The Yellow Rose

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I never thought about going to find Houston and then just retreatin’.”

  “Houston’s smart. He’s fought Indians, and he knows men. He knows Mexicans, too,” Zane said. He grimaced as Mary Aidan gave his hair a yank to get his attention and smiled down at her. “You are aggravatin’, Mary Aidan. Now, be still.”

  Rice had not said much during the discussion about Santa Anna’s approaching army. He had been watching Julie while the others had been talking, but now he said, “I think Zane’s right, Brodie. It’s not always muscle that wins, but brains. I found that out fighting men bigger than myself back in Wales.”

  “Did you get whipped?”

  “Did I get whipped? Certainly, I got whipped. Nothing to buy a stamp for, I was, but I did learn how, when you got an opponent that’s bigger and faster and stronger than you are, you have to be smart.”

  Julie said suddenly, “I’m surprised that a preacher would fight.”

  Rice Morgan gave her a look that was almost belligerent. “A man must fight or let him put skirts around his knees!”

  Jerusalem interrupted then by saying, “Come to the table. Breakfast is ready.”

  Brodie went to the table and sat down, but he was thoughtful, disappointed even. As the women set the plates of food on the table, he waited until Morgan asked the blessing, but his mind was still on the battle that was to come. He had pictured himself along with Rice and Zane and others charging the Mexicans and driving them away. The thought of running in retreat was shameful to him, and he could not believe what he was hearing.

  Everyone ate heartily except Jerusalem, who seemed to have no appetite and contented herself with seeing that the food and the plates were replenished and the coffee mugs full. When they were almost finished, she suddenly straightened up. “Someone’s coming.”

  At once Zane was up, and he made for the door. He grabbed the rifle as the others stood up from the table. When he looked out, he said, “It’s okay. It’s the professor.”

  “Fergus?” Clay said, his eyes suddenly alert. “That’s good news.” He moved outside along with the rest and laughed. “It looks like he’s picked up some other Indians along the way.”

  “Yes, and Comanches at that,” Zane murmured. He kept the rifle in his hand, but then laughed. “Depend upon Fergus to pick up Comanches. Everybody else is tryin’ to kill ’em, and he’s tryin’ to make pets out of ’em.”

  They waited until the two wagons pulled up in front of the house. The first wagon was like none that could be bought anywhere, for Professor Fergus St. John Nightingale III had converted it to a rolling home. It bowed out over the sides in a strange fashion, and the canvas was tight as a drum over it. Inside was a bed, a small cabinet for whiskey, a stove on which small meals could be cooked, and a bookcase, filled with all kinds of books. The other wagon was driven by a short, chubby man who took off his hat, showing his bald head. This was James Langley, Fergus’s servant, as his father had been.

  The three Indians were mounted on fine horses that any man would desire. They did not smile but stared silently at the gathering in front of the cabin. The Comanches were the most fierce of all the Plains tribes, and these were armed with muskets and looked thoroughly dangerous.

  “My stars and garters, if it’s not the Hardin clan,” said Fergus. He was a man of forty-nine years, tall and skinny, but hearty. As he got down off the wagon, his long arms and legs made him look like a spider. He had a homely, long, horse face and the brightest blue eyes that any of them had ever seen. His nose was large like the prow of a ship, and his normally pale complexion was cooked red by the Texas sun. He came forward, a smile of delight on his face, greeted the women with a bow, shook hands with all the men, kissed Mary Aidan, and then said, “By jove, it’s jolly good to see you all again.”

  “I didn’t think you’d show up here, Fergus.” Jerusalem smiled. “Don’t you know we’re in the middle of a war?”

  “Oh, I heard about it. Nothing to be troubled about, my dear lady.”

  “Who are your friends?” Clay asked, motioning toward the Comanches. “These are different ones than you had before.”

  “This chap here is Fox.” He indicated a tall and lean young man. “This one is called Young Man Afraid of Thunder. I just simply call him Young Man.” Young Man was short and muscular, with a pair of eyes as black as obsidian. “And this is Paco. It means eagle. He’s small, but a rather violent fellow. They’re teaching me the complexities of the Comanche language. You know I wanted to study Comanches all along.”

  “Have them get down. We’ve got plenty of breakfast left,” Jerusalem said.

  “Jolly decent of you. They’re always hungry.” He turned and spoke to the Indians in rather awkward words, but they slid off their horses at once. They kept their rifles in their hands even when they went inside. The cabin seemed very crowded, but it didn’t seem to matter. The Indians ate everything that was put before them, belched loudly, and kept their guns clutched in their hands.

  It was Clay who discovered they could speak some English. “Why do you put up with a white man, Fox?”

  Fox said with a gleam of humor, “He not afraid of us. We don’t understand him.”

  Young Man Afraid of Thunder belched loudly. “When we understand him, maybe we kill him.”

  “No, we will never understand him,” Paco said.

  “We don’t know what Santa Anna’s doing, Fergus,” Zane said. “We’re going to join up with Houston.”

  “Well, Paco there has seen Santa Anna’s army. He wasn’t very much impressed.”

  “Where did he see them?” Clay asked quickly.

  Paco began to describe the location where he had seen the army. He stopped once to drink some more of the coffee, which he appeared to like a great deal, and then continued.

  When Paco had finished, Clay said, “They’re gonna pass pretty close to here, I think.”

  “I hope not,” Zane said. He turned and said, “Fergus, would you stay here and help take care of Jerusalem and the family?”

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

  Clay looked at the Comanches and at the tall, lanky Englishman and at James Langley, who he knew was a fine shot. “Well, I reckon one butler, one Englishman, and three Comanche braves is just about right to take care of any Mexican army that would make the mistake of coming this way.”

  Jerusalem stood beside Zane and reached up and pulled his head down and kissed him, saying, “You take care of my boy, you hear me, Zane?”

  “I’ll do my best, sister.”

  Brodie was embarrassed, and when his mother came over and hugged him and kissed him, he said, “Don’t worry about me, Ma.”

  “You mind Zane and don’t be foolish, you hear me?”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  Jerusalem moved over to Rice and put both hands on his shoulders. “You come back safe, Rice Morgan.”

  Julie had said good-bye to Zane and Brodie, but now she came over to Rice and smiled. “That’s no way to send a man off to fight.” She reached up, pulled Rice’s head down, and kissed him soundly. “There! There’s something for you to fight for.”

  Clay laughed out loud, for Rice’s face turned red. “I’m glad she’s tormentin’ you for a while, Rice. It gives me a break.” He suddenly turned serious. “Save a few of them Mexicans for me. I’ll be along in a few days.”

  But Jerusalem said, “No, you can’t go, Clay.”

  Everyone was shocked. Zane grinned and punched Clay with his elbow. “Mind what that woman says, Clay. She’s as stubborn as a blue-nosed mule.”

  “You go to grass, Zane Satterfield!” Jerusalem said.

  “Guess we’d better get going,” Zane said. The three men mounted their horses and rode out. Brodie looked back and waved just before they disappeared around a turn in the road shielded by the trees.

  Jerusalem watched them go and saw that Clay was staring at her. She folded her arms in front of her and said, “No, you can’t go. I need you here.” She waited
for Clay to speak, and when he was utterly silent, she turned and walked into the house.

  Julie was amused by the scene. “Well, Clay, are you going to mind her?”

  Clay huffed and looked angry. “I reckon I’ll go when I get good and ready.”

  “I don’t think you will, not if Jerusalem says no.”

  Clay stared at Julie, offended, and looked down at Bob, who had come to sit on his feet. He shoved Bob away and walked off stiffly. Bob immediately went and sat down on Julie’s feet. She leaned over and stroked the rough fur and said with a smile, “I reckon Clay Taliferro knows about as much about women as you know about draw poker, Bob.”

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  Finding General Sam Houston proved to be more difficult than any of the three men had imagined. They wandered for several days through the hill country across the Colorado River and the Guadalupe River. The rainy season had brought both rivers up, and the ground was spongy. They passed by the rolling hills and steep cliffs, and as they rode along a natural fault, they could see miles of the country spread out to the horizon. Brodie was shocked at the enormous expanse that made up Texas. The rocky ground was dotted with live oaks, blackjack, and mesquite trees, and the chains of lakes that sloped away cut their way through canyon walls so steep that a squirrel would have trouble climbing.

  All the time they were searching for Houston, Santa Anna found himself unable to take advantage of the defeat of the Alamo. Although William Travis had died in the battle, he had given Sam Houston valuable time, and the army of Santa Anna had been cut to pieces. An arrogant man, Santa Anna was ready to start out in pursuit of Houston with whatever men he could gather, but his officers persuaded him against it. Forced to wait for reinforcements, his delay allowed Houston to gain still more time.

  Darkness had fallen when the three found themselves at the break of one of the many streams. The water was high, so Zane said, “We better stay here tonight.”

  Brodie was relieved. He was younger than the other two and had thought himself as tough as any man. But Zane seemed to be made of iron, and Brodie was ashamed that a preacher, such as Rice Morgan, could endure hardness better than he could.

  The three made camp back from the stream and built a fire, although they had nothing to cook. Zane doled out the last of the squirrel and ham and biscuits Jerusalem had sent with them and said, “We’d better shoot somethin’ tomorrow or we’ll go hungry.”

  Brodie slowly ate the sparse rations, making them last as long as possible, and washed them down with the coffee they had made. “Shore wish I had some of Ma’s grungers.”

  Rice looked at him strangely. “Grungers? What’s that?”

  “Why, that’s molasses cookies, Rice.”

  “I wish I had some myself. There is hungry I am!”

  “I’m worried about Ma,” Brodie said. “I hated to go off and leave her and the others.”

  “Well, it’s a dangerous time, but I feel better with Fergus and those three Comanches there,” Zane said.

  Suddenly, Zane got to his feet, staring out into the darkness. “Somebody movin’,” he said. He reached down, picked up his rifle, and checked his powder. The others did likewise. They all moved away from the fire, and Zane whispered, “Sounds like a single horse, so I don’t reckon it’s no army.”

  A voice called out, but none of them could make out what was said.

  “Who’s out there?” Zane called loudly.

  The horse moved in closer, and a figure was outlined against the sky. “Who are you?” the visitor called out.

  “There’s three of us. What do you want?”

  The voice was strange, high-pitched and scratchy. “Somethin’ to eat wouldn’t be bad, if you wouldn’t mind sharin’.”

  “Come in slow,” Zane said. He stood there like a cocked pistol, and the others were on their guard. The horse came forward slowly, obviously worn out. The rider was a tall man with a slouched hat down over his face, and his clothes were soaked and worn. “You fellows lost?”

  “We ain’t lost. What about you?” Zane asked. “Where you headed?”

  The stranger stepped off his horse. He had a rifle in a buckskin sheath, but he made no attempt to remove it. He had a pistol on his right hip, but he was staring at the two men carefully. “I’m Deaf Smith,” he said.

  Zane suddenly exclaimed, “Deaf Smith! Come on in to the fire, man. We got no grub, but we got plenty of hot coffee.”

  “That’d go down good.”

  All three of the men had heard of Deaf Smith. He was the one man in the world that Sam Houston trusted completely. Smith had lost some of his hearing as a result of fever as a child. As far as Sam Houston was concerned, Smith was the best scout in all of Texas, or anywhere else. Now, as he came forward, Brodie kept his eyes fixed on the legendary Smith. He could not wait and said loudly, “We’re huntin’ for Sam Houston. We aim to join up with him.”

  Smith seemed to relax. “Well, he needs all the men he can get. Where you fellas from?”

  Brodie said, “I was at Goliad, but me and another fellow, we got away. My pa was killed at the Alamo.”

  Smith did not answer until Zane poured him a cup of coffee. He drank it down as if it were lukewarm, although it was scalding hot. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he said, “Well, he died in good company. I lost good friends there. Jim Bowie was a good friend of mine. We’re gonna miss him in this here war that’s comin’.” He looked at Brodie and said, “So, you was at Goliad. Well, Santa Anna made four hundred martyrs there, and he stirred everybody up all over the country. There’s men comin’ in from Louisiana and Arkansas, but I don’t know if they’ll be in time.”

  “How far away is Houston’s camp?”

  “Too far to make it tonight. We’d better bed down here. We’ll ride in first thing in the morning. I got some news for Sam.”

  “What do you think he’ll do, Mr. Smith?” Brodie asked eagerly.

  Smith looked up into Brodie’s face. “You’re a tall one, ain’t you, boy? Well, we ain’t got enough to do much with, so I reckon we’ll back off until we can get Santa Anna in some place where we can fight him like we want to.”

  “I’ve been tryin’ to tell the boys,” Zane said, “you can’t fight trained soldiers unless you’ve got some troops that know how to handle it.”

  “You’re right about that, but Sam, he’ll find a way. He always does.”

  Santa Anna had a young woman in his tent, as he almost always did. Mateo Lebonne was outside speaking with one of the adjutants. Mateo tried not to think about Santa Anna’s constant pursuit of señoritas. Mateo was worried about what was going to happen next. He had almost idolized the general and was waiting anxiously for his leader’s next orders. He leaned forward and lit a cigar from a burning stick that he picked up from the fire in front of the tent.

  “What do you think the general will do, sir?” Mateo asked.

  Colonel José Martina was a short, rotund man with a fierce mustache that turned up slightly on each side. He caressed them now as if they had some sort of special meaning. Then he grunted and said, “He told all the officers this morning that he’s going back to Mexico City.”

  “Mexico City! He can’t do that. Everything will fall apart without him.”

  “Of course it will. It took the whole staff to convince him to stay here. He only stayed because we found the pretty young woman there to keep him occupied. That’s his weakness, one of them anyway.”

  Mateo stared at the officer. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m talking too much, but he doesn’t have enough respect from these diablos Tejanos—the devil Texans, and that’s exactly what they are.”

  “We whipped them at the Alamo.”

  “Yes, and we lost seven or eight hundred men doing it.” The colonel shook his head. “The report the general sent in was a little misleading. He said we lost seventy men and the Texans lost six hundred.”

  Mateo stared at the colonel. He could not answer, but h
e knew that it was probably true. The general had a creative way with words. He was an immensely popular man in Mexico, and he had gotten that way partly because he was able to inflate his own deeds at the expense of the truth.

  At that instant General Santa Anna came out and walked over to the two men. “Give me a cigar, José.”

  Martina fished a cigar out, and Mateo reached down and grabbed another small twig. He lit the general’s cigar, and Santa Anna winked at him. “A little recreation does a man good.”

  The lieutenant smiled. “Nothing wrong with recreation.”

  “You have a sweetheart, Mateo?” Santa Anna asked idly. He had become fond of Mateo Lebonne. The young man had come to him and offered to serve as a scout. At first Santa Anna had not been impressed, for Mateo was half-Mexican. His father was a gringo. Still, the young man had a fierce loyalty to Mexico and to Santa Anna himself. He had tried the boy out and found him to be faithful, loyal, and a fierce fighter. Now he turned and said, “Are you anxious for the next fight, Mateo?”

  “Yes, my general. We should go after them at once.”

  “Exactly what I tried to tell my staff. They say we’ve got to wait for reinforcements. Bah, we have enough force here to wipe up the Texans.”

  Mateo was thinking of the Alamo and the fierce fight that less than two hundred men had put up against such odds. “I don’t know, my general. You remember the bodies of our men around the Texans. The diablos Tejanos fought indeed like devils.”

  Santa Anna blew smoke into the air and said disdainfully, “They are running like scared chickens. We will destroy them all, although General Urrea has been trying to change my mind.”

  “About what, my general?”

  “About our military tactics. I have decided to divide the army into five divisions. That way we can cover more territory as we make our advance.

  We’re going to sweep down and head for the border. I’m giving orders to burn the towns, to kill anyone who stands in our way. When we reach the Sabine River, we will have driven every Texan back to the United States, and we will never permit them back again.”