The Texians 2 Page 11

  “Captain Burton, the eight cannons the Vigilante carries are merely the armaments that any merchant ship carries ... protection from the pirates who frequent these waters,” Ramirez continued. “If an army awaited on the decks of my ship, would I have landed with only twelve men?”

  Burton didn’t answer, just stroked at his neck for a few moments, then turned and walked from the naval captain, leaving him under the guard of two rangers with Colts drawn and ready.

  “Well,” Sands asked as Burton rejoined a group of men who stood just beyond the blaze of the campfire, “do you think he’s lying?”

  Burton took a deep breath. “Could be. He sang for us awfully easy, without even having to threaten him. But I don’t think so. However, I don’t think he’s telling us everything. He’s hiding something. Damned if I know what it is. Any of you boys got any ideas?”

  None of the rangers offered any suggestions. Burton shook his head and bit at his lower lip. “Me neither. Yet I can’t help but think that sonofabitch has something up his sleeve. Look at him! You can almost see him smirking. He’s just too damned cool for a man in his position!”

  “Where do we go from here, Ike?” a ranger Sands didn’t recognize asked.

  “Been pondering that some while I listened to what Ramirez had to say.” Burton glanced over a shoulder at the Mexican naval officer who sat calmly by the fire. “If what he says is true, I think we’ve only one choice: to take the Vigilante.”

  “Take the ship?” Jess questioned.

  Another ranger added, “Captain, have you lost your mind? We ain’t no sailors!”

  Sands stared at Burton, uncertain he had heard correctly. How did he expect his men to capture the ship? They couldn’t just ride out into the bay, surround the vessel, and demand those aboard surrender.

  Burton tilted his head toward the twelve Mexican marines under guard to the left. “First thing we do is skin those uniforms off Ramirez’s marines and hogtie ’em. Even if one of them manages to get free, then? ain’t much he can do running around buck-ass naked. Sort of makes a man think twice about what he’s doing, with his cojones exposed to the elements.”

  The captain explained that twelve of his men would don the marine uniforms. “Then we’ll have Captain Ramirez take us back to his ship. He won’t be any problem as long as he’s got a Colt at his back. If what he says about there being only twenty unarmed soldiers aboard, I think we can take the ship without much trouble.”

  “Twelve against twenty—especially if they are armed—aren’t that good of odds, captain,” Sands said with a grin. “Don’t you think Professor Peoples should accompany Ramirez back to his ship?”

  Burton nodded. “You mentioned Peoples had two men helping him with the rifles. Now he’s got three: Jay, Travis, and myself. That will give us sixteen men against Ramirez’s sailors.” He paused and glanced at Mavis. “Jess, I want you and Tucker to stay here and keep an eye on the marines and our mounts. I know you two would rather come with me, but someone’s got to guard our prisoners.”

  Jess closed his mouth, leaving his protests unspoken. “I’ll tell Tucker.”

  “Any questions?” Burton’s gaze roved over his men. “One, Ike,” a man said from Burton’s right. “What do you intend to do with the ship when we take it?”

  “Sail her up the coast to Velasco,” the ranger captain answered. “The regular army is bivouacked there. They can decide what to do with Ramirez, his men, and ship. Now let’s get those marines stripped!”

  Sands sucked at his teeth as he started toward the prisoners. Captain Jack Hays would never believe this when he finally made it back to San Antonio. If he ever made it to San Antonio again. Velasco was two hundred and fifty miles to the north—a long way for men accustomed to horseback rather than the deck of a ship. That was, if they could gain the decks of the Vigilante.

  The constant lapping of waves against the longboat and the rhythmic rise and fall of the oars were the only sounds that Sands heard over the light night wind. No one spoke or whispered, none trusted his Spanish accent should the breeze carry his voice to the ears of the native speakers aboard the Vigilante.

  Instead, Burton’s company of rangers, now disguised in the uniforms of Mexican marines, bent to their oars with heads low to avoid the light of the lanterns hung fore and aft in the small craft. Burton himself, like Sands, wore his hat tugged low to his face, shadowing his features with the brim. Occasionally his gaze lifted to judge the boat’s approach to the vessel that lay silhouetted against a sky lit by a thin sliver of a new moon.

  Only Captain Ramirez stared toward the anchored ship, his face illuminated by the glow of the fore lantern for all aboard to see. A position he maintained with the encouragement of the muzzle of Sands’ Colt nestled snuggly in the small of his back.

  “Raise oars,” Ramirez ordered in Spanish as the boat slid alongside the Vigilante.

  Sands repeated the command in whispered English, and the rangers drew their oars from the water and held them high, imitating the action of the Mexican marines they had seen earlier. A boarding ladder dropped over the side of the ship and Ramirez reached out and secured it.

  “Follow your standard procedures ... don’t forget a thing,” Sands whispered to the man, emphasizing his point with a jab of his pistol.

  “Rest assured, I have no intention of endangering myself or my crew,” Ramirez replied, then hailed those aboard the ship and requested permission to board.

  A man Ramirez identified under his breath as his first mate poked his head over the side of the Vigilante and waved his captain upward. As Ramirez lifted a hand for one of the ladder’s rungs, Burton edged him aside with an elbow and took the ladder.

  “Easy, captain. You didn’t think we’d let you climb aboard first and leave us down here alone, did you?” Burton said out of the side of his mouth.

  “I would have been negligent in my duties if I hadn’t tried.” Ramirez gave a weak smile and touched the brim of his plumed hat in salute to Burton.

  The ranger captain ignored the gesture of mock gallantry, his gaze moving to Sands. “Jay will follow me up, then let Ramirez on the ladder. We’ll have him covered from above.”

  Sands nodded and watched as Burton and his second in command moved up the ladder and onto the deck of the Vigilante. Pressing the Colt against Ramirez’s back one last time for good measure, he whispered, “Now you, nice and easy like.”

  As the naval officer grasped the ladder, Sands slipped the Colt into its holster before those above could notice the weapon. He then turned to the men in the boat and whispered, “Move out one at a time as soon as I’m up. Make it quick, but don’t draw suspicion.”

  Glancing up, he saw Ramirez climb onto the deck. He reached out, took the ladder, and awkwardly pulled himself up the netlike web of rope and wood.

  The deck itself was deserted except for two men on watch, Ramirez, and his first mate. The latter two stood quietly subdued with Burton and Jay’s Colts jammed against their ribs, watching the twelve rangers in disguise climb aboard the Vigilante one after the other.

  Burton’s head tilted to the far side of the ship and half the rangers moved across the deck, while the remainder positioned themselves along the starboard railing. The ranger captain then looked at Ramirez.

  “The rest of your men, where are they?”

  “Below sleeping,” the officer replied. “I had no intention of unloading our cargo until the morrow.”

  Scratching at his throat, Burton pursed his lips, then motioned to the two guards. “Call them over and explain what’s happened.” He turned to Jay, “Soon as the guards come, you and Bradley take them and the first mate below. See that they are locked away for the night with the rest of the crew.”

  Burton’s second in command waited, then did as instructed. Moments later, he returned to report the crew was securely locked and barred below.

  “Good, we’ll deal with them in the morning before we set sail. The night’s too dangerous. A man gets to thinking t
he darkness is concealing what he’s doing, and he’ll decide to be a hero,” Burton said, then almost as an afterthought. “Jay, things are going too damned smoothly. Take about half the men and search the ship from stem to stern. Can’t help but think Captain Ramirez has got an ace up his sleeve, and it’s hidden somewhere on this ship.” While the ranger called for the men to aid in the search, Burton turned to Sands. “You and Holman take the captain to his cabin and see that he’s tucked away for the night. If he agrees to stay put and forget about escaping, there’s no need to bind his hands.”

  “I repeat, captain, I have no intention of endangering myself, crew, or ship.” Ramirez’s gaze shifted to Sands. “Follow me, my cabin’s aft. However, the only lock is on the inside.”

  “Then Holman will stand guard outside,” Burton said. “Sands, get back here as soon as you’ve got him out of the way. I’ve got another job for you.”

  With Ramirez in tow, Sands walked to the aft of the ship, through a pair of doors, down three steps, and into his cabin. After a quick search that produced two pistols and one saber, he closed the doors on the Mexican naval captain and rejoined Burton topside. Jay was already talking with the ranger captain.

  “No others aboard,” Burton’s second in command said. “But Ramirez wasn’t telling everything about the cargo. There’s at least a hundred kegs of black powder aboard, cases of rifle balls, as well as foodstuffs.”

  Burton’s eyes widened. “Damn! Make certain none of the men decide to light up a pipe. If fire ever got to that, this ship would take the bay with it when it blew. Also see to it that a guard is with that powder at all times. Don’t want Ramirez or one of his men getting any ideas about putting a torch to it.”

  The ranger captain let his gaze run about the ship while his fingertips busied themselves with the stubble on his chin. “I think that should do it—at least until morning. Might have some problems when we release the sailors, but we sure as hell ain’t going anywhere without them, so we don’t have a choice.”

  Again Burton paused and looked around the ship before his gaze alighted on Sands. “Son, take Bradley and Simpson and go back to camp. I want to get those naked marines stowed away on the ship tonight. We’ll have enough problems tomorrow without worrying about getting them aboard.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sands acknowledged. “What about Jess and Tucker?”

  “They’re to follow us along the coast with the horses,” Burton replied. “Now get a move on. I want to set sail for Velasco at sunup.”

  Calling for Bradley and Simpson, Sands moved to the boarding ladder and climbed into the boat waiting below. Minutes later, he and Simpson busied themselves with oars while Bradley sat in the stem with the rudder. As the small craft slipped away from the Vigilante, Sands stared at the merchant ship as though seeing it for the first time. As impossible as it seemed, the ship had been taken—not by the army or by trained sailors, but by a small company of rangers! Pride swelled in Sands’ chest—and not one shot had been fired!

  Sands’ thought came an instant too soon.

  The crack of a rifle shot came from the shore—followed by answering Colts.

  “Row!” Sands called to Simpson. “Those damned marines have gotten loose!”

  Together, each stroke of the long oars rising and falling in unison, Sands and Simpson pulled the boat toward the shore with all the strength of their arms and backs. Five minutes that seemed like five hours passed before the waves caught the craft and sent it rushing upon the beach. Colts in hand, the three rangers leaped from the boat, ran past the dying embers of Sands’ signal fire, and took cover among the trees skirting the beach. Nothing met their gazes except darkness.

  “Let’s move in slowly,” Sands directed his two companions. “Keep your eyes open. If the Mexicans are loose, they’ll be waiting for us.”

  Cautiously, slipping from trunk to trunk, Sands led the way into the night-shrouded wood. The only sounds that came from about the three were the cries and hoots of night birds seeking their prey. Nor did they catch a glimpse of the marines.

  Sands halted his companions again when they did see the glow of the small campfire Burton had ordered built after the capture of Ramirez and his men. Huddled by that campfire were the twelve naked marines—arms and legs still securely bound.

  “What the hell is going on?” Sands sighted Jess and Tucker sitting at the base of an oak nearby. A white bandage was wrapped about Jess’s left forearm.

  As Bradley and Simpson started for the camp, Sands held up an arm to hold them back and called out, “Jess, it’s Josh Sands. Is everything all right?”

  “Hell, no, it ain’t all right. The bastard shot me in the arm—then he got away,” Jess answered. “Come on in. He’s probably halfway to the border by now.”

  “He?” Sands asked as he and his companions joined the two. “What happened here?”

  “He just rode out of the woods—a big, white-haired bastard.” Jess tilted his head toward the north, indicating where the man had come from. “Called out for Ramirez. Then he saw us and them naked marines.”

  “In the bat of an eye, he had his rifle out and took a shot at Jess,” Tucker picked up the tale. “By the time I had my pistol free of my belt, he was laying flat on the neck of his horse, riding in a full run toward the south.”

  “No damage done,” Jess said, glancing at his arm. “Just nicked me a bit. Poured some corn likker I got hid away in my sleeping roll on it. Thing that makes me madder than a wet hen is that the sonofabitch got away before I could repay him for this. Didn’t even get a shot off.”

  “White hair? Are you certain he wasn’t blond?” Sands’ mind raced.

  “White, blond, who knows. Hell, that fire don’t throw off that much light,” Jess answered. “One thing though, there was something funny about his neck.”

  “Yeah,” Tucker cut in. “He had something on the left side of his neck. Run down the whole side of neck, starting up by his ear.”

  “Cotton Blue!” The name came as a curse from Sands’ lips.

  The ugly pieces fell into place. Cotton Blue must have known that Peoples intended to meet Ramirez’s ship here in Copano. After he had escaped Caldwell’s attack on Peoples, he had decided to meet the ship on his own, only to find others had gotten here before him.

  “Five minutes! Five goddamned minutes!” Anger swelled in Sands’ chest. “If we’d left the ship five minutes earlier, I would have had him!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sunrise came; however, the men of Isaac Burton’s ranger company never saw it. Nor was the Vigilante’s anchor hauled from Copano Bay. Dark slate-gray clouds boiled in the sky, slow-moving thunderheads that pushed in from the Gulf of Mexico, bringing with them a torrential deluge and easterly winds that whipped gentle waves into high-cresting, spuming whitecaps.

  Josh Sands stood guard duty, hands securely locked on the rail to maintain a precarious balance on the rolling foredeck. The hat brim drawn low to his face and oiled slicker he wore provided little protection against the storm’s fury. Major rivers flowed down his neck and seeped beneath the tightly drawn slicker to soak clothes and body beneath.

  The only comforting thought he could find as he blinked against the downpour and stared toward the mouth of the bay was that time had not permitted him to change out of his makeshift disguise. Cotton and wool could always be hung to dry; his buckskins would have been as stiff as a board after a drenching like this.

  Below him, on the ship’s main deck, five rangers desperately clutched the rail and hung their heads over the side. The remnants of their morning meal had long ago been emptied into the churning waters. Now they simply endured the onslaught of dry heaves brought with each unmerciful toss of the waves. Men accustomed to the backs of horses were ill suited to riding a storm at sea—or even here in the protected bay.

  Not so with the three Mexican sailors who Captain Burton had brought topside to secure the ship from wind and rain. In bare feet, they confidently scurried over the wooden decks
without hesitation as the ship rolled and bucked.

  Sands tried to picture the three on the back of an untamed mustang. Perhaps on dry land the image would have been amusing, but as he clung to the Vigilante’s rail, the humor was lost amid the disquiet of his stomach and gut.

  “Any sign of this breaking up?” a voice called out above the roar of the wind and rain.

  Sands glanced over a shoulder to find Captain Burton climbing his way onto the foredeck in a less than steady stance. “Nothing but gray to the horizon.”

  “Damn!” Burton cursed as he reached Sands’ side and grasped the rail. The knuckles of his hands glowed white under the pressure of his grip. “Been with Ramirez in his cabin. The bastard still has that smirk on his face. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he planned this storm just to keep us from leaving.”

  Burton released the rail with his left hand to wipe the rain from his face. It was a wasted effort. The wind gusted, and a torrent hit him directly in the eyes. Cursing again, he carefully turned his back to the eastern horizon and the buffeting wind.

  “Half the men are bright green around the gills. Damned lucky Ramirez’s men are as placid as he is. If the sailors decided to make a break, we couldn’t stop them. Most of them are content to just sleep away the storm in their bunks.”

  “They’re sailors, not marines,” Sands replied. “Talked to a couple of them last night. Seems they’re not too happy about being impressed into naval service. They’re used to hauling cargo, not fighting. I don’t think they’ll give us any trouble.”