Davy Crockett 7

by David Robbins

  “Me?” Flavius squawked.

  “Good thing you weren’t by yourselves,” Taylor commented. “These folks would tear a real freebooter limb from limb with their bare hands.”

  Suddenly queasy, Flavius snagged the stallion’s reins. “If that’s how they feel, here. Give the horse to the old woman.”

  “Dolores doesn’t want it. She can’t ride, what with her legs half crippled by rheumatism. Since Alverez had no other kin I know of, I’d say the animal is yours to keep if you’re so inclined.”

  On the one hand, Flavius was glad. On the other, he worried what might happen if any of Alverez’s friends caught him on the stallion.

  Farley Tanner pushed his wide-brimmed black hat back. “Now we’ve got to settle where all of you will be staying. There are rooms to spare out at my ranch. I’ll be taking Sis and my mother there directly, and you’re welcome to tag along.”

  “Or there is the posada, the inn, here in town.” Taylor gestured at a long, low structure across the way. “It’s not exactly the St. Louis Imperial, but they’re generous with meals and the beds are clean.” He paused. “I’d invite you to my place, but it’s cramped enough with just me.”

  Davy weighed their choices. It would be nice to stay with the Tanners. Farley had promised to show him the workings of a big ranch, knowledge that would come in handy one day if Davy ever prevailed on Liz to move to Texas and apply for a grant of their own.

  “Becky and I will stay at the inn,” Heather Dugan announced, surprising everyone.

  Farley turned so abruptly, he nearly tripped over his own feet. “What? I won’t hear of it. You’re all alone, with no kin, no one to look out for you. Marcy and I insist you stay at our ranch.”

  “It wouldn’t be fitting.”

  “Why not? My sister and my mother will be there to act as chaperones. No one can accuse you of improper behavior.” Farley rested a hand on one of his expensive flintlocks. “At least, no one had better try.”

  “You’re very gallant,” Heather said, aglow with something other than gratitude. “But I don’t want tongues wagging at my expense. It wouldn’t do to have people think I’m a loose woman, not if Becky and I end up settling here.” She mustered a wan grin. “A woman has her reputation to think of, you know.”

  Marcella placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “I’m afraid Heather has a point. You know how people are. They might not think she’s much of a lady.”

  Farley glowered at the people lounging about the public square. “I’ll kill anyone who claims different.” Impulsively, he clasped Heather’s hand. “Who cares what they think? It ain’t right, I say, staying here by your lonesome with no one to look out for you.”

  Davy Crockett made up his mind. “She won’t be alone. Flavius and I will stay at the inn, too. How would that be?” Uncertainty etched Farley’s handsome features. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s for the best,” Marcy declared.

  “And I’ll be just a few blocks away,” Taylor added. He snapped his fingers at an inspiration. “Say. I’ll introduce her to Maria Gomez. They’re about the same age, so they should hit it off. And you know how kindly Maria is. She’ll take Heather under her wing, make sure she meets all the right people.”

  Heather draped an arm over her daughter. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother to anyone.”

  “Nonsense, ma’am,” Taylor said. “We have to look out for our own. And the sooner everyone in San Antonio learns who you are and who you’ve taken up with—” Catching himself, he said sheepishly, “I mean, that is, who you might be, well, er ...”

  Farley blushed, Heather turned a pretty shade of pink, and Tanner himself started to resemble a beet. They were saved by Marcy, who shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Men! They don’t have the common sense God gave a cactus.” Clasping Heather’s arm, she said, “Let’s get you settled in. Then Farley and I will go find Mother.” She steered Heather and Becky toward the inn. “But remember. We insist you join us for supper. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

  Farley Tanner was still not satisfied. “It ain’t right,” he protested to no one in particular. Glaring like a bull about to charge, he stomped off.

  “Come on,” Taylor said to the Tennesseans. “We might as well get the two of you a room, as well.”

  Davy looked around for Ormbach, but the fanner had disappeared without saying so long. Probably eager to see his missus and kids again, Davy reckoned.

  Flavius saw a group of Franciscans in brown robes and sandals eyeing them with icy reserve. What's that all about? he wondered. Back on the trail, Taylor had mentioned that at one time the Franciscans were a dominant power in the Spanish empire. In Texas alone more than thirty missions had sprouted. Their goal had been to convert the entire heathen world, but in their zeal they had overlooked one small fact. Most tribes were content with the religion they had. Most did not want to convert, and resented being made to adopt new ways at the tip of a lance. Many had revolted, resulting in widespread slaughter. Of the thirty missions that once flourished, only three were left.

  A heavy set woman in a gaudy red and yellow dress caught Flavius’s eye and winked at him. Stupefied, he did not know what to do. She couldn’t be hinting what he thought she was hinting. Women never did that to him.

  Taylor had noticed. “You’ll find, my friends, that people here are much more open and trusting than those back home. The Mexican people, that is. Most Spaniards are like Capitan Barragan. They distrust us and wish we were gone.”

  A knot of grungy men loitering at a hitching post caught Davy’s attention. “Who are they?” he inquired.

  “Never saw them before. Might be just passing through. Or they might be freebooters.”

  Flavius tore his eyes from the lady who had winked. “You’re joshing. Here? In broad daylight?”

  Taylor chuckled. “It isn’t as if they go around with signs painted on their backs. Sometimes they drift into town claiming to be cattle or horse buyers. Or looking to settle. What they’re really up to is scouting likely prospects to raid.”

  “But we took care of the latest bunch,” Flavius reminded him.

  “I doubt that was all. Usually there are ten or twenty or more. After they’ve done their bloody work, they break up into small groups and scatter.”

  “Well, I hope we don’t tangle with any more,” Flavius said. Freebooters, Comanches, Sauks, the Sioux, they were all the same to him. They all had one thing in common: They’d kill a certain portly Tennessean he was fond of, given half a chance. And he aimed to live to a ripe old age.

  A middle-aged couple ran the inn. Their grasp of English was limited, but what they lacked they made up for by being uncommonly gracious and cheerful. Taylor handled the arrangements. Presently Davy and Flavius found themselves occupying rooms on either side of Heather Dugan’s. “Figured she’ll sleep a lot easier,” the Texican said.

  Davy opened his possibles bag and checked his poke. Enough money was left to last a couple of weeks if they were frugal and ate only one meal a day. Considering who his roommate was, they’d be flat broke in five or six days.

  Taylor paused in the doorway. “You can put that away. Your money is no good here. Farley and I are footing the bill. It’s the least we can do after you risked your life for us. That’s not right,” Davy said. He had done no more than they.

  Flavius was trying out one of the beds. It was soft enough to float on, softer than his own in Tennessee. The floor had been swept, the walls were clean and white. They had a table and chair all to themselves, and a pitcher of water. What more could they ask for? Afraid Davy would spoil everything, he butted in. “Pay my pard no mind. We’ll gladly accept!” They had the rest of the afternoon to themselves. Heather and Becky were off visiting Maria Gomez, so Davy and Flavius roamed the streets of San Antonio, drinking in the sights.

  They were impressed by the easygoing nature of the Mexicans, by the relaxed atmosphere that hung over the quaint town like a shroud.

  To the Irishman, it was
a tonic. In every city he’d ever visited, the pace of life was as hectic as a rats’ nest. People were always skittering hither and yon, getting in each other’s way, being gruff or outright mean. In Baltimore, he had actually seen an unwary pedestrian run down in the middle of the street. In Philadelphia it was worse. Folks ran around like a bunch of chickens with their heads chopped off.

  Not so here. Davy soaked up the lassitude as a sponge soaks up water. He could not say exactly why, but San Antonio appealed to him as few other places ever had. He would love to bring his family and file a claim, but he was deluding himself if he thought Elizabeth would agree to the notion. She wouldn’t cotton to straying very far from her kin. And there were the kids to think of. Some were much too young to make the trek.

  Sadly, Davy had to admit it would be a coon’s age before he ever set foot in Texas again. If then. But he would keep his visit in mind. And if circumstances were ever favorable, he would do all in his power to return.

  For Flavius, their tour of the town reaped a garden of culinary delights. He tasted enchildas for the very first time, and tortillas, and his personal favorite, champurrado, a thick chocolate. He made a mental note to get the recipe before he left, though he doubted Matilda would ever make it. She believed too many sweets were bad for the system. It occurred to him that he might make a batch himself, but he dismissed the notion. Cooking and baking and the like were woman’s work.

  Shortly after they bent their steps to the inn, they rounded a bend and were face-to-face with several Franciscans. At the forefront, arms folded across his chest, strode a bald friar who wore an immense silver cross that gleamed in the sun like living fire.

  Davy drew up short, then dutifully moved aside so the friars could go by. But the bald one was content to stand there scrutinizing them. Davy grew uncomfortable. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to be about our business.”

  In a deep, rich voice, the bald Franciscan said, “You are the new arrivals I have heard about, are you not? The men who slew the freebooters?”

  “That’d be us,” Flavius admitted. It interested him that all three of the holy men sported stomachs the size of his own, or larger.

  “I am delighted to meet you,” the Franciscan said, his accent clipped but precise. Offering his callused hand, he revealed, “I am Father Kino, gentlemen. The spiritual welfare of these good people is my abiding passion.”

  Davy shook hands and made introductions. “We’re on our way to the Tanner rancho for the evening,” he mentioned.

  “Ah, yes. The Tanners. Decent enough people. When they converted, I suspected it was a sham. Merely to acquire their grant, you understand. But Señorita Tanner attends church frequently. And her mother has begun coming often of late.”

  “What was that about the grant?” Davy asked. No one had said a word to him about strings being attached.

  “Those who apply must be willing to convert to the Catholic faith,” Father Kino disclosed. “It is one of the main conditions in order to qualify.”

  “Oh.”

  Father Kino smiled. “It is not my idea, I can assure you. Faith granted so frivolously seldom is genuine.” The friar folded his hands at his waist. “But Spain has always measured her success by the number of souls she has won to Christ. When I was in California, at the mission I founded, in one month alone we won over two hundred souls. What a glorious time that was.” Kino’s face shone as he raised it to the heavens in devout supplication.

  Flavius fidgeted, anxious to be on their way. He had never been much of a churchgoer. Fact was, he inclined to the belief that most men invested in religion at the prodding of their wives. Matilda dragged him to church fairly regular, but it was all he could do to stay awake. He did like church socials, though. Some of the dishes those wives brought were downright divine.

  Father Kino regarded the Irishman. “Have you plans to settle in Texas, my son?”

  Davy shrugged. Being called that made him feel oddly uncomfortable. Even his own father had never referred to him so formally.

  “Most do, once they have seen her beauty. Be assured I would welcome you into the fold with open arms. And never fear. I am not one of those who demand new supplicants attend every Mass and fast on every holy day. I believe in being strict but lenient.”

  “That’s nice,” Davy said, for want of anything else.

  Father Kino lovingly touched his silver cross. “Well, if you will excuse us, I must not be late for my scourging.”

  Flavius had been trying to pinpoint the source of a wafting aroma that brought to mind roast chicken, but this got his attention. “Did you say ‘scourging’?”

  “It is part of my weekly ritual,” the friar explained. “Thirty lashes on my back. To atone for the sins of my flock.” His smile widened. “Each of us has our own cross to bear, eh?” So saying, Father Kino departed accompanied by his silent companions, their heads bowed.

  “Interesting man,” Davy said.

  “Spooky man,” Flavius amended. “Anyone who runs around in a robe and a hood is addlepated enough. But to let himself be whipped?”

  “You can’t judge another man’s bushel by your peck.”

  Flavius wasn’t inclined to debate the point. Every time he argued with Davy, Davy won. But no one would ever be able to convince him that being scourged in the name of the Almighty wasn’t stretching Scripture a mite far. As he recollected, the teaching was “love one another,” not “whip one another.”

  Taylor was waiting at the inn, along with rented horses for each of them.

  Davy regretted not having time to spruce up, especially after he beheld Heather Dugan and Becky. Both wore new store- bought clothes. Becky was as luscious as peach in a bright green dress and a green ribbon. And her mother was positively beautiful. Attired in a ravishing blue dress that molded to her lush figure like a second skin, Heather was fit to be a queen. She had done up her hair, too, or someone else had, arranging her blond tresses in a golden crown of shiny curls. Davy found himself envying Farley Tanner.

  Pleasant coolness replaced the heat of the day as they left San Antonio and trotted westward along a ribbon of a road that had seen a lot of use. They passed poor farm families in simple ox-drawn carts, weary men in tattered clothes trudging home leading burros, lone riders of every stripe—including a handful of lancers. At one point they had to grant the right of way to an immaculate carriage. Through a window a gray-haired man puffing on a fat cigar was visible.

  The turnoff was marked by a mound of stones. Taylor swept the verdant land with a wave and said, “All of this belongs to Farley, for as far as you can see. Other men—Moses Austin, for instance—would divide a grant this size up, sell hundreds of small plots, and wind up rich. Not Farley. He aims to make this the grandest rancho in all of Texas.”

  “Why isn’t he married off yet?” Heather Dugan asked. “I mean, with all he has going for him, it seems strange he doesn’t have a wife.”

  “It’s not from a lack of willing fillies,” Taylor told her. “Farley is one of the most eligible bachelors in these parts. That is, if you count bathing regular as a habit you’d like your man to have.”

  Becky was aghast at the news. “People in Texas don’t take baths?”

  “Not all of them. Not as often as they should,” Taylor admitted. “Why, the other day I was downwind from a buffalo hunter who was so ripe, flies that flew near him dropped dead in midair.”

  The girl laughed. “No one smells that bad.”

  Lights flared to the northwest. Seven or eight buildings were sprawled out over half that many acres. Some were completed, others were in various stages of construction. Out on the prairie Mexicans flailing coiled ropes were ushering about a dozen horses toward a stable and corral. Outlying buildings linked both to a house only half finished yet already enormous enough to house the entire Crockett clan and the Harris clan besides.

  Heather seemed awed by the immensity of the spread. “Farley never even hinted at this. Am I to take it the Tanners are wealthy
?”

  “Let me put it this way, ma’am,” Taylor responded. “The woman who throws a loop over him won’t ever want for spending money.”

  Lanterns suspended from trees lit a grassy area in front of the house. Flower beds lent dashes of color here and there. Enormous columns like those Davy had seen at plantations in the Deep South sparkled as if they contained a thousand fireflies. Wherever he looked people were bustling about, cleaning, polishing, preparing.

  “All this on my account?” Heather said, dazzled.

  Taylor surveyed the scene and chuckled. “I must admit, I’ve never seen this place so lit up before. Why, come nightfall, I’ll bet you could see it from ten miles out.”

  Flavius gazed at rolling emerald hills to the north. Lighting up the ranch as if they were celebrating Christmastide did not seem like such a great idea to him. What if Comanches are out there somewhere? he mused. But he held his peace. Surely the Texicans knew what was best.

  A pair of Mexicans dressed in short jackets, white shirts, and flared pants hastened to take the horses. Both men wore nearly identical sombreros and huge spurs with oversized rowels.

  “Caballeros,” Taylor told the Tennesseans. “Best riders and ropers in all creation. The Tanners have about ten working for them at the moment. As their herds increase, they’ll hire on more.”

  A footpath led to a partially completed front porch. Down the path hurried an elderly woman in fine clothes, her features the spitting image of Marcy’s. “Mrs. Tanner. Priscilla,” Taylor greeted the matriarch. “You needn’t come down here in person. You need to take it easy a spell.”

  Davy knew what the frontiersman was alluding to. Priscilla Tanner had recently lost her husband of some thirty-odd years. By rights she should be laid up in bed.

  “Nonsense. I couldn’t wait to meet the young woman my son won’t stop talking about.”

  Heather had halted, and she clutched Becky. She put a hand to her throat to cover some of her exposed skin. “I’m afraid your son has a much higher opinion of me than I deserve.” Davy held back as the mother gave her son’s romantic interest a raking probe from head to toe. Heather’s happiness hung in the balance, and he was as delighted as she was when Priscilla Tanner warmly embraced her and declared, “If anything, he understated the case. Come. We have refreshments waiting.”