Paxton and the Lone Star (25 page)

“Her name is Lottie Paxton.”

“Her name is Lottie Paxton,” Joseph mimicked in a drunken falsetto. “Well, who made you queen? Who gave you the right to judge anybody? You hated her from the moment we took up together, and I know why.”

“You're hurting me,” Elizabeth said between her teeth.

“Because she was getting something you've never had, that's why!”

“Let her go, Joseph,” True said, coming up behind him.

Elizabeth looked past Joseph to True. “I'll be all right,” she said quickly, seeing the murderous look in True's eyes.

True's hand snaked out and caught Joseph's wrist. “I said, let her go!”

Joseph released Elizabeth's arm and, whirling, slapped True's hand away. “Are you taking her side again?”

“Against a man twice her size?” True asked, keeping Joseph's attention diverted while Elizabeth slipped out the door. “You're damned right.”

“Oh, yeah?” Joseph mumbled. “Well …” His face suddenly turned pale. “I don't … I don't … feel so … good,” he stammered, and crumpled to the floor before True could catch him.

“I'll carry him up to his lady fair,” Hogjaw said to True. “You follow Elizabeth. With soldiers thicker than maggots on ripe meat, she might just find more trouble she can't handle.”

Elizabeth had been wearing a shawl, but that would offer precious little protection against the cold. True nodded gratefully to Hogjaw, stepped over Joseph, and hurriedly grabbed a pair of coats from the rack by the door. Outside the front had passed, leaving the sky clear. The wind was even fiercer, and cut through True's shirt like a knife. Few of the adobe buildings had windows and there were no streetlights, but a half-moon and all God's stars, bright in the snapping cold, lit the streets. True caught a glimpse of movement ahead of him and ran across the plaza to the
Calle de Calabozo,
whose ominous translation was Street of Dungeons, which in a sense was true if one headed west to the army barracks and the prison beneath the Military Governor's Palace. At the corner, he turned and headed east, relieved to see her ahead of him. Quickening his steps, he soon drew abreast of her. “You'll catch pneumonia if you stay out too long, you know. I'm sorry about Joseph.”

“I have my shawl,” Elizabeth said curtly, hiding the relief she felt in learning that the steps she had heard pursuing her had been his.

A strong gust of wind whipped around a corner and pushed her against him. True draped the extra coat around her and led her into the shadowed doorway of a
hacienda
where the wind couldn't reach them. “You're being silly, you know.”

“He was terrible,” Elizabeth sobbed. “And after … everything that's happened today …”

“Shhh. It's over with,” True crooned, stroking her hair. “He won't try that again, I promise. You'll see.…”

The taste of her on his lips was almost more than he could bear. Elizabeth tried at first to resist his kiss but then, her knees as weak as her resolve, she wrapped her arms around him and hungrily pressed her body to his. She had been so alone. So many lonely weeks. And he had always been near. To help at the crossings, at camp. Never demanding, always giving. “True, True,” she whispered. “I'm glad you followed me. I wanted you to follow me.”

“And catch you?”

“And catch me.” Her hands reached up to take his face. “The land doesn't matter,” she whispered huskily. “It does, but not really. Not if you catch me.”

“You mean that?” True asked, incredulous. “You really mean that?”

Elizabeth cocked her head to one side and looked up at him. “Of course. Isn't that what you wanted?”

“Lady, lady!” True yelled, vying with the wind. He caught her in a bear hug and, lifting her off her feet, whirled her around. “You just try me again and see!”

Laughing, dizzy, Elizabeth ducked out of his embrace and darted out into the street.

“Watch out!”

“Cuídase!”

Both warnings came at once. Startled, Elizabeth stopped dead as a powerful ivory white stallion all but reared out of the ground in front of her. The stallion pawed the air and rolled its eyes, almost fell over backward, but finally got all four feet safely back to earth. Its rider, a young man dressed all in black and silver, quickly regained control and, unable to hide his surprise, stared down at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth regained her balance and tried to walk around him, but the rider backed his stallion to cut her off. She tried to go forward and again, his eyes glinting with intrigue, he blocked her path.
“Buenos noches, señorita. Lo siento mucho, pero …”
He stopped as True emerged from the shadows and took Elizabeth's arm. “Ah!
Gringos!”
His eyes bore into True's. “You will wait one little moment until I finish my business, no?”

“No,” True started to say, but then froze as four more mounted
vaqueros
appeared out of the shadows across the street. One of the men led an attractive, middle-aged Mexican woman, the other three pointedly blocked the path back to the inn. Alert and poised, True stepped between them and Elizabeth. “Just what the hell is going on here?” he asked.

The young man on the horse ignored him.
“Vente,”
he said brusquely. The woman obediently ran to him. “You see,” he said to True as the woman held up bound wrists, “I left her some semblance of honor.” In the same instant, a stilletto flashed in the moonlight and the ropes holding the woman's wrists fell to the ground. No sooner was she free than he wheeled his horse and rode across the street to face a storekeeper's house.

“Miguel. Miguel Hernandez!”

A man of about fifty years with a lined and weary face appeared at the window.

“You have bragged that if you ever caught me with your señora you would thrash me and send me crying to my father,” he said, reverting to Spanish. “Well, here I am, and here is your señora. She has spent the day with me.” He grabbed the woman as she stumbled past him and lifted her so that he might kiss her. When he dropped her, one hand clung to her blouse and ripped it open. “Look. The wind is cold, but sweat still clings to her breasts!” So saying, he reached into a pouch at his side and removed a gold coin that he threw against the door of the shop. The giggling woman staggered to the door, picked up the coin, and turned toward the young man and his companions. Pleased with herself, she bit the coin and then, with a look of sly pleasure, reached underneath her dress. The
vaqueros
cheered when she brought her hand out empty, waved triumphantly to them, and disappeared inside the house.

The little drama was finished. With good-natured shouts, the four
vaqueros
rode off, leaving the young man on the white stallion alone. Slowly, he walked his horse across the street, stopped a few short paces in front of Elizabeth and True. His belt buckle flashed silver in the moonlight. The buttons on his waist-length jacket were silver, as were the wide shiny spurs on his high boots. He doffed a flat-brimmed black hat and made a sweeping bow. “This is a land where golded-haired women are rare indeed. You are beautiful, señorita. My compliments.” His smile faded, to be replaced with a frown. “You,” he said, pointing at True, “will leave now.”

True smiled, stepped away from Elizabeth. “Why don't you try shoving one of those shiny gold coins up your ass?” he asked matter-of-factly.

The young man's face contorted in fury. He raked his spurs against the stallion's flanks, streaking the white flesh with crimson. The animal lunged at True. Elizabeth screamed. True dove to one side, barely averted being trampled, hit the ground rolling and sprang to his feet, his Arkansas Toothpick flashing in the cold air. The young man wheeled his stallion and once again charged. True feinted to his left and ducked to his right, at the same time slashing upward to sever the reins where they joined the bit. Following through, he slapped the flat of the blade across the animal's rump as horse and rider shot past.

“Hey!” the rider shouted, almost falling as the reins hung uselessly in his hands, and then grabbing madly for the stallion's mane when the animal swerved and galloped out of control. Within seconds, horse and rider had disappeared down the wide street. The young man's curses lingered, and then faded in the relentless wind.

True watched for a moment before he turned. Elizabeth was staring at him. He shrugged as if nothing important had happened and, with a smug smile, returned the knife to its sheath. “About ready to head back?” he asked.

“Yes.” She took his arm and clung to him. “I wonder who he was?”

“Dunno.”

There had been emergencies on the trail, but she had never seem him move with such fluid grace and a precision that was almost frightening. Dodging, side-stepping, rising, pivoting, he had looked more like a dancer than a man in a fight for his life. And he loved her. Loved her. Had said so himself. Suddenly, Elizabeth realized that she loved him too, and had for some time even if she had been too stubborn to admit it. Just as suddenly, she realized that the young man on the white stallion would not let matters rest as they were, and that True had made a dangerous enemy. “He will hate you,” she said, frightened. “He is dangerous.”

True inhaled deeply, felt the cold, clear air clean in his lungs. His mind raced a million miles ahead of his body. He could feel the blood coursing through him, was so intensely aware of the moment that he was sure he had never truly been alive before. Danger and hate were little more than feeble jokes. He could do anything because the grandest prize of all walked at his side, and loved him. And feared for him, too, which wouldn't do. Not for anything did he want her to be frightened. The characteristic Paxton grin, impish and irrepressible, lit his face as he looked down at her. “Oh?” he asked. “Do you think it was something I said?”

Chapter XVIII

Monday morning dawned bright and clear as a dazzling sun rose to set afire the frost that whitened the land. The wind had died during the night and the smoke that rose from each house ascended in straight lines like slender trunks that expanded into short-lived, puffy crowns before dissipating. Those San Antonians who lived in adobe buildings were still warm, for the thick walls of their homes had resisted the wind and still retained some heat. The poorer,
peónes
of mixed race for the most part, suffered in drafty
jacalitos,
poorly constructed thatched hovels of vertical sticks crudely chinked with mud.

Inside
La Casa del Rio,
the large common room was warm and cozy. One by one, the would-be settlers, still bleary-eyed from their first night's sleep in real beds but unable to resist the mouth-watering aroma of puffed and golden biscuits, staggered downstairs to be greeted by the sight of plates heaped with crisp bacon and fresh-fried eggs. True had passed an uneasy night. At first, returning to his room, he had been unable to sleep through sheer jubilation. Joy had given way to worry, though, and when he did finally drop off, he was plagued with dreams of lost land and a newfound enemy. “Cold up there,” he grumbled, planting himself in front of the fire.

Mama Flores, proprietor of
La Casa,
all skirts and busy hands and smiles, bustled by. “You'll see. It is the way here. Winter one day, summer the next. Summer never leaves San Antonio de Bexar for very long. We say the sun sleeps here. Carlotta!
Café para el señor, por favor. Inmediatamente!”

“Me too,” Hogjaw growled from a chair next to the hearth. True had thought that the mountain man was asleep, but he had been awake the better part of an hour, and simply too comfortable to move.

“La cara, también,”
Mama Flores added, hurrying off to the other side of the room.

“What's
la cara?”
True asked.

Hogjaw glanced up at him from heavy eyebrows. “The face,” he finally said. “She thinks it's funny. I don't.”

True knew when to take a hint, yawned widely in order not to laugh, and accepted a mug of steaming black coffee from a doe-eyed girl who twisted away from him with a flourish of her long skirt and a none too subtle wiggle of her hips. “Carlotta!” Mama Flores scolded from all the way across the room. The girl giggled and, flashing a backward smile at True, hurried into the kitchen.

“She likes you,” Hogjaw drawled, blowing on his coffee.

“She likes all handsome young
caballeros,”
Mama Flores said, stopping in front of True and planting her fists on her hips. “Her husband does not so much,
comprende?”

“Good coffee,” True said, rapidly changing the subject.

The room was coming alive. The girls returned carrying plates of bacon and eggs. A half dozen single men had entered from the street, and three or four other guests had made their way downstairs. Hogjaw unfolded from the depths of the chair and sauntered over to the table with the largest platter of biscuits. Without waiting for anyone else, he dragged the platter, a plate of butter, and a bowl of honey in front of him and began to eat, shoving half a biscuit in his mouth at a time.

The Campbells came down next and took a small table for themselves. The Kempers followed right on their heels and, unwilling to sit with any of the locals, took a place at the main table but as far from Hogjaw as possible. Joseph and the Matlans came down together. The Matlans joined Hogjaw, but Joseph filled two plates and started upstairs again, only to meet Elizabeth halfway up. True watched, waiting for a confrontation, but the two only glanced at each other and passed without words. Relieved, True crossed the room to meet Elizabeth at the bottom of the stairs. “Sleep well?” he asked, escorting her to a place on the bench next to Hogjaw.

“I think so. My back is sore, though.”

“From sleeping in a bed,” Hogjaw said, filling his plate with bacon and eggs. “Ground's better for you.”