Frontier Fires

by Rosanne Bittner

  Biehl rose and followed the man. There was something about Byron Clawson he didn’t much like, yet he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. There was an air of evil about the man, and he was quite homely. He was aware Byron Clawson had twice run for governor and lost, gaining few votes. But he was wealthy and respected as a businessman in St. Louis, if nothing more. And the fact remained the man owned a bank, and Texas needed money.

  Byron sat down at his desk, then leaned over and offered Biehl, seated across from him, an open box of cigars. Biehl took one, thanking him, and Byron lit the cigar for him. He sat down then, leaning back in his own plush chair.

  “I want to know about Texas, Mister Biehl. I have a great interest in the new Republic, own a great deal of land there. I want to know if the war is really over, and if it’s safe to go there.”

  Biehl puffed the cigar for a moment. “I’d say so. Oh, we expect more problems with Mexico, but we’re ready for it, much more ready than the first time, and more determined than ever. We’ve been a country of our own now long enough to want to keep it that way.” He frowned. “Where is this land you own?”

  Byron studied his glass of wine, thinking of Caleb. Where was he? Did he dare go within striking distance of Caleb Sax? “It’s on the Brazos River, just north of some land owned by Caleb Sax. You ever heard of him? He’s supposed to be one of the original settlers who came when Austin opened up that area.”

  “Sax.” Biehl thought a moment. “It’s somewhat familiar. But then I’ve only been in Texas a couple of years. I don’t know the man personally.”

  Byron nodded. “Well, I’m thinking of going down there and checking things out myself. My wife has already agreed to let me go. I don’t doubt by now that my land is covered with squatters. I had a man running it once, but he was killed—in some dispute with this Caleb Sax. But then I wouldn’t go directly to my land. I’d hire someone to get things in shape, chase out the squatters and such. I would live in town—San Felipe, I’m thinking. I’d like to open up a bank there.”

  Biehl smiled. “That would be wonderful. And any money you might loan the government, to help shore up the army and such, would be most welcome, Mister Clawson. Texas is rather destitute right now. A man in your position could come there and get in on the ground floor and become quite wealthy. As an attorney, there might be ways I can help you. Of course I realize you’re already a man of means, but Texas can make you even richer.”

  It was all Byron could do to hold back the eagerness in his eyes at the thought of gaining more wealth and new power in Texas. Yes, he had considered it carefully. He had failed twice at politics in Missouri. He was tired of losing. Perhaps in the new Republic he could finally be an important man, a man in control of the lives of others. Just think of all the poor Texans who needed loans. Maybe even Caleb Sax needed one! What better victory than to be personally responsible for ruining Caleb Sax financially. But there might be an even better victory.

  “Tell me, Mister Biehl, what about the Indians? I’ve heard this new president—Lamar, I think his name is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lamar, yes. Well, I hear he’s making an all-out campaign to rid Texas of its Indians. Is he just talking about the wilder Comanche?”

  Biehl sipped more wine and then smiled. “No, sir. All Indians.”

  Byron nodded thoughtfully. “All Indians. Even the peaceful ones who might own land and are quite settled?”

  Their eyes held. “All Indians.” Biehl puffed his cigar again. “Lamar feels, as most Texans do, that the only way to be really strong is to get rid of the Indians. We can’t have the trash some other state throws out move into Texas and create the same problems all over again. A lot of the Cherokee, Choctaw and the like who have been banished from the Southern states have trickled into Texas because they’re not happy with the Indian Territory assigned to them; and, of course, that land is just north of Texas, so it’s difficult to keep them out. But when Lamar is through, I don’t think we’ll have much trouble.”

  Byron smiled. “You have been a great help, Mister Biehl. A great help. I am going to give serious consideration to coming to Texas. I’m at a point in my life where I would like a change, and a challenge. And I have the money to do it, as well as money that could help Texas. I firmly believe that Texas will one day be another state, Mister Biehl, and when that happens, the land there will be worth a fortune, and Texas will be the biggest state in the Union.”

  Biehl smiled even wider in return. “You’re a smart man, Mister Clawson. I share your hope that we will become a state. There has been a lot of bickering, especially over the issue of slavery, and Lamar continues to work with European countries to get loans and such. But that will all blow over, and in time Texas will definitely join the Union. I’m sure of it. But she will probably join as a slave state.”

  Byron shrugged. “A man has the right to own slaves. The North can’t stop such a thing. Slaves are the basis of Southern economy. So what if it’s a slave state? It’s Texas.” He sighed deeply. “I like the sound of it, Mister Biehl, I surely do.”

  Biehl finished his wine and set the glass on the desk. “Any man who goes there falls in love with her, Mister Clawson. Texas is like a woman, beckoning, beautiful, naked.”

  Byron laughed lightly, adding, “Now that does make me want to go there.” How Byron would love seeing Caleb Sax ruined, preferably dead. He was tired of waiting, watching the shadows, wondering when Caleb would take his revenge for the botched up job Hafer did and knowing Byron was behind it.

  Thank God for the war with Mexico. That had kept the man busy. Perhaps it had even killed him, and Sarah was down there alone. What a wonderful thought! He must go down there himself and find out. Surely if he stayed within the protection of a civilized town he would be safe. After all, Texas was full of Indian haters now. Caleb Sax wouldn’t dare make a move that could cost him a hanging.

  “Speaking of beautiful women,” he said, “you’re a single man, Biehl. I know where you can find some very pleasurable woman company while you’re in St. Louis, if you’re interested.”

  Biehl gave him a scolding look. “Oh, but you’re a married man, Mister Clawson.”

  Byron leaned closer. “All the more reason to visit these ladies,” he answered. “A man gets a little tired of the same one all the time. Proper women just don’t seem to know how to enjoy a man, if you know what I mean.”

  Biehl shook his head, grinning. “You are a man of few morals, Mister Clawson.”

  Byron just laughed.

  “I’ll take you up on the women, Mister Clawson. My carriage, or yours?”

  Byron rose, looking pompous and sure. “Mine, by all means. You’ll not be disappointed, Mister Biehl, I assure you. I’ll just go tell my wife I’m taking you out to show you the town. And on the way we can talk more about Texas.”

  He left the room and Biehl watched after him. If Byron Clawson wanted to leave a wife at home and go romp with the whores, who was he to say otherwise? Lots of married men did that. But there was something more. He disliked the man without one concrete reason. Still, Clawson was planning on opening a bank in Texas. Texas came first. If it took men like Byron Clawson to help it along, then he was welcome.

  Byron’s own heart pounded wildly with the thought of it. Texas. Yes, he would get rid of all his fears. He would be a man and face Caleb Sax straight on, that’s what he’d do. He’d go to Texas and finally win out over Caleb Sax, and he’d become a powerful leader of that baby republic. And when she became a state, he’d be right there, an important man, ready to step right into some office of importance, maybe even governor. Yes. Perhaps at last he could realize that dream in a new land where no one knew him and where he would make sure plenty of people depended on him.

  He hoped, though, that there were some decent prostitutes there. Surely there were. Texas was full of burly, wild, unsettled men. Prostitutes followed that kind of man everywhere. Yes, there would be plenty of whores down there, too. Texas had everythi
ng. One thing, however, it would not have when he was through was Caleb Sax.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Three

  * * *

  It was February 1840 when John Thomas Purnell was born to Lynda and Jess. Named after his two dead uncles, Lynda was determined the boy would know all about them and love them, even though he would never know them.

  Jess was beside himself with joy. It had been nearly three years since Lynda had lost their first baby. Cale was already seven years old when his little half-brother was born. Now Cale helped more with ranching chores, as did his uncle James, also seven.

  The two boys were practically inseparable, in work and play, and both struggled to prove they could do their share in helping rebuild the Sax ranch. James felt closer to his father, and was proud to please him, no longer afraid of horses, and he and Cale were both learning how to herd mustangs.

  The birth of a healthy son to Lynda and Jess helped ease the rising tension and sense of danger to the entire Sax family. President Lamar had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars, nearly depleting the Texas treasury, in his campaign against the Cherokee and the Comanche. Against the advice of Sam Houston himself, Lamar worked hard at ousting all Cherokee settled in eastern Texas, claiming they had no legal title to any of the land they occupied. The Texas army waged deliberate war against these peaceful Indians, forcing a series of bloody, needless battles that drove the Cherokee across the Red River into Indian Territory in the United States. Their leader, Chief Bowles, died in a fight to stay in Texas, and a sword given him by Sam Houston himself was pried from his hand. With this sad event came a hard division between the two leading factions of Texas—Lamar and Houston, who was furious over Lamar’s treatment of the Indians.

  The Sax ranch was left with very few men to help. Several Cherokee left of their own accord. The few hands who stayed, including Jake Highwater, remained out of loyalty, so far permitted by the government to stay because Caleb owned the land and gave them permission to live there. However, Caleb was plagued daily with the worry over when those in power would come along and tell him that he, too, could not legally own the land because he was part Indian. He was well aware that allowing Cherokee to stay on his land irritated the current government, but he refused to force them to leave.

  Now when he rode the hills and valleys of his land, it was with a saddening heart. For years he had loved this place. He had nurtured it, developed it, watched Texas grow, even risked his own life and lost a son in the battle for Texas independence. Now all of it was threatened. His bitterness over his treatment by white men over the years, men like Sarah’s father and Byron Clawson, and now the new government under President Lamar, simmered in Caleb’s soul.

  His finances worried him, for more than anything else he wanted to keep Sarah in a comfortable life-style. If not for the war, and now this new anti-Indian movement, he could have been a very rich man by now, with the finest horses in the West and a sprawling, prosperous ranch. He had always intended to build Sarah a bigger, finer home. But now all his energy and money went into just keeping the ranch going, as well as the little farming they did. The government had never come through on their promissory notes, and he knew they never would. It was getting more difficult to tend to the ranch and build it the way he should.

  It was almost impossible to keep watch on horses that had to be ranged far from the main house, especially at Blue Valley. There were simply not enough men to help watch them, meaning he and Jess had to be away from the women, who were less protected now that most of the Cherokee had left. Keeping the horses close to the house meant less grazing land, and left borders unprotected.

  Squatters threatened incessantly. Time and again Jess and Caleb were forced to route out freeloaders, but it was an impossible task, for they could not constantly guard the borders. Caleb seldom got to Blue Valley now, and it left a distant ache in his heart. Blue Valley had once been a favorite place for him and Tom, in the early days, when he and his eldest son built this land. It made him think of his battle with Hafer over the water, and of Bess. Poor Bess. Such sweet love so short-lived. It wasn’t fair. But Tom and Bess were together now. Perhaps they were better off. It was those left behind who had to continue the struggle.

  April came with heavy rains, so heavy that Lynda and Sarah did not hear the horses approaching outside. It was not until a knock came at the door that they realized someone was there. Caleb and Jess were far off in the north pasture mending a fence, a necessary job in spite of the weather. Sarah looked at Lynda, who immediately went for a musket over the fireplace, while Sarah urged Cale and James into the bedroom where little John lay sleeping in a cradle. She ordered the boys to stay put.

  Pepper growled as Sarah went to the door. “Who is it?” she called.

  Her only reply was another loud pounding.

  “Who’s there?”

  “You Mrs. Sax?” came a voice in question.

  Lynda leveled the rifle at the door. “Yes,” Sarah answered.

  “We’re here to talk about buying some land off your husband.”

  Sarah moved to peek out a window. She looked at Lynda. “There are six of them … all men.” She moved to the door. “You’ll have to wait outside until my husband returns. He’ll be back any minute,” she called out louder to them. She was not really certain when Caleb would come, but she suddenly wished it would be quickly.

  Both women jumped when something hit the door hard then. They heard laughter, and suddenly someone was crashing his way through a window. Sarah screamed and stepped back and Lynda fired her rifle. The man in the window slumped, hanging over the sill, blood pouring from his head.

  Lynda began reloading her rifle. There was no time to contemplate the fact that she had killed a man. The men outside began cursing, and someone began pulling the dead body back through the window.

  “Jesus Christ, he’s dead,” someone shouted.

  “But there’s only a woman in there,” someone else yelled.

  “Woman or not, she killed Dressel.”

  “We’ll get the Indian-loving whores,” came another voice. Someone pointed a rifle into the broken window and fired. Then another man did the same, while the others began pounding on the door. Lynda and Sarah were forced to turn up the heavy kitchen table and duck behind it to avoid gunfire, and Sarah screamed at James and Cale to stay in the bedroom, to take the baby and get under the bed. She prayed Caleb had heard the shooting above the rain.

  Pepper barked wildly and began leaping at the window. Lynda screamed for him to get away, but in the next moment there was another gunshot and the dog was hurled backward with a squeal, landing on his side and bleeding heavily from the stomach. He lay there panting.

  “Pepper! Pepper!” James yelled from the bedroom.

  “Stay there, James,” Sarah ordered. “Don’t you come out of that room!”

  Another man appeared at the window. Lynda fired again but bit the sill. By then the wooden bar across the door began to crack. Lynda frantically began reloading, but could not do so before the door burst open and five men poured in, all with several-day-old beards and wearing clothes that bespoke men who had been riding for several days and cared little about bathing. Their wet, muddy boots began dripping on the floor as they all stood there grinning, some with guns in their hands. One suddenly charged toward Lynda, leaping right over the table and knocking the rifle from her hands. He threw it aside, holding her down to the floor then and staying on top of her.

  “Well, looky here, Ben. You ever seen anything this pretty in all your born days?”

  Sarah stood up, eyeing them all boldly. “Tell that man to let my daughter up,” she said calmly.

  The one called Ben only grinned, while the man on Lynda began trying to kiss her, grasping at her breasts through her dress. Lynda struggled wildly, scratching at his eyes, making him let go of her, but only for a moment. He yanked her up and backhanded her, sending her reeling toward the bedroom door.

  “Mama,” Cale cried out then
, coming out from under the bed. The first man was on her again, pushing up her dress, but Cale jumped on his back, flailing at him with feet and fists. The man stood up, grabbing at the boy and throwing him back into the bedroom.

  Little John began crying and Lynda, her head reeling from the blow to her face, scrambled up and ran into the bedroom, picking up John and holding him close, while Cale, refusing to cry in spite of hitting the bedpost hard, lit into the first man again, this time with James’s help. The man managed to grasp them both around the throat, holding them at arm’s length so they could not reach him with their little fists. He dragged them into the outer room, laughing at their struggles.

  Sarah reached for James to get him away, but the one called Ben was beside her by then, pulling her back. He yanked her arms behind her and held them with one hand while he pulled her close, her back to him, fondling her breasts with his other hand.

  Sarah struggled but he squeezed one breast painfully. “Give us what we want, or I’ll let Henry there kill the boys.” He looked over at a furious Lynda, who clung to little John, glaring at the men with the chilling hatred usually seen only in the fiercest Indian warriors. “Same goes for you, pretty thing. Put that baby down and strip them clothes off, else all three young ones are dead—right now.”

  James and Cale both began turning purple from lack of air. Lynda looked at Sarah with tears in her eyes. The one called Ben suddenly ripped at Sarah’s dress, exposing one breast. Sarah turned her face away from Lynda. “Let the boys go,” she screamed. “You can take me in the bedroom. Just let the boys go!”

  Ben grinned, rubbing at the exposed breast and pressing himself against her back. “That’s better.” He looked over at the first man. “Tie the young ones, Henry. You can be first at the younger woman there. I’m takin’ this one in the bedroom.”

  Henry threw both boys to the floor. They coughed for air as another man brought over some rope to tie them. James looked over at Pepper, who now lay dead. “Pepper,” he muttered.