Lorenzo's Revolutionary Quest (15 page)

The night herders' lullaby grew louder. Lorenzo could tell they were worried about an impending stampede and were trying to drown out the thunder.

Dunstan could barely stand his horse's slow pace or the sound of its hooves plodding toward the cattle. The cautious clip-clop was sheer torture, but it wasn't possible
to go faster in the dark.

The wind blew strands of singing toward him and Thomas.

Excitement sent blood racing through Dunstan's body. Tonight Lorenzo Bannister would be his.

He was accustomed to the city where candlelight glowed from windows and street lamps. Never had he seen such total blackness. The night before, a full moon had shone so brightly it cast shadows. Tonight, only the occasional flash of lightning lit the sky.

With no stars and no moon to show the way, utter darkness surrounded them. If Dunstan stretched his hand before his face, he couldn't see his fingers.

He and Thomas had to trust their horses' instincts. Dunstan had learned that lesson the hard way. Once, he was in a hurry to reach an inn before full dark. Business had delayed him longer than expected. To save time, he went across country, leaping fences and brooks in one bound. Just as the inn came into view and there was only one river left to cross, the horse pulled up short, nearly unseating him.

Angry, he whipped the beast with his riding crop, but it refused to budge. He dismounted only to find himself peering into a raging river. Rebels had blown up the bridge.

Dunstan listened to strains of music and chuckled. How accommodating those diegos were! Their caterwauling would lead him straight to them.

“
Que no te vayas de mí . . . que no te vayas de mí
.” Don't leave me, the old love song begged.

Lorenzo joined the chorus and understood the irony behind the words. Would any of the cattle desert them tonight?

Distant lightning flashed. Rain, gentle and cooling,
began to fall.

Cabezón bawled and set out in the dark.

Five head of cattle followed him. It wasn't a frantic rush of hooves, just a simple plodding that could turn into a stampede with the next lightning bolt.

Lorenzo spurred his horse toward Cabezón. Like most bulls, he gave way before a horseman and turned aside.

Cut off by other night riders, the cattle making up Cabezón's rebellion began to circle. It started out wide, then gradually grew smaller and smaller until they slowed and finally stopped. Calmed, the cattle stood in the rain, looking about with befuddled expressions, as if wondering why they had set out walking in the first place.

Lorenzo sagged in relief. His cheeks puffed as he blew out a long sigh.

Red's horse ambled over to him.

“That was close,” Lorenzo said.

“Sure was,” Red replied. “Cabezón is a troublemaker. I'd like to make him the main guest at our next barbeque!”

A lightning bolt yielded a split second of light.

Dunstan dismounted and handed Thomas his reins. “Keep my horse and stay out of sight.”

“I want to go with thee.”

“Art thou deaf?” Dunstan asked, making fun of Thomas. “I told you to stay here.” He checked his pistol, then wedged it under his belt. Gripping a tomahawk, he eased toward a thicket and crouched there. Lorenzo and his rebel scum had once captured him using a tomahawk. It was time to return the favor.

Dunstan crawled on all fours toward the herd.

Soggy and restless, the cattle lowed and jostled each other.

Each time lightning flashed, he searched for Lorenzo. Finally, he found him on a gray horse with a black mane and tail.

After the rain stopped, everyone returned to camp except two drovers watching the cattle and two others with the horses.

Dunstan perked up to see Lorenzo with the cattle. All night he had watched men move in the dark and waited for the right moment to attack. All night, there had been too many people around.

Until now.

Lorenzo and Red rode in opposite directions around the sleeping herd, tipping their hats when they met.

A dense fog rolled in, enshrouding everything.

Lorenzo was glad to see the horizon lighten. The rising sun would burn off the fog.

A twig snapped. Birds exploded into the sky. Lorenzo tensed. Cabezón clambered to his feet. Several jittery cattle joined him. Long minutes went by. When nothing happened, Lorenzo assumed it was just a coyote on the prowl.

The herd calmed and settled back down. All, except Cabezón. The powerful, rust-colored bull shook giant horns and let out a bellow.

“Oh, no, you don't!” Lorenzo exclaimed.

The bull bolted away and disappeared into thick, gray mist.

Since Red was on the opposite side of the herd, Lorenzo had to chase the runaway. Red's suggestion that they barbeque Cabezón was sounding better and better.

Dunstan peeped around an oak tree.

Lorenzo circled a high thicket about twenty yards away. He seemed to have all his attention fixed on it.

Dunstan waited until Lorenzo was on the far side to move closer, knowing the thick fog would mask his movements. He headed forward, then froze.

Straight ahead, a rust-colored bull with a jagged blaze on its forehead snorted, barely visible in the fog. It lumbered toward him, shaking huge, sharp-pointed horns, then paused, lowered its head, and charged.

Dunstan jumped to the left. The bull came so close, he felt a rush of wind as it passed by. The bull whirled and pawed the ground. Snorting, it trotted forward. Dunstan ran. Briars and branches flogged his face. He stumbled over an exposed root, picked himself up, and dashed down a path carved out by wild beasts.

The earth shook. Dunstan was certain the bull was gaining on him. He sprinted through the grayness, looking for the oak tree he had hidden behind, but all he saw were blackberry thickets and shrubs that the one-ton beast could knock over with a flick of its giant horns. Abruptly, the trail ended at a thick matting of bushes.

Trapped, Dunstan whirled. He searched for his weapons and realized he must have dropped them along the way.

The bull stopped. Head down, it pawed the ground.

Dunstan's heart pounded. In a panic, he couldn't move, not even when the bull charged. The beast's head rammed his body. He landed hard, the breath knocked out of him.

The bull turned. It charged again. Hooves thundered toward him.

Time slowed. Dunstan watched the wild-eyed beast rush toward him.

“There you are,” Lorenzo said when Cabezón emerged from a clump of trees. “Come on, Mischief-maker, back to the herd.” He spoke in a cajoling, non-threatening voice, but thoughts of barbequing Cabezón filled his head.

The bull's breath misted in the morning air. His sides heaved. He bolted to the left. Lorenzo blocked him. He bolted in the opposite direction. Piñata instinctively chased him and forced him to turn.

Lorenzo waved a lariat in slow, nonthreatening circles. “Back to the herd, Señor Barbacoa.”

The fight seemed to have gone out of the bull. He turned and ambled back to the herd.

Dunstan groaned in pain and eased his eyes open. It took a moment for them to focus. Where was he? Where was the sky? He let out a strangled scream. Leaning over him was a sharp-featured Indian in his early thirties wearing a yellow headband.

Dunstan braced for a scalping. His heart drummed.

“
Je suis ami
,” the man said in French.
I am a friend.

Somehow Dunstan managed to stammer out French phrases of cordiality. He suddenly realized he was inside a teepee.

His host responded in impeccable French. His right hand touched his chest. “I am Chien d'Or.”

Dunstan mimicked the gesture. “Dunstan Andrews.”

How did Chien d'Or, or Gold Dog, know French? To be sure, it was the language of diplomacy in the white man's world. During the French-and-Indian War, Indians had been allies of the French against the British colonies, but this was the Spanish Province of Texas.

Groaning in pain, Dunstan sat up and faced Chien d'Or, seated cross-legged on the floor.

A broad-faced Indian woman entered the teepee and offered Dunstan a gourd containing a vile-smelling concoction. Dunstan hesitated.