by Lyn Cote
Finally, one soldier who had gold stripes on his rolled-up sleeve waved them down. “Who are you? And what’s your business?”
Emilio pulled up his reins. “We are looking for the Rangers who came about a month ago.”
The man squinted at Emilio. “Are you one of the Mexicans who ride with the Rangers we heard tell of?”
“Sí, I am Emilio Ramirez, a Tejano Ranger.”
“Tejano? What’s that?”
“It means what you have said, a Texan of Mexican blood. Mexicans who prefer liberty. Are Ben McCulloch’s Rangers here?”
The man rubbed the side of his nose with his index finger. “There are Rangers here. You go on up to near the command. That’s ahead about a mile or so to your right.”
“Thank you.” Emilio pulled the brim of his hat. Ash and Amos slapped the reins to each team, and they moved ahead through swell after swell in the sea of gawking soldiers.
Mariel felt each man’s attention burn, as if it were hot sunlight directed on her. She tried to behave as if she did not notice. Yet she felt exposed, defenseless. Her heart tugged her to move faster, to find Carson, who would protect her from this impolite ogling.
If Emilio, Ash, and Amos had not been there glaring at the soldiers, Mariel sensed it would have been much worse for her and Sugar. They were venturing into a place where women of their sort weren’t expected and might be mistaken for camp followers, prostitutes.
At long last, they came to a few larger canvas tents with an American flag flying from a nearby pole. Mariel scanned the surrounding area, looking for men in buckskin, hoping to see Carson’s face. To see him striding toward her and smiling. But she could see no men in buckskin.
Then, just as another soldier with more gold stripes was approaching them and looking disagreeable, two men—one old, one young—came out of a large tent.
“Remy!” Sugar called out, “Remy LaCroix!” The younger man looked up and his mouth dropped open.
At Sugar’s exclamation, Mariel jerked her reins. Now she had to soothe the mare, who fidgeted beneath her. She stroked the horse’s neck and spoke in soothing tones.
“It’s me, your cousin Sugar. Help me down, Emilio, please.”
Emilio dismounted, lifting Sugar from her saddle. She hurried forward, holding out her hand to the young man. “Remy, we’ve come to find Carson. Do you know where he is?”
The young man reluctantly took Sugar’s hand and bowed over it. He did not look happy. Emilio followed right behind her and looked stiff and uncomfortable.
Mariel already didn’t like this cousin LaCroix. She slid out of her saddle, ready to do whatever she could to protect Sugar from any impoliteness.
“Remy, we’re looking for my brother, Carson,” Sugar repeated and motioned behind them. “Some man told us that there were Rangers in camp near the command tents. Is Carson here?”
Remy looked chagrined and pained. “Carson left almost two weeks ago. We’ve been expecting his Ranger squad to return any time now.”
“Lieutenant, introduce me to this pretty lady,” the older man said. “Is she really the sister of that Ranger? And your cousin?”
Mariel caught something in the older man’s tone that told her there was more to this question than the simple request. She studied the older man’s face but could not tell if he was amused or mocking. And if mocking, whom?
Remy bowed to the older man. “This is Miss Sugar Quinn—”
“Oh, I’m not Quinn anymore, Remy,” Sugar interrupted, smiling and reaching for Emilio’s arm. “This is my husband, Emilio Ramirez, another Ranger.”
Remy’s face glowed red. Mariel read his expression with ease. Sugar’s cousin was embarrassed to have it known that his kin had married someone with Mexican blood.
The older man stepped forward. “Mrs. Ramirez, I’m General Taylor. I met your brother with Ben McCulloch.” The older gentleman bowed over her hand. And then he shook Emilio’s, welcoming him. He sounded sincere.
Mariel did not like the way LaCroix was looking at Sugar. And what was worse, Sugar was beginning to notice his lack of welcome. Her pretty face was turning pink. And Emilio’s eyes were stormy.
“And who is this other charming young lady?” the general was asking LaCroix.
Mariel stepped forward, shielding Sugar and Emilio. “I am Mariel Wolffe, Carson’s fiancée.” As the words left her mouth, shock exploded like ice inside. Why had she said that? Her mind racing, she focused on curtseying to the general and to LaCroix.
“You sound European, miss,” the general commented.
“Yes, I come recently from Germany. I met Carson. He led my people from Galveston to land north of San Antonio.”
“Your English is very good for someone so new to America,” the general said.
Mariel lifted her chin, recalling Sugar’s explanation of how LaCroix’s sister had insulted Carson. “My father taught modern languages, English, French, and Spanish. I used to listen to him when he tutored students in languages.” From outside the door where he couldn’t see me.
“Well, well, I was quite impressed with your fiancé.” The general rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Carson is not here, sir?” Mariel asked, still breathing fast from lying about her relationship with Carson. Had she done it just to turn attention from Sugar?
“That’s correct,” the general said. “He went with the other Rangers under McCulloch. Is there a family emergency? Is Carson needed at home?”
Ja, he is needed. Mariel didn’t say this aloud. “No, but we, Mrs. Ramirez and I, decide we might be nurses.”
“Yes, my mother helped the doctors after the Battle of San Jacinto.” Sugar spoke with a lift of her chin and a challenging look toward her cousin. “I thought we might be useful.”
“Commendable. Commendable,” the general said. He turned to Emilio. “The other ladies of the temporary garrison here—the officers’ wives or dependents—are along this lane of tents ahead. I’m sure you two ladies will be welcomed warmly. And Ramirez, you’ll find some Rangers in the same direction. Hays is here with his men.”
Mariel and Sugar curtseyed. Emilio nodded. General Taylor and LaCroix bowed and walked away. LaCroix did not look back.
The three of them did not remount; they merely walked their horses in the direction the general had indicated. “Mariel, I didn’t know that Carson had proposed to you,” Sugar said in an undertone.
“He did not. I do not know why I said that,” Mariel admitted, feeling the burn of shame.
“It was a good idea,” Ash said, breaking his silence. “You need to let them know that you’re not just riffraff like the rest of us.”
Mariel did not argue with Ash’s impression. Neither the general nor the cousin had taken any notice of the four darker-skinned people on the wagons. Since coming to know the Quinns, Mariel now looked at people, at life, differently. Now she didn’t view people according to their rank or color, as she had in Germany. Now she looked at their behavior, their character. This realization expanded inside her and gave her new freedom. This was the most important change in her. And she owed it to the Quinns, who lived their deep faith. And most of all, to Carson.
Thirteen
Two days later, even though the June sun had only recently emerged on the eastern horizon, it was already blazing. Escaping its heat, Carson and Ben McCulloch ambled into General Taylor’s current office in a large canvas tent to report what they’d found. The U.S. Army had moved inland, some westward along the Rio Grande. Niven trailed into the tent after the two men, uninvited. Carson looked around, noting that LaCroix was not to be seen. Good.
After greeting Taylor, McCulloch gave a three-sentence account of the results of the scouting trip. “We had a dustup with a few Mexicans under Blás Falcón. Arista has fallen back to Monterrey. We got a marching route mapped out for you.”
“What took you so long?” Taylor asked.
McCulloch gave Taylor a look that asked, What’s it to you? Yet he only sai
d, “Tried to find General Canales and settle a long overdue score with him. Couldn’t run him to ground, so we headed back to you.”
Taylor lifted an eyebrow. “A score?”
McCulloch nodded. “Canales has a habit of raiding Texan settlements, killing and looting.”
Carson watched the general take this in. His face looked like he was sucking on a lemon. He didn’t look happy, but that wouldn’t change the Rangers’ goal of paying back Canales. Easterners didn’t understand that on the frontier, honest men had to enforce right and wrong or be erased from the land. Carson’s jaw hardened. No one was going to erase him from this land. Or those he loved.
“I see.” Taylor stared into McCulloch’s eyes.
“General,” Niven said in a respectful tone, “with your permission, sir. I’d like you to look at the Walker Colts these men carry.”
The general turned his attention to Niven, and sounding amused, asked, “Did you learn what you wanted by going along with the Rangers?”
Niven bowed his head, grinning. “I learned a lot. And one of the main things I learned is that I want a pair of these Walker Colts. Have you ever seen a gun that can fire six times before being reloaded?”
Taylor frowned. “I may have heard of one. But I’ve never seen one.”
“Carson, would you show the general how yours works?” Niven asked.
Carson didn’t want to oblige. He just wanted to find the other Rangers and go to sleep. No matter. He dragged in air. “Need to go outside to do that.”
The four of them moved back outside under the heat of the sun. There they gathered a large crowd of gawkers. Even though he was bleary-eyed, Carson fired a few accurate rounds into a log pulled from a woodpile near the command post. The gunshots drew more attention. Then, feeling sweat trickle down his back, Carson went on to explain the improvements that Walker had helped Colt, the inventor, make. Every soldier watched him. Some looked skeptical, others interested. Carson swallowed a yawn.
Niven took one of Carson’s Colts into his hand, displaying it on his palm. “You can see the advantage, General. In hand to hand or a cavalry charge, a man can keep fighting longer.”
Taylor made a face. “I doubt we will be doing much hand to hand, and I don’t have a cavalry.”
“I beg to differ.” Niven silently demonstrated how easy it was to bring out the Colt from a belt or pocket. “The Rangers are already performing the duties of a cavalry.”
Taylor tilted his head, as if thinking. “It doesn’t hurt to have the latest in weaponry,” he said, though with obvious reluctance. “History has taught us that the army that has the best weapons wins. I’ll order a thousand for my officers and the Rangers. They’d be of no use to my infantrymen.”
Carson didn’t quite agree. He believed in having more than one weapon going into battle. He wasn’t in charge here, though. And more Colts for his fellow Rangers might save their lives.
“Thank you, General.” Niven grinned.
Taylor thanked McCulloch and Carson. “You two take a few days’ rest and recover.”
Carson turned, just wanting this done. This having to report to someone else didn’t set well in his gut.
The general continued, “And Carson, your ladies are here. Go to the right up ahead to the family camp and you’ll find them there with the servants they brought along.”
Carson’s custom of keeping his face expressionless, learned from his father, came to his aid. Not letting his surprise show, he merely turned his head to look at the general.
“Yes, your lovely sister and your fiancée,” Taylor said, suddenly grinning. “I can tell you that among my officers, you are looked upon with general envy.”
Carson merely nodded. He wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. But he thought there was something else in the American’s face. Was there something else Carson didn’t know?
And then Carson and McCulloch walked away, leaving Niven behind with the general. It had occurred to Carson that perhaps Niven had been sent along not only to learn about frontier fighting but also to report on the Rangers to the general. He didn’t like that, but he could understand it. Taylor had put a lot of trust in the Rangers, men he’d just met.
However, at the forefront of his mind was the news about his “ladies” being in camp. He didn’t like the sound of that at all. Was it a mistake? I left Mariel safe at home. What’s going on? Then the thought that something might have happened to his family, that there might be some bad news, made Carson move quicker.
McCulloch hurried away to rejoin the Rangers who’d come with Jack Hays, while Carson headed off to find the women from home. He was walking through the area of tents evidently occupied by the officers.
Without planning to, he found himself walking toward his cousin LaCroix, who was standing outside his tent, speaking to his Negro valet. Carson recognized this young man Jonah from his visits to the LaCroix plantation.
Just as Carson was trying to figure out how to go around his cousin and not have to speak to him, LaCroix backhanded his manservant. The sharp crack of the blow ripped Carson’s temper wide open. Within two strides, Carson reached his cousin. He spun him around. And with his fist slammed him to the ground.
Mariel had been washing the breakfast dishes outside a large canvas tent where several of the officers’ wives were billeted or stationed. One of the other wives had rushed to Mariel and told her that the Rangers had returned and were reporting to the general. Drying her hands, Mariel had taken off, hurrying toward the command tent.
Ahead, she glimpsed Carson coming toward her. She picked up her pace. Then he stopped and hit a man.
Mariel halted in her tracks, close enough to see and hear, wary of drawing nearer. Women were not supposed to be anywhere near where men were fighting. That she knew. Memories of Heller’s attack on her and Carson fighting him made her a little light-headed.
When the man Carson had knocked down rose, Mariel recognized him as the puffed-up cousin Sugar had recognized when they’d arrived at camp. In spite of herself, she drew nearer.
“What did you do that for?” the cousin demanded, rubbing his jaw.
“A lot of reasons. The main one right now is that you struck your servant, something I won’t stand by and let happen. A cowardly thing to do, since you know he can’t hit you back.”
The confrontation was of course drawing a crowd of onlookers. Mariel edged forward. The cousin’s face flushed red. “Are you calling me a coward?”
“Yes.” Carson raised his fists, obviously showing his readiness to finish the argument.
Something in the cousin’s bearing told Mariel that he was afraid of fighting Carson. The cousin sneered aloud, “A gentleman doesn’t indulge in fisticuffs.”
The slur was flagrant. He had just insulted Carson.
“You’re a gentleman, then? Is that what you call yourself? Is having a servant and being able to abuse him at will—is that what makes you a gentleman?” Carson taunted, his contempt for the other man obvious in his every word.
“Yes, I am. You’re just a half-breed mongrel—”
With that, Carson reached over and snatched the gloves tucked into his cousin’s belt. He slapped the man’s face with them. “Isn’t that how a gentleman challenges another?” This time Carson sneered.
“You’re challenging me?” The cousin sounded as if he was trying to hide his shock and fear.
“Yes, I am. I won’t stand by and watch a servant mistreated. And it’s time someone taught you about being a man, not a spoiled, self-important boy.”
The cousin stiffened, reddening more. He kept his lips pressed together, mute.
“Well, since you can’t stomach an honest fistfight, it’s for you to choose the weapon.” Carson tossed the gloves into the dust. “So what is it?”
The cousin’s face twisted. “Swords. The weapon of gentlemen.”
“Fine. Tomorrow just before sundown outside the Ranger camp. My second will be Emilio Ramirez. Have yours speak to him.”
; Carson stalked away from the flushed and angry young man.
“Carson.” Mariel looked at him, then lowered her eyes.
“You’re here.”
His unhappy tone drenched Mariel like an icy wave. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
He took her by the arm. “Don’t call me ‘sir,’” he said in a low, heated voice. He began to hurry her away from the men around his cousin. Everyone was gawking at them. Mariel felt her face burning, and she hurried to keep up with Carson. She had never seen him like this, so angry. Finally, they reached the area near the family camp. Carson stopped. He let go of her arm and stood there, staring at the dust around their feet.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said, sounding strained. “A lady shouldn’t be exposed to violence.”
His calling her a lady bolstered her spirits, so she asked, “You will have to fight that…man? Your cousin.”
“You’ve met, then.” Carson made a sound of irritation. “I don’t want to fight him, but he needs to have the stuffing knocked out of him. I will not stand by and watch a man abuse a servant.”
Mariel remembered when Carson had come to her aid, yet the scene with Heller felt as if it belonged to someone else’s life. The soreness of the experience lingered, though it had been diminished by all the changes this year had brought to her, to everything in her life. And Mariel did feel different, stronger than she had all those months ago leaving Germany. At least she had till she’d come face-to-face with this scowling Carson. I shouldn’t have come.
At the forefront of her mind, however, was her concern for this man. A fistfight was different from fighting with swords. Did men still fight duels here?
Carson took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh, freeing it from its coating of dust. “Why are you here, Mariel? Has something happened to my family? How did you get here?”
His obvious unhappiness with her made it hard for Mariel to marshal her thoughts. She had just seen Carson hit a man, and now he didn’t look happy to see her. It was all too much to take in. She tried to form words, failed.
“Carson!” Ash’s voice hailed from behind them.