He looked around at the deepening shadows. “We’ll camp right here tonight, in the Valley,” he said in a husky voice. “This was always our favorite place. It’s too late to head back tonight. We’ll go back in the morning.”
Tom nodded and smiled again. “God, it’s good to see my father’s face.”
They embraced then, laughing and crying at the same time.
“Ne-mehotatse, na-eha” Caleb groaned, hugging the young man so tightly Tom could barely breathe.
“I love you, too, Father. It was so terrible—missing you—thinking about Bess.” They hugged several more seconds, and for that short while Tom felt like a little boy again. This man had always been here for him, in his best and worst moments. What would he have done without these strong arms when Bess died?
And yet perhaps Caleb Sax had always made things too easy for him. In his years away he’d realized that loving Bess had been part of the process of becoming his own man. He’d realized that to truly find Tom Sax he could not always be with his father.
He’d had time to think about a lot of things, and one of them was that he had to strike out alone some day soon. He had heard a lot about California from other Spaniards at the ranchero where he had worked. It was a place, he was told, of sunshine and lush vegetation. He had given serious thought to going there.
But he would not bring it up now. It was too good to be home again, and his poor father had thought him dead. Caleb Sax would not want to hear anything about his son leaving for other places. And it was possible the man needed him right now. What had happened since the war? Caleb Sax had always been there for his son. Now Tom Sax would be here for his father if his father needed the extra help. Besides, for the moment it was too wonderful just being near the man again. Tom felt stronger already.
He pulled away then, but his father wouldn’t fully let go of him. “At first they only told me about the Alamo,” Tom told him. “It was a long time before they told me the truth—that Santa Anna had surrendered at San Jacinto.”
Caleb noticed the young man had picked up a slight Spanish accent from being imprisoned so long with other Mexicans, and probably from working among them. Considering his injuries and imprisonment, Tom looked good, a little thin, perhaps, but good, healthy. Caleb finally let go of him, getting up and going to his Appaloosa to retrieve a pipe and tobacco from his parfleche. “We’ll smoke,” he told Tom.
Tom smiled and nodded, and Caleb still could not quite believe it, sure the boy would evaporate at any moment. “You look good, Tom. And that’s a fine horse. You look like the man you worked for paid you well.”
“He did. He liked me, and he knew I was anxious to come home. They aren’t all like Santa Anna, Father.”
“Of course they aren’t. It isn’t men like us who make these wars, Tom. It’s dictators like Santa Anna, and it’s politics. I remember how the Indians suffered when the British and the Americans fought back in 1812, each power bribing and tricking the various tribes into helping them, pitting Indian against Indian. People bigger than us plan the wars, and we end up fighting them. Old Tom Sax tried explaining that to me once. I was just a kid then, but the same things have been going on ever since.”
Tom gazed around the Valley. “Where are the horses, Father? It’s so quiet here. This is a time when the horses should be thick in this grass, and the branding irons should be lying hot in the fires.” He turned and saw the distant fear and the sad longing in Caleb’s eyes.
“There aren’t many horses now, Tom,” Caleb answered. “It’s been hard rebuilding, and I was never paid for the horses I sold for those promissory notes. Jess and I have been running the place almost all alone since the new president of Texas ran out most of the Cherokee.” He sat back down on the rock beside Tom and began stuffing the pipe.
“The Cherokee! They’re more peaceful than any other people here.”
“They were. They’re gone now,” Caleb answered bitterly, lighting the pipe and sucking on it for a moment. “Texas wanted to get rid of its Indians. They’re concentrating now on the Comanche.”
He puffed the pipe once more and handed it to Tom. Their eyes held. “And what about you?” Tom asked. “You’re Indian.”
He saw a hardness come into his father’s deep blue eyes. He took the pipe from the man and puffed it quietly, already realizing it was a good thing he’d gotten here when he did.
“Things are bad, Tom. No one has flat-out told me to leave, but I feel it all around me.”
Tom felt a lump in his throat, turning and looking out over the Valley again. “You can’t leave this place, Father. Our blood is here. Marie and David, John and Bess, Marie’s parents, Lee—”
“I know, Tom. Every time I think about it I feel like someone is pulling my heart out with their bare hands. But I have to think about Sarah and James and the rest of the family. I’m not losing any more of my family over Texas, Tom.”
He moved farther back on the rock and sat cross-legged, facing his son. “When I thought I’d lost you, too, I knew—” His voice broke and he looked down. “No more, Tom. I need my family—what’s left of it.” He looked at Tom again, new tears in his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re really alive! Just seeing you … sitting there—” He sniffed and wiped his eyes, looking down again. “Damn,” he whispered.
Tom reached out and touched his shoulder, handing back the pipe. “Have another smoke. It’s going to be all right, Father. I’m here to help, however you need it. If you think we have to leave Texas, we’ll leave. Hell, we can make it wherever we go, as long as we all have each other. You still have a daughter and two sons—and now two grandsons. And you still have Sarah.”
Caleb nodded, his shoulders shaking. Tom knew full well his father’s old fear of losing everyone he loved. He understood what it must have been like for the man to think he was dead. He had already watched his father lose one entire family. This second family and Tom himself, who was a remnant of Caleb’s old love for a Cheyenne woman, were all-important to the man. How strange that Caleb Sax had once been as wild as the wildest savage, still could be when necessary, yet he could love with such passion. Sarah was the rock in his life, the wind that carried him.
It was several minutes before Caleb could speak again. Tom sat quietly beside him, smoking the pipe to keep the embers going. He studied the Valley. There was a little light left, but the moon was beginning to make an appearance above the far hills. He thought how big Texas was. Yet apparently soon there would be no more room here for men like Caleb Sax. Tears of fury welled up in Tom’s eyes to think of all his father had given up for this land.
Caleb stood up and walked away for a moment. He threw back his head and breathed deeply before finally turning to face his son. “You’ve really thrown me, Tom. What can a man say or do when his son walks back from the dead?” He smiled through remaining tears and shook his head. “Wait till I come riding back with you. It will be impossible for Sarah to be angry with me then.”
Tom frowned. “Why would she be angry?”
“Because I came here alone.” He looked out over the Valley. “This place is dangerous now, son. Squatters crawl around like maggots. I can’t leave the horses anymore or they will all be stolen. Some squatters even attacked the house a couple of weeks ago. If Jess and I hadn’t got there when we did—” His eyes flashed with renewed anger. “They had James and Cale tied, Sarah and your sister stripped and manhandled. Five more minutes and they both would have been raped.”
Tom’s face darkened with his own anger and he rose, setting aside the pipe. “My God! You killed them all?”
“With great pleasure, and with Jess’s help. None of us was badly hurt, but Jess and I don’t dare leave them alone now. Most of the Cherokee are gone except for a couple of families that are settled just north of the Valley. That makes it impossible for me to ranch the way I should. I’m just about out of money.”
Pride and determination glowed in Tom’s eyes. “I have some money. Juan paid me a lot more than I s
hould have been making.” He turned to his saddle bags. “He was a good man, a kind man. He hates the current Mexican government and was angry when I told him what had happened to me. He said I should get back to my father quickly.” He reached into the saddle bag and pulled out a smaller leather bag that was tied at the top with rawhide drawstrings. He brought it to his father. “Gold. Juan gave me some of it. The rest I stole, from Mexican soldiers.”
Caleb’s eyes widened. “Stole! Are they after you?”
“They’ll never know who did it. There was only a small encampment—five of them. You would be proud of how Indian I was that night. I stole this pouch right off the waistbelt of one of them while they slept. They never even woke up! That man is probably still hunting all over for his money pouch.” They both laughed and Tom shoved the gold into his father’s hands. “Here.”
Caleb sobered. “I don’t want your gold, Tom.”
“Our gold. I did it for Texas—but mostly for revenge, and for you. I want you to have it. If we have to leave Texas, it will help. And I have something even better, Father, much better than gold.”
The young man went back to his black stallion, pulling a rifle from its boot and bringing it over to his father. “This will help, too, especially if we can get more. We can handle any squatters who come along—or Indian haters. And if we have to leave, they will protect us from outlaws and Comanche.”
He held out the long rifle and Caleb stared at it, lowering the bag of gold. “What the hell kind of a gun is that?”
“It’s a repeating rifle.”
“Repeating?”
“It’s made by a man named Samuel Colt. He makes repeating pistols, too.” Tom pulled a long pistol from a holder at his side. Caleb had been so engrossed in the fact that his son was alive at all, he hadn’t noticed the young man’s weapons. Tom held the revolver in one hand, and the rifle in the other. The pistol was silver, and long, perhaps fifteen inches or so. It had a fine woodgrain handle. The rifle was very long, a handsome piece with Spanish designs carved into the woodgrain butt. “One of these rifles can do what it would take ten or twenty men to do. If you are inside the house and enemies come, you can fire over and over, instead of firing once and then handing your rifle to someone to reload while you fire another. It’s like having ten men shooting back instead of just one!”
Tom put the pistol away in its holster for a moment. “Look.” He turned and pointed to a mesquite bush, aiming the rifle and cocking the hammer. He fired, shaving off the tip of a branch. The horses jumped. Caleb stared in wonder as Tom fired again and again, eight times, and all he did each time was pull back the hammer of the rifle. He turned to his father then, his face gleaming. “And you can carry extra cylinders, already loaded. You just pop out the old one and shove in the new one. One man becomes ten men.”
He handed the rifle to his father, who looked at it in awe. Tom whipped out the pistol. “This is just as handy but does not shoot as far. See?” He cocked it and fired, then cocked and fired again. He turned grinning to his father. “Get one of these or a rifle for yourself and Jess, and we can defend ourselves against anyone. I bet if Sarah and Lynda had had one in their hands when those squatters came, they never would have got close to them.”
Caleb studied the rifle, then handed it to Tom. “Give me the pistol.”
Tom gave it to him gladly. Caleb got a feel of it in his hand, then pointed it and fired, cocked it again and fired. “I’ll be goddamned,” he murmured, studying the instrument. “Where did you get these?”
“Juan got several of them in Santa Fe. Not him exactly. He sends men there to buy supplies that come in from the States. There is a great road of trade between St. Louis and Santa Fe now, through Colorado Territory and a place called Bent’s Fort. It would be a good place to sell your horses, Father, if you have trouble here. Men make good money at both Santa Fe and Bent’s Fort. These guns are made in the States. The rifle is about a hundred and fifty dollars. But I got mine and the pistol for nothing. I saved a prized stallion from dying. Juan gave me the guns as a gift. And I’ll bet you will find they are starting to show up in San Felipe. I have enough gold to buy two or three rifles, and pistols. If they don’t have any, you can have someone order them for you out of St. Louis.”
Caleb studied the pistol more, then took back the rifle, handing the pistol to Tom. He studied the instrument, lifting it and aiming. There were two shots left. He fired them, then studied the rifle again, shaking his head.
“You can even shoot them after they’ve been under water,” Tom explained. “And they are much safer. They won’t explode on you like old muskets can do.”
“To think of how many times I could have used guns like this,” Caleb said quietly. “Marie might still be alive, and David, maybe even Lee.” He faced his son. “You are a Godsend, Tom, a miracle. The spirits are truly with me this day. Before today my heart was so heavy. There have been times when, if it were not for James and Sarah, I would have ended my life. Now, Texas or no Texas, I have so much to live for.” He breathed deeply, holding up the rifle. “This has been the best day of my entire life!”
Caleb’s eyes sparkled. With the rifle upraised, his tall, muscular body silhouetted now in the faint light of dusk, Tom suddenly saw the Indian again—the victorious, wild Blue Hawk who had waged his own personal war against the Crow.
Yes, Caleb Sax was still strong, and inside he was still young. The return of his son had brought back a strength and determination he had been lacking for months, as well as a confidence that whatever happened, everything would be all right. He hugged Tom again, just to make sure this was all real. They stood there together, father and son, in the lingering twilight, in Blue Valley, but a place they both knew might have to become only another memory. It didn’t matter. Tom Sax was alive, and for the moment nothing else in the whole world mattered to Caleb Sax.
A wolf howled in the distant hills, its wail seeming to exemplify the mourning of those who had lost so much in this land, the distant longing for things that used to be but are no more. Texas was changing.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
* * *
They rode into San Felipe, proudly, for they were the Saxes, and they had been among the first to come to Texas. Caleb and Tom rode in the lead, herding ahead of them twelve of Caleb’s finest horses. Each man sat tall on his horse, Caleb wearing traditional buckskins, Tom dressed in his fine black clothes and riding the black stallion, sporting his new rifle and pistol.
Behind them rode James and Cale, each on his own horse. James kept an eye on the Appaloosa colt he had taken a liking to. It would be sold with the others. He had hoped that now that he could ride, his father would present him with a horse that would be all his own, a sign he had truly been accepted as an honorable son. The colt had somehow eased his sorrow over losing Pepper, for the little horse had taken a liking to James and was like a pet to him. But Caleb Sax made no sign that the animal was any more special than the other horses.
Cale proudly displayed the blue quill necklace around his neck. It was a little big for him, but it was his grandfather’s and then his mother’s. Now it was his. He knew the story of how his mother had kept it as an orphan, hoping to some day find her parents. The necklace was very special, made by his Cheyenne great-grandmother. He would keep it and treasure it forever, and he would never be ashamed of his Indian blood.
Sarah and Lynda rode on either side of the boys, little John riding papoose-style on Lynda’s back. A wagon clattered behind the women, driven by Jake Highwater, brought to town to carry back supplies. Jess rode behind the entire entourage, a rear guard, to watch for Comanche or any other culprits who might have an eye for the horses and the women.
Lynda watched Tom proudly. He had been home ten days. And still all of them wondered if they were only dreaming this miracle. Her brother lived, and her father had never looked happier or healthier. For the rest of Lynda’s life, she would not forget the sight of Caleb and Tom returning from Blue V
alley. What incredible turns her life had taken—from growing up a frightened orphan to finding a whole family. No matter what happened now, she could not complain. God had blessed her greatly.
James took his eyes from the colt and looked ahead at his big half-brother, a mixture of near worship and jealousy. Surely Tom was the favored one. If only his father would do something to make James feel just as important. It was only natural that for now the man would act as though Tom Sax was the only son who existed. After all, Tom had literally returned from the dead. James admired Tom. He was everything James would like to be, and he hoped to be as big and strong some day. But since his return, it had been difficult for James to get his father’s attention. Perhaps Caleb hadn’t seen how close he was to the Appaloosa, how faithful the boy had been at feeding and caring for the horse. Or maybe he was still inwardly angry for the time James had refused to ride. But the excitement of the day seemed to help ease the boy’s worries. The whole family had come to town, bringing the finest horses in all of Texas as far as James was concerned.
People stared. Some whispered. The entire atmosphere had changed from when Caleb used to come to town. He felt it. This was a new crowd. Stephen Austin was dead, and Sam Houston at the moment had lost control. Travis was gone, too, gone down at the Alamo, along with Bowie and Crockett, all men who had been a friend to Indians. But things could still change. President Lamar had done some foolish things that had cost an already-poor Texas badly needed money, and Sam Houston was instigating a vigorous campaign against the man. They were holding their own on the ranch, and now they had Tom to help.
They rode through the streets toward the docks. From an upper window over the “boarding house” that belonged to Emily Stoner, an aging, painted, blonde woman watched them.
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