The Texians 2 Page 2

  That was the way Dub Ferris embraced life. He greeted each day with the exuberance of a child, finding miracles in the bloom of a prickly-pear cactus or wobbly stance of a newborn foal trying out its spindly legs for the first time. Beneath the broad expanse of his buckskin-covered chest beat the heart of a poet enamored with the sheer delight of living.

  Sands often wondered why a man like Dub ever signed up with the rangers in the first place. He should take quill in hand to record and preserve the wonders he saw and felt. But then, the red-bearded ranger could not write, except for his mark, which was a scrawled X inside a circle. Nor could he read, although he carried a leather-bound Bible in his saddlebags wherever he went.

  Sands had once asked him about the Bible, and Dub had replied, “My ma gave it to me when I struck out on my own. Don’t matter none that I can’t read the words. I know what they mean, what the Good Book teaches. Havin’ it close helps keep all that in mind.”

  Perhaps it was Dub’s inability to set his feelings down on paper that led him to the rangers, Sands thought. Although a ranger’s work often appeared more concerned with death than life, Dub, like Sands, understood that without the patrols along the frontier, there would be no Texas. Dub Ferris preserved the life he loved so dearly day after day—did so by putting his life on the line each time he rode with Captain John Coffee Hays and faced a raiding party of Comanche braves with their faces streaked red and black in war paint.

  “Look! Josh, look there. A pelican!” Dub’s arm jerked out and a finger thrust from his ham-sized hand.

  Following his friend’s pointing finger, Sands sighted a flabby-billed pelican gliding low over the waves with its great white wings spread wide.

  “He’s fishin’,” Dub continued. “Got his eye open for fish swimming just beneath the surface of the water. Watch.”

  The massive bird abruptly folded its wings. Like a rock the pelican dropped headfirst into the gently rolling waves and disappeared beneath the water. A second later, it reappeared, floating atop a wave; a silvery fish tail flipped from between its awkwardly long beak. With a sudden backward snap of its head, the pelican swallowed its catch.

  “If it’s got younguns in a nest somewhere, it keeps fish in the sack under its bill and takes ’em back to feed its chicks.” Dub watched with a laugh rolling up from chest and throat as the pelican’s wings flapped wildly. The bird rose, and its legs beat at the waves as though it ran across the water before it launched itself back in the air.

  Dub leaned back in his saddle like a man settling into an easy chair. He looked at Sands and winked. “Ain’t seen one of them since I was a boy, ’fore my pa left Maryland and came to Texas.”

  “Long ride from Maryland to Texas,” Sands said with a shake of his head. He nudged the buckskin gelding he rode farther along the sandy beach. “One I wouldn’t care to make.”

  “He’s never regretted it. Says there ain’t no place on God’s green earth like Texas.” Dub moved his gray alongside Sands. The bay Dupree had ridden trailed behind on a length of rope. Its back now bore the supplies the two men needed for their return ride to San Antonio. “Think he’s right. There’s something about this land. You can feel it in the air.”

  “Right. One day a man’s breathing salt air and watching pelicans. The next he’s eating a sandstorm’s grit and running for shelter with horned toads at his heels!”

  Sands made light of his friend’s remark, but admitted there was something special about this new land. He had felt it the moment they crossed the border back into Texas early this morning.

  To a casual observer, the eastern portion of the republic might appear no different than western Louisiana. Sands conceded the similarities, the dense forests, the swamps, but there were differences too. The land had a certain feel to it; the vegetation changed drastically, cypress gave way to towering pines, not to mention an abundance of pecan trees, sweetgums, and oaks. By noon they had ridden clear of the swamps and the bogs ...

  ... And here less than a day’s ride away, Sands thought, no one would mistake Texas for Louisiana.

  While their horses trod down a beach of white sand, no more than fifty feet to the right, a dense forest pushed upward from fertile soil. To be certain, the height of those trees had continually shrunk as the rangers rode along the coast, but that just made less work for settlers clearing the land for their farms.

  “Josh, I hope you don’t mind my taking this path today,” Dub’s voice intruded into Sands’ reflections. “But I ain’t seen the ocean in years. Seemed like a waste to just ride back to San Antonio without giving it a good look.”

  “No complaints, Dub,” Sands answered. “Kind of nice riding here with the Gulf on one side and all those trees on the other. A man forgets that a tree can grow higher than a post oak or a scrub cedar.”

  The beach and the ocean were a welcome relief. They had gotten Dub’s mind off Dupree snatching the ranger’s Colt from his belt back at Colonel Martin’s headquarters. Handling criminals wasn’t a ranger’s usual fare, and it was a mistake any man could have made. However, Dub had apologized for it at least four times during the first two hours of their ride. Listening to his friend’s exultation over nature’s beauty was far easier on Sands’ ears.

  “Ever wanted to go to sea, Josh?” Dub asked while his gaze once more turned to the Gulf of Mexico.

  “Can’t say that I’ve given it serious consideration.”

  “I have. Once when I was in Galveston, I almost signed aboard a ship, just for the hell of it.” Dub glanced at his companion. “’Fore I could, I sobered up. Decided it was more excitin’ thinkin’ about sailin’ than it would be actually doin’ it.”

  Sands grinned. “Then I’d say you’re a lucky man that the red-eye wore off. Been hell to be hung over and seasick at the same time.”

  “Probably right.” Dub laughed. “But every time I see a ship like that, I get to thinkin’ that maybe I should’ve signed on.”

  “Ship?” Sands arched an eyebrow. “Ship like what?”

  “Yonder.” Dub pointed out to the Gulf.

  Sands shielded his eyes from the glint on the water and peered toward the horizon. He blinked a couple of times, then found white sails against the blue sky. “Looks like a big one. At least three masts.”

  “Kinda interesting wondering where a ship like that’s agoing,” Dub said with a touch of a daydream in his voice. “Or where it’s been.”

  “Any place in the world the wind and water will take it, I suspect.” Sands nodded ahead. The beach abruptly ended in a jumble of rock and talus at the foot of a steep rise. “However, we, my friend, are limited to ground that can accommodate our mounts. I think it’s time we swing westward and try to find a place to make camp for the night.”

  Dub started to nod, then shook his head. “We can circle them rocks and camp atop that rise. Plenty of time to head west in the morning. That is if it’s all right with you?”

  With a tilt of his head toward the rise, Sands gave his approval, and received a broad grin from his friend in reply. Ten minutes later they both stood at the hill’s crest looking out to sea. Their horses, forelegs carefully tethered, contented themselves on the lush grass that carpeted the coastal region.

  “Somethin’ else, isn’t it?” Dub’s attention focused on the three-masted ship once again. “It seems to be hugging the coast.”

  “And you should be hugging an armload of wood for the campfire.” Sands pointed toward the forest. “See what you can gather; I’ll break out bacon and beans.”

  Dub nodded and trotted toward the trees while Sands pulled a sack from the back of the bay. Bacon, beans, and coffee wasn’t much of a meal, but it sounded like a feast to a man who was used to the cold camps of ranging and a steady diet of jerked beef and venison.

  By the time Sands had dug out a coffeepot, skillet, and slab of heavily salted bacon, Dub returned and dropped a load of scrounged timber at his friend’s feet. Sands glanced at the man who once more stared out to sea.

/>   “Ain’t doing us a hell of a lot of good just lying there. Break out a tinderbox and build a fire,” Sands suggested, glancing down at the wood.

  Dub continued to stare as though his fellow ranger’s words went unheard. He finally said, “Damned if it don’t look like that ship’s going to run aground.”

  Sands stood. Dub was right. With sails filled with wind, the ship was on a course that would eventually beach it. “Appears to be headed toward that cove we passed awhile back.”

  Peering back over the route they had taken along the beach, Sands couldn’t see the cove; it was hidden by a peninsular bluff that thrust out into the water.

  “Think it’s in trouble?” Dub asked.

  “Could be,” Sands answered, although he doubted it.

  The day was sunny and the wind steady. If there were trouble, it came on the ship’s deck and not from the elements.

  Leaving Dub staring at the approaching vessel, Sands walked to where his sleeping roll lay bundled on the ground. He reached inside the blankets and withdrew a small, three-sectioned brass telescope. He opened the spyglass and raised it to his right eye. A heartbeat later the brow above that eye arched.

  “Dub, I think you better take a look through this.” Sands tossed the telescope to his friend and watched him focus it. “What do you see?”

  “A ship ... nothing special—wait a minute! Those are uniforms—blue uniforms. And them men have got rifles!” Dub lowered the spyglass and looked at Sands, questioning. “Who are they?”

  “I couldn’t make out more than the color of the uniforms,” Sands answered as he took the telescope from Dub and peered at the ship again. “But there isn’t a single flag on any of those three masts.”

  “What’d you make of that?” Dub stared at Sands as he lowered and closed the spyglass.

  “Not certain. But it doesn’t seem right to me,” Sands said with a shake of his head. “Every ship I’ve ever seen has always had flags streaming from its masts.”

  “Think we should take a closer look? It’s only about a twenty-minute ride back to the cove.”

  Sands glanced at their grazing mounts then back at the ship. “I think we can get back just about the time the ship sails into the cove. But we’ll travel in the trees instead of the beach ... just in case.”

  “Just in case,” Dub repeated, his voice echoing his friend’s concern.

  PROFESSOR JONATHAN PEOPLES’S PATENT MEDICINES

  Sands blinked then peered through the spyglass again. The gaudy yellow words remained, as did the bright green wagon on which they were painted.

  In front of the wagon and its two-horse team stood a man dressed in a tan stovepipe hat, tan jacket with green plaid, and brown breeches with shoes to match. Even without a formal introduction, Sands would have given odds that the man was the owner of the traveling-medicine-show rig—one Professor Jonathan Peoples.

  “What’s a medicine-show man doing way out here on the middle of a beach?” Dub tried to ease aside the tangle of honeysuckle vines they hid behind, with no success.

  “At the moment, the good professor is signaling that ship,” Sands replied as he watched the man pull a large white cloth from his coat and wave it above his head as the ship entered the cove. “Here, take a look.”

  Sands scooted to one side, letting his friend at the spyglass that was poked through the vines.

  Dub squinted and shook his head. “It don’t make sense. Why would a ship be interested in somebody like a medicine-show man?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.” Sands once more took over the telescope. “Whatever it is, I don’t think it’ll take too long. The ship’s dropping anchor, and a boat’s being lowered over the side.”

  Leaning back and giving Dub another chance at the lens, Sands pulled a twist of tobacco from a pouch slung from his belt and bit off a chaw to help pass time. He listened while Dub described a large wooden crate that was lowered into the boat and the twelve uniformed men who entered after it to lay aside their rifles and pick up oars. The last man into the boat wore a plumed hat.

  “Josh, I’ve never seen a Mexican naval uniform before so I might be mistaken,” Dub said as he turned back to his friend, “but these men sure as hell look Mexican. Take a look.”

  Sands spat a brown stream of tobacco juice to his left, then leaned to the eyepiece. Through the round lens, he watched the longboat bob its way over the waves, then come rushing onto the beach on the crest of a whitecap. A second later six of the men in blue uniforms jumped over the side, grasped the prow of the small craft, and pulled it securely onto dry sand.

  Sands did recognize the blue uniforms—Mexican navy! He could also read the single word painted on the ship’s prow, VIGILANTE: the watchman. And the carriage of the man in the plumed hat and black waistcoat left no doubt he was a man of some importance. A naval commander or perhaps some other high-ranking officer, Sands thought.

  Plumed Hat saluted Professor Peoples, then waved an arm to the six men still in the boat. In turn they tossed their rifles to those already ashore, then lifted the long crate from the boat and stepped onto the beach, following Plumed Hat to Peoples’ gaudily painted medicine-show wagon.

  “They’re Mexican all right,” Sands said in a voice suddenly low and somber. “The officer in the plumed hat just handed Peoples a leather pouch like couriers carry. The good professor’s tucking it inside his coat.”

  As Sands spied on the transaction from behind the honeysuckle, he saw the officer produce another pouch, open it, and pour several gold coins into the medicine-show man’s hands. Peoples nodded, smiled widely, then pointed to the crate the uniformed men carried.

  “Maybe them rumors about Santy Anna wanting to take Texas back are true ...” Dub started to say, and was waved to silence by his fellow ranger.

  “They’re opening the crate ...”Sands watched, wishing he could hear the exchange as well as see it. A soft whistle escaped his lips as the lid was pried open. “Rifles. There’s rifles in the box. Now they’re loading them into the wagon. If this is a Mexican invasion, I can’t say much for Generalissimo Santa Anna’s tactics. One crate of rifles against all of Texas is kind of like pissing in the wind.”

  “Think we should ride in and see what’s up?”

  “Not unless you’ve a mind to get your head blown off!” Sands leaned back and passed the telescope to Dub once again. “There are fourteen men out there—twelve with rifles. Seven to one isn’t my idea of good odds.”

  “Whatever happened out there is over now. The Mexicans are gittin’ into the boat and shovin’ off,” Dub reported as he kept a steady eye to the spyglass. “They’re rowin’ back to the ship. Peoples is just standin’ there watching ’em leave. Think we should move in on him?”

  Sands spat another brown stream to the side and shook his head when Dub glanced at him. He’d have bet they’d just witnessed a quiet exchange of illicit goods were it not for the fact that Plumed Hat had paid Professor Peoples. Smugglers didn’t offer gold; they accepted it for their goods.

  “I’m not certain what we just saw, but whatever, Peoples is going somewhere with those rifles,” Sands said. “I think we might get some answers if we just follow him. Ain’t much shot of losing his trail long as he’s in that wagon. Let’s circle back, pick up our supplies, then see where our medicine-show man leads us.”

  Dub nodded, pushed himself from the ground, and in a crouched walk weaved through the woods toward where they had left their horses tied to a trunk of a sweetgum. Sands followed at his heels. By the time they mounted, they could hear Peoples calling out to his team, the crack of a whip, and the jaggle and clank of the wagon moving down the beach.

  Chapter Three

  Josh Sands pressed himself flat against the bole of a short-needle pine. Edging back the brim of his hat, he wiped away the sheen of sweat covering his brow with the arm of his shirt. Above, the thick tangle of boughs obscured the sky. Here and there points of sunlight broke through the heavy foliage like fiery diamon
ds to dapple the ground with light.

  Light or not, he couldn’t see the sun, and without it he was unable to judge the time without digging his watch from the pocket of his breeches. He cursed under his breath as irrational anger flared within him. At that moment, seeing the sun seemed like the most important thing in his life.

  Drawing a steadying breath, Sands swiped at his forehead again. Easy. Take it easy. You’ve been on the plains too long. Forgotten what it’s like in East Texas.

  His eyes shifted over the forest. For a man used to gazing out over mile after mile of open plains, the dense vegetation was like a tangled jungle that pressed in, confining him.

  To make things worse, the air was heavy with moisture. Each breath he took was like breathing under water. He was used to the dry air of the hill country, which was usually laced with dust rather than water.

  And the heat! Even without seeing the sun, he knew it was no later than noon. It wasn’t the heat of the day yet, and his body was drenched with sweat. The slight breeze moving through the forest did nothing to help. The air was too moisture-laden to evaporate perspiration.

  He softly cursed again, trying to ignore the discomforts and focus his mind on his purpose for being here. A chorus of sounds came from all around: the cries of jays and mockingbirds, the deep-throated rumbles of bullfrogs, the high whining chirps of crickets, and the drone of katydids. Above all this—an off-key song of a man humming to himself.

  It was the last that interested him. Edging around the pine, Sands peered toward the source of the sound: Professor Jonathan Peoples, purveyor of patent medicines.

  When Peoples had broken camp this morning and driven his team into the forest, Dub and Sands had concluded it would be impossible for two men with three horses to stay on the medicine-show man’s tail without drawing attention. They decided one man on foot could easily conceal himself among the trees and remain mere feet behind the wagon.