“What are they up to now?” Taylor wondered.
“Must be a trick, maybe to distract us,” Flavius feared.
Davy doubted it. All the freebooters were assembled at the tree line, waiting for the messenger to convey his message. Was it his imagination? Davy asked himself, or were many of the renegades scowling openly at their leader? What did that portend?
Farley moved higher so the messenger could see him. “That’s far enough, mister. Say what you have to say from there.”
Relief etched the man’s swarthy face. “Thank you! Please tell your men not to shoot! I don’t have a weapon, not even a knife.”
“Get on with it,” Farley demanded. “What do you want?”
“Mr. Tar wants to end this once and for all. His exact words.”
“And how does he propose we do that? By surrendering? Hasn’t he learned yet we never will?”
“No, sir. He doesn’t want you to give up. He’d like to settle this in personal combat. Man to man, he said. For honor’s sake. Just him and one other. No guns allowed. What do I tell him?”
“Hold on,” Farley replied. “I want to be sure I follow you. Tar expects one of us to walk out there and fight him to the death?”
“Yes, sir.”
Flavius and some of the caballeros laughed long and loud, and were hushed by a gesture from Farley. “Does Tar have someone special in mind?” His tone hinted that he hoped it would be he.
“He sure does, sir. The feller he’d like to fight to the death is the one he calls ‘coon butt.’ I believe his real name is Davy Crockett.”
Twelve
There are moments in our lives we never forget. Experiences so intense, so special, they are forever branded in our memories. It might be something as simple as a favorite dish served by our mother or an aunt when we are young, rice pudding so delicious it is the standard by which we measure all rice pudding the rest of our lives. It might be the first time we ride a horse. Our first kiss. Our first date. Or it might be a tragedy. The death of a loved one. A broken bone we suffer. Even something so ordinary as the first time we are stung by a bee.
Davy Crockett had many such special memories. And for as long as he lived he would never forget this moment, either. The instant when all eyes in the basin swung toward him. When everyone there, including himself, mirrored surprise at Blackjack Tar’s choice.
His first thought was Why me? Of all of them, he was the only one who had struck up a halfway friendly conversation with the giant. The only one who had treated Tar halfway human. But he was also the one who had shot Tar. Not once. Twice.
Flavius Harris was stunned almost beyond words. He didn’t rightly understand why the Englishman had picked his friend. He did know, though, that under no circumstances would he let Davy walk on out there. Not when they were days away from heading for home. Not when he felt certain he couldn’t make it back alone. To the messenger he shouted, “Forget it! Tell that overgrown slug he’ll get no such satisfaction from my pard! What do you take him for, an idiot?”
“Tar won’t be happy,” the freebooter said.
Farley answered. “We don’t care how he feels. There’s no need for Crockett to accept the challenge. Not when we now have enough men and ammunition to make you sorry you ever tangled with us.”
“Believe me, mister, we’re already sorry. We’ve lost more good boys than we ever counted on. More than we could afford to. Now, most of us just want to get the hell out of here. But Tar insists on having this fight.”
“Tell him to forget it. And tell your friends that a lot more of them are going to die before this day is done.”
The messenger looked back at the giant. “Damn, mister. I hate being the bearer of bad tidings. He’s liable to stomp me into the dirt.”
“There’s an old saying in these parts. You make your bed, you have to sleep in it. Savvy?”
“All right. I’ll tell him.” Dejected, the freebooter turned to go.
The matter had been settled. Tar’s request had been refused. Davy Crockett had been spared from having to fight a virtual Goliath. All he had to do was stand there and watch the messenger slink back to the trees and the incident was over. That was all he had to do. Yet, the next instant, he opened his mouth and called out, “Hold on, hoss. This is Crockett. Go and let your master know I accept.”
“What? You do?”
Once more Davy was the focus of attention. Several people tried to talk at once. “What in the hell are you trying to prove?” Taylor demanded. Farley said, “You’re loco. He’d smash you like a bug.” Heather Dugan shook her lovely head, saying, “Don’t do it, Davy. The risk is too great.”
As for Flavius Harris, he could feel the blood drain from his face at the mental image of his best friend being torn limb from limb. “Why in the world did you do that? Think of Elizabeth and the kids.”
Davy was thinking of them, and of all the mothers and children in Texas who were just like them. Innocent homesteaders who stood to lose their lives if Tar was allowed to go on ravaging the countryside. Dozens more to add to the giant’s tally. “Tar is the brains of that outfit. Without him, they won’t cause half as much grief.”
Captain Barragan scratched his shin. “You have a point, señor. Until the Englishman came along the freebooters were not well organized. Their raids were few and far between. Kill him, and you chop off the head of the serpent, eh?”
Taylor objected. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Tar is twice as big as you, Davy. Probably three times as strong. He’ll break you like a dry twig.”
“He’s a man. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Farley placed his hands on his hips. “This is a hell of a note. If anyone has a right to fight Tar, it’s me. It was my ranch he attacked, my mother and my fiancée he stole. He killed men who work for me, men who were my good friends. Let me go in your stead, Crockett.”
“He wants me,” Davy said, and moved toward the rim. Flavius was not about to permit it. Barring the Irishman’s path, he declared, “I can’t let you. I’m sorry, but if you take another step, I’ll box you on the ear.”
“Please, pard.”
“No. Never.”
They stared at each other. The best of boon companions, they had known each other since childhood. As kids they had played tag and other games. They had idled away many an hour at favorite fishing holes. They had hunted birds and rabbits with slingshots. Later, Davy had been best man at Flavius’s wedding. Flavius was considered an uncle by Davy’s children. Each had an abiding affection for the other, affection nurtured by their many years together. There was nothing one would not do for the other one.
Which made it all the harder for Davy to turn to Captain Barragan. “I’d be obliged for a favor.”
“Say no more, señor. I understand.” The officer snapped commands. Before Flavius quite suspected what was happening, four lancers were on him, seizing his arms and tearing Matilda from his grasp.
“No!” Flavius resisted, pushing one of the cavalrymen away and rotating on the balls of his feet to slug another. He cocked his arm, then hesitated when a hand fell on his arm and the man he loved like a brother spoke softly.
“Don’t. Please. For my sake.”
The lancers recovered, holding Flavius fast. Frustration and baffled fury rocked him as he watched Davy hand Liz and both flintlocks to Farley Tanner. “If you get yourself killed, I’ll never forgive you.”
Davy grinned wryly and winked. “I’ll never forgive myself. Give my love to my family, in that case. Tell Elizabeth—” He paused. “No. No need for that. Most of the time she knows what I’m thinking without me having to say a word. Just say my last thoughts were of her and let it go at that.”
Flavius had to cough to clear a lump from his throat. “Will do.”
Nodding at the Texicans, Davy made to leave but stopped when Captain Barragan said, “Uno momenta, par favor. ” The officer held a shiny small dirk, doubled-edged and deadly. “I keep this hidden up my sleeve. To use as a
last resort. Perhaps it will come in handy.”
Davy accepted the five-inch weapon, hefted it, then removed his coonskin cap and placed the dirk inside. He was careful not to spill it out as he replaced the cap. Pulling on the coonskin, he verified that the dirk rested snugly on his hair. “I’m obliged, José. I’m sure Tar will have a few tricks up his sleeve.”
“Do you want my sword as well?”
“No.” Davy patted his tomahawk and his butcher knife. “I’m used to these. They’ve saved my bacon more times than I care to recollect.”
“But they are so short, and the Englishman will have his cutlass. You need a weapon with greater reach.”
Davy did not know what to do. Barragan was right, but he had never even held a sword, much less relied on one in the heat of battle. Gingerly, he accepted the hilt and executed a few short jabs and thrusts. It was lighter than he had anticipated, easy to handle, but he was still unsure of what to do. “Take it,” Flavius said.
“You think?”
“Weren’t you the one who once told me that in a scrape every weapon helps?” Flavius had relaxed, and the lancers no longer held him as tightly. But they would not let him go until instructed to do so. Which was a shame. He’d like nothing better than to give his friend a parting hug. And he had never hugged a man in his life. Not even his own pa.
Davy Crockett smiled, then quickly spun and scaled the slope. The messenger was back among the freebooters, talking to Blackjack Tar. Davy advanced, but warily, suspiciously. He wouldn’t put it past Tar to lure him out into the open so a marksman could pick him off.
The giant waved at him, as if they were the best of chums, then gave a pair of pistols to another renegade. Striding several yards out onto the charred grass, Tar faced his men and bellowed for all to hear, “This is between the Yank and me. No one is to interfere. If I win, I’ll drag his carcass back and let you hack it to bits. If he wins—leave, mates. Head for the Gulf. Enough of us have gone to Davy Jones’s locker this day.”
Davy scoured the prairie. The fire he had started had petered out in most spots shortly after it reached the line of shields. A finger of flame to the west had penetrated to the woods but lost momentum on a wide patch of bare ground. It was just as well. He would hate to think he had been responsible for burning thousands of acres and destroying countless wild creatures.
Blackjack Tar had squared his shoulders and was coming to meet him. More than ever, Davy was awed by the former officer’s sheer size. The breadth of those shoulders, the rippling muscles on Tar’s corded arms and wrists, his imposing height, all were enough to instill fear in any foe. Tar walked with a swagger, as supremely confident as a grizzly in his unrivaled strength. His massive physique radiated power and vitality as the sun radiated light and heat.
In addition to the cutlass held in his right fist, Tar had a long knife in a leather sheath on his left hip. Wedged under his belt near the big brass buckle was a club of some kind. Short and thick, it had a solid knob at one end, and a thick handle. Davy had never seen the like, and he assumed it must be from Tar’s days in the Royal Navy.
The giant wore a faintly mocking smile. He had removed the bandage on his shoulder but not the one on his side, which was caked with dried blood. No hint of pain or discomfort marred his craggy countenance. He was as fit as could be, a monster of a man in the prime of life.
Halting ten feet away, the Englishman glanced at the basin. “So which one of those scurvy Texicans is going to shoot me when the time is ripe? That young jackass Tanner, or clever old Taylor?”
“Neither. It’s between you and me. As you wanted.”
Tar rested the blunt side of the cutlass on his shoulder. “I’ll be honest, coon butt. I never reckoned you’d agree. Never took you to be so stupid.” Much too casually, he took a pace to the left. “Why’d you take me up on it? False bravado? Curiosity?”
“I would like to know why you picked me, yes,” Davy admitted.
“It’s simple, Yank.” Again the colossus slid to the left, his deceptive smile contradicting the cold glitter in his piercing eyes. “You and your bunch have about ruined me. My men are ready to find themselves a new leader. They blame me for this.” Tar gestured at the many bodies slowly bloating in the terrible heat. “The cost is too high, they think. So they wanted to call it quits.”
“Why didn’t you take their advice?”
Blackjack Tar sighed, then frowned. “I wish to hell I could, Crockett. But if I tucked my tail between my legs and ran off to lick my wounds, I’d be showing weakness. And in the free company, to show weakness is the worst thing you can do. The weak are preyed on by the strong. It’s dog eat dog. Someone would be bound to challenge me.”
“So? You’d win.”
The Englishman chuckled. “Thanks for the confidence, Yank. Yes, I would. No one has ever beaten me. Not once. But there are plenty now who question my judgment. Who think I’m not fit to lead. Even if I fought off all challengers, I stand to lose half of those who have licked my boots for so long. I intend to keep them under my wing.”
Davy was holding the sword low down, against his right leg. When Tar shifted again, so did he. “Is that where I fit in?”
“Sharp, coon butt. Very sharp of you. Yes, that is where you come in.” Tar chewed on his mustache. “It’s like this. I needed to show my men I still have what it takes. Challenging one of you to a duel to the death was the best way. They’ll see me cut you to pieces, and it will give them second thoughts about deserting.”
“But why me?” Davy pressed. “Why not one of the others?”
“Ah.” Tar slid slowly to the left while pretending to be interested in a pair of crows winging overhead. “Well, Taylor is too damned clever to suit me. I wouldn’t put it past him to hide a gun up his shirt and shoot me. Farley Tanner is a hothead. Reckless. Rash. That makes him unpredictable and doubly dangerous.”
Tar grinned. “You, on the other hand, are as easy to read as a book. You’re an honorable man. Someone who would never shoot an enemy in the back. Never fight dirty. The kind of man I can count on to play by the rules even when there are no rules. That’s your weakness. That’s what will do you in.”
“You seem to have it all figured out.”
“The only reason I have stayed alive as long as I have is because I am always two steps ahead of those who would feed me to the fishes. Most rate me as a big brainless stump, but I’m as clever as Taylor. Hell, I’m smarter than the whole lot of you combined.”
Davy shifted again. “And more modest.”
Laughing lightly, the giant tapped the cutlass against his upper arm. “There’s one final reason I asked for you.” He pressed his other hand to the bloody bandage. “You shot me, you son of a bitch. I was careless and paid the price. Now I have to even accounts or my men will think anyone can hurt me and get away with it.”
There was another lesson Tar should have learned from being shot but hadn’t, Davy mused. “Is there anyone you’d like us to notify afterward?”
“After what, Yank?”
“After I kill you. Any next of kin? Any friends?”
With blinding speed Blackjack Tar sprang, slashing the cutlass at Davy’s face. In sheer reflex Davy brought up Barragan’s sword to block it, but so powerful was the blow, so incredibly strong was the giant, that Davy was knocked backward and nearly fell.
Tar was on him in a flash, raining cut after cut. Davy parried and countered awkwardly, unaccustomed as he was to the finer points of sword fighting.
The Englishman hissed like a viper. Redoubling his frenzy, he sought to break through Davy’s guard. Davy backpedaled, pure instinct keeping him alive as he automatically deflected slash after slash.
Steel rang loud on steel. From the freebooters rose a loud sustained cheer. Tar was a whirlwind, his cutlass whistling to the right and the left. “It’s only a matter of time, Yank,” he gloated.
Davy was inclined to agree. Already his arm was tired, his shoulder sore. He could not hold out forever
, not against the giant’s formidable brute force. In order to prevail he must rely on his wits, not his sinews. So, as Tar elevated the cutlass for yet another swing, Davy suddenly ducked and hacked sideways at the giant’s shins. He was off balance or he would have inflicted more damage. The sword’s keen edge bit in deep, but not deep enough to cripple.
As it was, Blackjack Tar howled like a banshee and leaped out of reach. Blood flowed freely over his pants and boots. “Dam you!” he roared. “I’m going to slice off your ears and nail them to the mainmast!”
Davy barely braced himself before the giant unleashed another onslaught. The cutlass was everywhere, arcing down on either side or straight at his head. Again and again and again Davy warded it off, a whisker’s width all that separated him from eternity.
The Englishman’s failure to end the fight swiftly seemed to anger him. He became reckless. His swings were wider, more open, leaving his midriff exposed. In a frenzy he sought to batter the Irishman down, rearing over the Tennessean like a mighty bull gone amok.
Then it happened. A resounding blow jarred Davy just as he flung himself to one side. Losing his balance, he stubbed his foot in a clump of grass and fell onto his right side. The sword went flying.
“At last!” Tar exclaimed, pausing and raising his cutlass in both immense hands. “I’ll split you like a melon.”
Davy clawed backward, but the giant came after him. He knew that if he touched his tomahawk or his knife, the cutlass would descend.
“Take off that stupid hat, Yank,” Tar commanded. “I want to see your head burst.”
The coonskin hat! Davy removed it and clutched it to his chest, as if in mortal dread, his right hand sliding inside to grasp the hilt of the Spanish dirk. “You’ve won!” he cried, and cringed, acting horrified.
“That I have!”
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