields at his heels. There was impressive dignity in the two men.

  Nelson said, “Two dreams, Leah. And both of them the same. Land and peace and security for their people.” His voice was somber as he finished, “I hope they don’t remain only dreams.”

  He threw off the mood and said, “I’ll see you back to camp. Then I’ve got to come back and find Chauncey. I want him to ride to Natchitoches and tell Maddy we need his men.”

  He lingered with her at the wagon. The moments of intimacy had been too few, and he resented it. He was weary and pressed, and in moments like this a man drew strength from the woman he loved.

  He smiled and said, “If you knew what was in my mind.”

  “I think I do, Nelson.” She came to him, and her body pressed tightly against his, unashamed and as fiercely seeking as his. At length she pushed him away, and her laugh was not quite steady. “The waiting will be over someday, Nelson. Then…”

  He walked away with the echo of that last word ringing in his ears. Its promise held more riches than all the other things with which a man burdened his mind. He was tempted to turn back, then forced himself on.

  He found Stevens in town and said, “Chauncey, can you leave for Natchitoches tonight? Tell Maddy we need every man he can raise. And all the guns and ammunition. Tell him to get here as soon as he can.”

  Stevens nodded. “I’ll leave at once, Nelson.”

  * * * *

  Stevens’ eyes were sober as he watched Nelson move on down the street. He would not want the burden Nelson O’Shaughnessy was carrying.

  He was moving toward his horse when he saw a woman turn the corner ahead of him. It had been unusual to see a woman on the streets the last two days, and he wondered what errand could have brought this one out. Then he recognized the walk, the carriage of the head. He cried, “Melissa,” and sprang forward.

  She whirled, and even in the dark he could see that her eyes were fearful. He reached for her hand. />
  She said, “Chauncey,” and the relief was big in her voice. She held his hand hard, and his feeling for her twisted against the iron restraints he put against it.

  “I don’t see you as often as I’d like, Melissa.”

  “No,” she said.

  He thought her voice sounded stifled, and he wondered why she clung so hard to his hand.

  He asked, “Are you happy, Melissa?” He asked it with an odd wistfulness.

  “Happy? In this dirty town? Oh, Chauncey!” She leaned toward him, and he thought she was going to cry. She pulled back before his arms could encircle her.

  He stared at her, seeing that this town was not the sole reason for her unhappiness. He asked quietly, “What is it, Melissa?”

  The small sound of her sob was quickly broken off. “It’s Nelson. But he’s your friend. I don’t want to say—”

  She stopped, and he said, “Go on, Melissa.” His voice had no tone.

  “He made promises, Chauncey. Then he left me. I believed those—” Her crying garbled her words, and she came to him, burying her face in his chest.

  His arms went about her, and he could feel the trembling of her body. “I’ll kill him,” he said savagely.

  She dabbed at her eyes and gave Stevens a wan smile. “No, Chauncey. I wouldn’t want that. But if he could be made to suffer as he has made other people suffer…” Her laugh was shaky. “I guess I’m woman enough to want a small measure of vengeance. But I don’t want him killed.” She watched his face with shrewd eyes.

  Stevens said slowly, “He can be hurt very badly—now.”

  She grasped his arm. “Do it, Chauncey. Do it before he hurts other people. Do it before he hurts you.”

  His voice was far away. “He has hurt me already.”

  She rose to her toes and brushed his cheek with her lips. “Oh, what a fool I’ve been, Chauncey! Why do I have to see it too late?”

  She whirled and was running down the street before he could touch her.

  * * * *

  Nelson walked down the street, stopping to talk to small groups of tense men. This town would know no revelry tonight or for many nights to come. Each time he was asked, “Any reports, Nelson?” he would shake his head.