Lorenzo's Revolutionary Quest (12 page)

“No. As punishment.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “My brother was part of a conspiracy against the king and was executed.”

“You assumed your twin's identity when you joined the army.”

“Correct. I had no family left. I thought about going to Spain. I set out for Laredo not completely sure what I would do with myself. For reasons of security, I dressed
as a man. Along the way, I met some soldiers guarding a supply wagon. They welcomed my company and treated me like a man.” Miguel half-smiled. “That was when I got the idea to join the army.”

Lorenzo recalled the day his father threw him out of the examination room. “Papá discovered your secret, didn't he?”

“Yes. He was a very shrewd man. Soon after I joined the army, he ordered me to come to his office. In private, he confronted me. I confessed everything. Once Dr. Bannister discovered I was using Miguel's identity, he falsified medical records.”

Lorenzo considered that. It sounded like something his father would do.

“Dr. Bannister showed me how to wrap my chest in this kind of bandage.” She lightly touched it. “It works better than the one I was using.”

“How did you manage to fool everyone?” Lorenzo asked, genuinely interested.

Miguel smiled. “It wasn't that hard. I was raised around vaqueros. They taught me how to ride and rope and act manly. I was the son my father always wanted. Miguel was something of a disappointment. After Bayé died, Soledad moved to San Antonio to live with me. She knows about the masquerade, of course. Now that you know the truth, Captain, what do you plan to do about this?”

Lorenzo leaned back on his elbows and watched the sky.

Below ash-gray clouds, a hawk hovered on the air current looking for prey. After a moment, it flew away.

“Do about what, Lieutenant? I seem to have gotten water in my ears and have missed most of what you just said.”

Miguel's worried expression melted. “You have much of your father in you.”

“I take that as a great compliment, Lieutenant.”

“I intended it as such. He was a special man and is sorely missed.”

“It was you!” Lorenzo said in a burst of sudden understanding. “You're the one who's been tending Papá's grave and leaving flowers.” Lorenzo had asked around town, wanting to thank the person responsible, but no one knew a thing.

Miguel blushed. “It was the least I could do.”

Lorenzo stood. He suppressed the urge to help her up.

No. You can't treat her like a girl. You have to keep thinking of Miguel as a boy
, Lorenzo admonished himself.

Miguel found her coat and boots and put them on. She got on her horse and stretched a hand to Lorenzo. He swung up behind her.

They walked toward Piñata, who was grazing on the riverbank. After retrieving her, they rode back to the herd in silence.

Along the way, Lorenzo watched Miguel out of the corner of his eye. Now that he knew the secret, he looked for little mannerisms to give away her true sex, but couldn't find any. On the ranch, Miguel had years of practice acting manly. She played the part well.

Lorenzo suddenly realized that he and Miguel were united by his father's secrets. Papá had hidden the fact that Lorenzo had been born into slavery in Virginia. He had helped Miguel hide her true identity. How many other secrets had Papá taken to his grave?

Dunstan glanced skyward at dark clouds blocking the morning sunshine. It looked like a storm was brewing in the Gulf of Mexico. If he recalled correctly, any time from August to December vicious weather could strike unexpectedly.

Thomas rode at his side with twelve British soldiers behind them. They were headed upriver on the Spanish side of the Mississippi to establish a hideout so they could ambush the flatboats.

Twelve. Dunstan would have preferred twice that number. The ambassador had recognized the importance of controlling the Mississippi and blocking the Spanish supply route to the Continental Army. He had wholeheartedly endorsed Dunstan's plan and would have given him more soldiers, but there were only twelve soldiers assigned to the embassy.

Dunstan, Thomas, and the soldiers followed deer paths until they came to a bend in the river. Here, the Mississippi made a wide loop. Dunstan understood why Bannister had chosen this spot as the rendezvous point. It would be easy to box cattle in with the river on three sides.

They traveled a mile farther to another wide loop in the Mississippi. For a mile both up and down river, the view was unobstructed. Rebel flatboats would have no chance of slipping by undetected. A curtain of trees lined the river and would hide their camp. This, Dunstan decided, was the perfect place for an ambush, and the
officer in charge agreed.

Dunstan took leave of them, noting a blackened tree that had been struck by lightning. It made the perfect landmark. He and Thomas headed due west toward the end point of the King's Highway. At their backs, ax blows rang through the forest as soldiers felled trees to build a cabin.

Dunstan had lied to Thomas because he didn't want to travel alone and the boy was quite useful. Thomas would go back to Major Hawthorne if he knew the mission was over. Dunstan had found proof of Spanish aid to American rebels. The cattle were important, as important as Major Hawthorne's promise to promote him to the officer corps, but Dunstan still had a score to settle with Lorenzo Bannister.

At dawn on September 10, the ninth day of the cattle drive, a rumble sounded over the northern ridge.

Lorenzo scanned the horizon expecting to see signs of an approaching storm. To his surprise, the sky was cloudless, as if someone had placed a pale blue bowl upside down over the world. Lorenzo had a bad feeling about this.

The cattle lifted their heads and stared blankly. Wind howled through the valley, blanketing the low rumble. They went back to grazing.

The rumble grew louder.

“Listen,” Lorenzo said to Red, interrupting him in mid-sentence.

“I don't hear anything,” Red said.

“I do,” Soledad said. “It sounds like buffalo.”

“What is this buffalo?” Dujardin asked in mangled Spanish.

A huge shaggy beast with a great hump lumbered over the ridge.

Dujardin's jaw dropped. “
Mon dieu!
”

Lorenzo's heart raced. Cattle couldn't stand the sight of buffalo. It sent them into a blind panic. Buffalo always traveled in herds of a thousand or more. How many were over the ridge? “Everyone mount up!” Lorenzo ordered in a firm but calm voice. He kept his face expressionless so he wouldn't panic the men.

Everyone leaped into the saddle.

“Soledad,” Lorenzo ordered, “guard the supply wagon. Ambrosio, move the cattle south as fast as you can.”

The cook, repacking the wagon after breakfast, worked a little faster.

Lorenzo called to Red, Miguel, and her soldiers. “Come with me. We have to chase the buffalo away, but whatever you do, don't fire your weapons.”

Waving coiled lariats, they raced toward the old buffalo bull.

It stopped and looked stupidly at the oncoming vaqueros, then swung awkwardly around and galloped at a surprising speed for its size.

Lorenzo and his companions followed it a short distance. They topped a small rise, then stopped. Every face reflected awe.

A buffalo herd blackened the plain. It looked like a giant hand had scattered thousands of grains of black powder.

Lorenzo had a quick vision of his small collection of cattle being overrun by a buffalo herd the size of the Mississippi. “We have to keep them from coming this way!”

“How are we going to do that, Captain?” Miguel asked. “There are thousands of them.”

“If we can get one bull running in the right direction, the rest will follow.”

“I don't relish being trampled to death.”

“Then stay in the saddle. Buffalo won't charge a man on horseback.”

“They will during mating season,” Miguel pointed out.

“This is September, Lieutenant.”

“I hope they know that.”

Bulls tended to go insane during breeding time, July to August. It wasn't unusual to see two bulls fighting over a female. Heads lowered, bellowing in rage, they would run toward each other and bang foreheads. They never fought to the death, only until one of them gave up and trotted away. In some ways, it reminded Lorenzo of medieval jousting tournaments he loved to read about.

Lorenzo made a quick downward slice with his hand. “Let's go!”

All the buffalo stopped grazing. They lifted their massive heads toward the approaching horsemen. A bull close by bolted away. As expected, all sprinted after him—bulls, cows, and buckskin-colored calves. The surging mass thundered over the plain away from the cattle, trampling everything in its path.

Without warning, a bull at the back of the herd whirled. Its tail flew up, a sure sign of trouble. Grunting in rage, it lowered its horns and charged the nearest man: Red.

Red's horse bolted, avoiding the horns by inches.

The buffalo pursued the horse, apparently determined to kill it.

Lorenzo spurred Piñata toward Red in an effort to divert the bull's attention.

Miguel joined Lorenzo, offering the buffalo another target, but the bull doggedly trailed after Red.

A second buffalo suddenly separated from the herd, hesitated, then charged Red's left. Lorenzo had seen bulls join forces to protect calves from coyote attacks, but he had never seen them go after horse and rider. He hadn't counted on this kind of behavior and screamed a warning, but wasn't sure Red could hear.

Eyes wide with fear, Red's sorrel twisted to the left, searching for an escape route. She stumbled.

Red toppled toward the horse's ears and rolled over the head, landing on his back. The charging bull made a swiping
blow with his horns. Red's horse screamed in pain. Blood spurted. The horse's guts spilled from the gash.

Horrified, Lorenzo lashed Piñata's rump. Miguel did the same with her horse. A man on foot didn't stand a chance against two buffaloes weighing two thousand pounds each.

Red hunkered behind his horse's body.

The bulls gave up the chase and turned on Miguel and Lorenzo, who dashed in opposite directions.

Suddenly, the bulls stopped running. Their sides heaved from exertion. Grunting in victory, they trotted off toward the herd, some distance away, but still moving fast.

Returning to Red, Lorenzo found the big Irishman holding his ankle with both hands, his face white with pain. Lorenzo flung himself from his horse and grabbed the
mochila
that doubled as his medical bag. He examined Red's ankle. “It's sprained.” He wrapped a bandage around it.

“It hurts,” Red grumbled.

“You're lucky it's not broken.”

“Ride with me,
hermano
,” Miguel said, calling Red “brother” instead of her usual “Sergeant Colorado.”

Lorenzo slid an arm around Red's waist and helped him to his feet. With great difficulty, he got Red onto Miguel's horse, then retrieved Red's musket. When he swung up on Piñata, he saw what had made Red's horse stumble: a buffalo wallow. To relieve insect bites, buffalo rolled in dirt, often creating a depression several feet deep.

Miguel and Red rode back to the herd.

Lorenzo stayed behind to scout around. He rode a wide circuit around the cattle and searched for signs of Apache. They moved across the Province of Texas following buffalo herds. He saw the Apache woman he had seen earlier.

Clearly, she was following them. Lorenzo wondered why.

Molly breathed deep, taking in the barn's pungent odors. The Harris farm was one of her favorite places. She unhooked a milk pail and a three-legged stool from the barn wall and headed for the stall where Brownie chewed her cud. From time to time Molly spent a few days with Mrs. Harris, an elderly widow who regularly supplied the Continental Army with food. Molly did odd chores to earn extra money. This time, Mrs. Harris had taken ill, and Molly was nursing her back to health.

A long whinny sounded beyond the barn walls.

Molly peeped around the door. Fog rising off nearby Brandywine Creek cloaked the farmland in swirls of gray. Something moved in the pre-dawn light.

A horse plodded into the barnyard. His rider had loosened the reins and given him his head. The horse paused by the chicken coop to nibble sprigs of grass.

The rider slumped, either asleep or wounded. The man wore a three-cornered hat and a black suit. He swayed to one side.

Molly flew to him and helped him down. Her hands touched something wet and sticky. Blood. “I'll go get help.”

“No time! Be ye Tory or be ye Patriot?” the man rasped.

“Patriot.”

“The British have landed near Philadelphia. They plan a surprise attack. Take a message to General Washington.”

A distant rumble echoed over the back fields. Molly tilted her head toward the sound. Not thunder. Definitely not thunder. She tried to separate the constant, dull combination of sounds. Tramping feet. Fife. Drum. She gasped. An army on the march!