Paxton and the Lone Star (53 page)

Hogjaw groaned, tried to shift his leg into a different position. “Anyways, it's a mighty hard place to find. I stumbled onto it myself by following the river north. Place you come to looks like the river peters out, but it don't. Just sorta spreads out through a funny little flat place full of buckeye, cedar elm, live oak, willows and such. When I got through that, I knew I'd found one of them places the world's forgotten about an' lets be. Holed up there that winter, an' when I left in the spring, I figured that one day I'd come back an' light there, raise me some kids, have a family an' all. 'Course, that was before …”

He touched his face. His fingers moved to the top of his head and followed the edge of the leather skullpatch. “A man who looks like Ol' Scratch hisself ain't about to latch on to a woman willin' to go along with him or be a wife an' mother. Hell, I get sick of seein' myself. Reckon other folks do, too.”

“That isn't so, Hogjaw,” Elizabeth replied gently.

“Yes it is, dadgumit! Now hush an' let me finish.” His eyes closed and his jaw muscles bunched under the loose skin as he fought the pain. “Never had me no kids,” he said, his voice plaintive. “Got no one to pass what I own on to, 'cept you an' True. The two of you, the children the ol' gut eater never had the luck or woman to raise.”

Elizabeth tried to press the map back into his hands. “All this talk of passing things on,” she scoffed, trying to sound as if that was the last thing she could imagine. “I won't hear it. You'll be up and around in no time.”

Hogjaw clamped his hands into fists. “No, 'Liz'beth. You keep it. An' after all this is over, you an' True go there. See if what I said ain't the plumb by God truth.”

“We'll all go together, then,” Elizabeth said. “Otherwise—”

“I'm dyin', gal. Don't you see that?”

“No!” Her voice was pinched and high. Elizabeth had to clear her throat before she went on. “I won't let you carry on like this, Hogjaw. I won't,” she said, and wrapped the thong around his hand.

“Stubborn from the day I met you,” Hogjaw said, watching her. After a moment, he raised his hands and dropped the loop over her head, then gripped her arms with hands that had once been strong as steel. “Hear me out, gal. I don't have the time for you to carry on, you understand?”

Elizabeth bit her lower lip to keep from crying.

“Now, it's around your neck, so keep it there. An' listen up, 'cause this here's the hard part.”

“I don't want—”

“When you head out tomorrow, I'm stay in' behind.”

“No!”

“Yes. Joseph didn't want to worry any of you, but he saw more than he let on. That Mex cavalry is barely a mile off, there's a whole hell of a lot of 'em, an' we left a trail a blind man could follow. I aim to give them somethin' to think about while I still got the strength.”

“But you can't—”

“There you go again, talkin' instead of listenin'. Now, I seen enough punctures in my time to know a bad one, an' that's what this'n here is. The bone's gone an' it's infected. Blood poisonin' is settin' in. Hell, give me a couple of days an' I'll be so damn delirious from fever I'll be worth about as much as cobbler's tacks to a Comanche. This way is better. I choose the time and the place, go out the way I wanta go, which is fast. I got my bugle, an' when you all are clear, I'll wait a spell and then play a tune them soldiers will flock to. Yessir, we'll have us quite a shindig.”

“But that's suicide,” Elizabeth said, incredulous.

“It's common sense.”

“Hogjaw—” She leaned closer to him and took one of his hands. The tears streamed down her face. “Do you remember when we first got to San Antonio? We were at Mama Flores's, and you said you'd spent some fifty-odd years not bein' a damn fool. That's what you're doing now, don't you see? We can take care of you. Scott, Joseph, Mackenzie, me—that's four rifles.”

The mountain man grinned and patted her hands. “Sometimes,” he said gently, “a fella would be a damn fool
not
to be a damn fool. I know what I'm doin', gal. What I'm buyin' an' who I'm buyin' it for. A man can't ask for anything more. If I stayed with you, I'd just slow you all down an' get everybody captured. An' then die in a day or two anyway. No thankee.” The grin disappeared. “I never held much truck with souls, but if I have one, I wouldn't want that on it. Don't you see, gal?”

Elizabeth's mind reeled.
Not Hogjaw. Not him too. Oh, please, Lord. How much must we lose? Haven't we paid enough?
“The others …”

“Will find out come mornin',” Hogjaw said, rubbing a hand across his face. “'Cept now I'm tired of talkin'. Never did so much all at one time. Explainin' is the hardest thing a man is asked to do in this life. I'd as soon bear hug a porcupine.”

“Hogjaw—”

“No, I'm done with gabbin' and bein' gabbed to. Said an' listened all I aim to. But set with me a spell, 'Lizabeth. Will you do that? Set with me a spell?”

Her mind was in chaos. She nodded in stupefied acceptance. He was wrong, but she could order no arguments to convince either him or herself. One did not argue with blood poisoning. The idea of watching Hogjaw Leakey thrashing in delirium as he died a slow, lingering, demeaning death made her cringe. And yet … And yet … Wrapped in a blanket, lying at his side, willing time to stop, she slept.

And woke to darkness buzzing with whispers. Joseph had roused the camp, explained what they were about, and started the hurried process of packing gear and harnessing and saddling stock. The eastern sky was graying when the fire was quenched and Hogjaw was taken for the last time from Joseph and Lottie's buckboard and carried on a makeshift stretcher to the spot he, Joseph, and Scott had chosen. There they propped him against a tree and, at his own insistence, loosely tied him there. If he did lose consciousness, he would still be sitting up when he came to. His field of fire commanded the entire ford and the narrow path rising from it. No man would cross the creek on horseback or with dry powder for many hundreds of yards in either direction. At his side, they placed his rifle and one other with a broken stock, good for one shot. On a flat stone within reach of his left hand, they left a brace of pistols, a small box of patches, a rod, two horns of powder, and a bag of shot. His armaments included a broken lance they had found in the burned-out settlement the day before, his Arkansas Toothpick, and a tomahawk.

“I seen a picture of a fella like this once,” he said, gritting his teeth against the pain. “Looked pretty silly at the time. I guess I'm ready.”

One by one, they paused to stop by the miniature fort, to say goodbye to the hero who would stay behind while they fled. Mila first, who brushed his forehead with a kiss. Mackenzie, who was too old to cry, and was glad the darkness hid his tears. Joan and Scott—

“I'm sorry, Hogjaw,” Joan whispered, broken-hearted.

“You done good, Joan.” He held her hand, the one that had cut him and picked the ball and broken pieces of bone from him. “Don't never blame yourself, girl. That's the only thing I'd ever hold against you. Scott?”

Scott hunkered down, moved the pistols an inch closer. “Yeah?”

“Them two little girls are the prettiest things. You take care of them.”

Joseph and Lottie, weeping openly and holding Bethann so Hogjaw could touch her. “Worth it all for her alone,” he said, laying his gnarled, calloused hand against her cheek. “Watch her in this weather, now. Don't let her take a chill.”

“It took me a while,” Joseph said, reaching down to shake Hogjaw's hand, “but I know now why Father counted himself lucky to have you for a friend.”

“Poor ol' Thomas.” Hogjaw grinned. “He'd've enjoyed this. Kind of foofaraw he liked. You see him, you tell him how it was, and that he won his bet.”

“Bet?”

“Yeah. He always said I'd never die in bed. Well, he's won. Tell him I'll leave his winnin's with the Devil.”

For sure.

Elizabeth waited on her horse until the others had left. When she was alone, she dismounted the kneeled by his side. “Hogjaw?” She held out the pouch, then placed it inside her shirt. “We'll go there.”

Hogjaw squinted up at her, rubbed a scarred and hairy hand across his eyes. “Damn grit. Blinds a man.”

“Hogjaw?”

“Maurice. My name is Maurice,” he said.

He tapped his battered bugle against the butt of his rifle. “Yes. That's what makes it worth the doin'.” He looked straight up, back to Elizabeth. “Gettin' lighter, gal. Best join the others. And fare thee well.”

He turned from her. Elizabeth somehow found the strength of heart to stand, mount, and ride away.

Alone then, Maurice Leakey waited and watched the ford the enemy would cross. Somewhere behind him, he heard the creak of wagons and the soft drum of hooves. And then there was silence. “Fare thee well,” he said again, and added, in a whisper, “daughter.”

Chapter XXXVII

Mist, driven from the west by a backing wind. Soft and enveloping, steadily drenching them as they climbed the ridge and clung to the narrow, winding path that followed the hillside to the top.

Thunder, low and menacing, as if from the throat of a savage animal.

Thunder and a distant bugle, the notes carried on the wind, blaring defiance.

Thunder and perhaps, though hard to tell at that distance, the crackle of gunfire. And still the taunting bugle.

They paused on the crest. The mist shrouded the distance behind them in an impenetrable veil “Hie up!” Joseph said, and the wagons began to move, to descend into the next valley.

Elizabeth hung back, scarcely breathing. Suddenly, there it was again, fading but unmistakable. The indomitable bugle.

She thought of True at that moment, and strangely, she knew she would find him and bear his son. At peace for the first time since those hours past when she was called from the fire, she touched her heels to the mare's sides, and rode off the crest. Behind her, thunder rolled again, and only thunder.

Nothing more.

Captain Hernandez rolled a cigarette around between his lips. A shred of tobacco stuck to his tongue. Three times he tried to spit it off and at last picked it off with his fingers, first wiping them on his tunic. By that time he had lost the taste for smoking and the cigarette was soaked from the rain anyway, so he threw away the butt. It was that kind of morning.

He heard the riders approach long before he saw them come sloshing toward him through the rain.
“Madre de Dios,”
he muttered, and spat in a puddle, just barely missing the disintegrating cigarette. If he'd stayed in San Antonio, none of this would have happened. If he'd stayed in San Antonio … Pagh! If “ifs” were
centavos
he'd have a pocketful.

The general rode a magnificent gray stallion. The animal pawed at the mud and tossed his head, showed the whites of his eyes and flared his nostrils. He seemed to mirror his rider's irritation with the world in general and events in particular. The general returned the captain's salute and stared down at the running water and the rocky bank opposite their vantage point. “How many” he asked.

“Two were killed on this side, General, and another crossing the creekbed. One was drowned trying to cross lower down. Three were wounded going up the path. The bastard chose his place well. We had to storm his position, and the fighting was hand to hand even after he no longer had time to reload. Another three—no, four—died before our sabers and pistols finished him off.”

“Him?”
the general asked, hating the soft, lisping Castillian Spanish that Hernandez spoke. “Only one man?”

“Yes,” the captain admitted. His smile was the sickly display of a man who has run out of excuses. “But one like a devil. A monster in truth, General.”

“One?” the general repeated scornfully. Wearied of incompetence, he shook his head. Rainwater dripped from the brim of his chapeau and from the ends of his moustache. “Show me,” he said. “Wait here,” he told his entourage.

Captain Hernandez saluted and nudged his bootheels into his horse's flanks. The horse shied at the water, but crossed without incident and struggled up the mud-slippery bank, almost throwing his rider. The general's gray crossed and ascended easily. The stallion was sure-footed and well-trained, as coolly competent as his master. It was starting to rain again. The captain pointed to the rocks, to the splayed legs and massive torso of the defender. Rain had washed much of the blood from him, but his clothes were slashed and punctured in more than a dozen places. His face was bloodless, ashen gray. His skin hung in folds that nearly covered his eyes and dripped from his jowls as if it had melted briefly and then, running down, frozen in grotesque ripples. A battered bugle lay at his side next to his right hand, which was nearly severed from his body.

“So …” Luther O'Shannon said.

“As I said, General, a veritable devil.”

“Yes. A devil.” O'Shannon repeated. He peered into the gloom ahead. Somewhere out there was Elizabeth Paxton. And True Paxton also? Hard to say, but maybe … O'Shannon's lip twitched. If Paxton were there, they'd meet again. He stirred, straightened in the saddle. “You were lucky you lost only eight, Captain.”

Hernandez's lips puckered. “General?”

“I want him buried with all honors, and his grave marked.” O'Shannon turned his horse and started to ride back, but then stopped. “Where he lies, Captain,” he said. “Where he lies. He deserves that much.”

The captain looked perplexed. “I'm sorry, General,” he said to O'Shannon's back. “I don't understand. You know this man?”

“No,” O'Shannon said, his voice gentle with the obeisance one warrior pays another when they are no longer enemies. “But the face is familiar.”