YOU MUST KILL HIM FIRST

By William McChesney

This story begins in the early months of 1861 during a routine patrol along the Red River by a detachment of rangers working out of Waco, Texas. Their primary duty is to keep Indians on the other side of the river and out of Texas. Their duty is the safety of the settlers and this responsibility is sacred to them. Thaddeus Thorndike is the ranger captain leading this patrol and has been a ranger all of his adult life. His father served as a ranger captain before him and his brother is currently in overall charge of the Waco detachment. Everything is about to change however. Upon returning home from their extended patrol, they all discover that the civil war had begun and that Texans would be called on to serve the Southern cause. These men decided to serve, but not as individuals being drafted, but as a unit of highly trained horse soldiers or cavalry, and in order to do that, they must go to Tennessee in force prior to receiving draft notices. General Sam Houston was a close friend of the governor of Tennessee and was instrumental in getting them special consideration for assignment to a new cavalry unit being formed at that exact time. This is a portrayal of the exploits of that unit, the Third Tennessee under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Bedford Forrest. The following is a historically accurate account of that unit as it battled its way through the entire war. It allows for a side story to develop that makes this account so much more than merely another war story. Treachery, jealousy, and hatred rear their ugly heads and create a situation that goes far beyond the war and must be violently dealt with.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781640825789

Book preview

Rangering Along the Red River

One

Even though my stop was abrupt and unannounced, the others had no problem reining in and getting stopped as well. For one, we weren’t moving very fast; and for another, we were all looking for the same thing and mostly saw it at the same time. We had been traveling westerly on the high ground overlooking the Red River and were searching for any sign that riders came out of the shallow water and up on the bank on our side of the river. We were hoping to find the very thing that we had spent the better part of a week looking for and now that we were sitting there peering down at their sign, I don’t think any of us were all that thrilled. The tracks of eight or nine Indian ponies in the soft mud at the water’s edge were as clear a sign as I have ever seen, and they were made within the last hour or so.

I retrieved my binoculars and scanned up ahead to the far away horizon, probably five miles. Then I turned to my left and slowly moved from up close to as far as I could see. All the while I was looking for tracks and or any sign of movement. But being that the vegetation was extremely dense, I wasn’t seeing much nor did I expect to even if they were in there and no more than a few hundred yards away from where we are sitting. The odds are good that we’re being watched, and I know with an amount of certainty that we’ll not be tried. First and foremost, we’re Texas Rangers and had been tracking heathen Indians from the beginning of our time here in Texas, and secondly, we number ten fully armed and seasoned veterans. And finally, we haven’t lost a single engagement in thirty-five years of coming face-to-face with them. That even includes a few times when they outnumbered us two or three to one, and I for one know that this is always on their mind. But for some insane reason, it seems to be their destiny or purpose in life to make the crossing into Texas. All I can figure is that it makes the fools feel like big men for trying to do something so difficult. Who knows, maybe it’s all they have that’s worthwhile.

I handed the binoculars over to Silas as I spoke, See what you can see. Those tracks are going off that direction, and I’m counting nine riders with no one on foot.

I turned my mount and moved over to Nate Turner. He already had our map and journal out of its carrying case when I pulled up alongside. I waited as he examined both, and eventually, it was he who spoke first, The Buford place is in the direction of their tracks, I’d say no more than ten miles. Cap, I can’t think they intend to take them on. The Buford brothers have too many guns, I’d say as many as eight shooters with six of them being real good marksmen. The others that are close by are twice the distance with the Buford spread in between. Those braves can’t be that stupid or that hungry for a fight like that. What are you thinking?

I responded, We’ve been circling around out here the better part of two weeks now, and we have to be going on toward the bottom half of April. We haven’t had a sighting since the end of November, and we all know that length of time has to be a record. Gentlemen, listen up…I think this group is fixing to become cowboys. I bet the buffalo have already moved off toward Kansas and in their dim-witted minds, the Buford herd seems to be the most convenient beef for them to get at. I’m thinking they have already scouted it out and are now executing their plan. With there being nine of them, they must figure to take as many as fifty longhorns and possibly be back in Oklahoma yet today.

Mabe was next to speak, We got coffee fixings for two more camps and that means at least one dry camp if we start back to Waco right now. Cap, you have to know, a ranger without his fill of burning hot coffee makes him break out in a rash or worse.

I replied, I already figured to stop in on the Buford’s wearing my most friendly face and see if they couldn’t sell us five pounds of beans. Now, if and when we save their herd, they’ll most likely give it to us free as well as a home-cooked meal. Mabe, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with your cooking, but there’s no comparison to what a woman can do with the same fixings.

Silas handed me the binoculars and spoke, Cap, I think this would be the proper time for some coffee and beef jerky. I think we’ll have a better go of it if we start this fight on our terms and not theirs. Once they get their steers, they’ll be spread out all over the place trying desperately to maintain control, and we can merely take up positions and pick them off one by one and from enough distance to keep there from ever being a stampede. At least, this is the way I see it.

I spoke, This is one of the main reasons I like riding with you fellows so much. No one is suicidal, and someone usually comes up with a great plan.

Mabe was quick to get his words said next, Right over here is the best place for a fire. The tree branches will get rid of what little smoke there will be, and with as dry as everything is right now, there won’t be very much to see, but I do know that a ranger can smell hot coffee from five miles away.

I said, Most likely you’re right, but an Indian doesn’t even know what coffee is.

Silas silently caught my eye and then motioned to the trail, and as I was the only one who picked up on his gesture, I knew what he was trying to say and then responded verbally, Silas and I will follow their trail for a while to make certain that we’re onto their plan. So enjoy your coffee, but make certain to keep your eyes peeled. And for the sake of all that is holy, keep a close rein on your mounts. Fifty miles would be quite a walk for any of, us and we all know mostly from firsthand experience what these heathens are capable of. I don’t know for sure, but they may like horse stealing more than they like scalping. Save us our share of the coffee. We can drink it cold if need be.

We carefully moved away from the others with our best invisibility act and were as quiet as is possible while on a horse. Once we were far enough away from the others as to not be overheard, Silas whispered, Didn’t want to say anything back there being that you’re our captain.

I said, Kind of glad you didn’t. For a minute, my mind locked up, and I lost my concentration. Thanks for reminding me just where we are and what we’re doing out here. Let’s stay with their trail at least for a mile. If I’m remembering right, we’ll be getting through this dense growth of snarly pines by then and with our binoculars should be able to see for miles into the hilly prairie beyond that. Hopefully, that’s where the herds are today, and please God, let it be a time when none of the Buford’s are watching over them. I want us to do the killing today and not the Indians.

Silas whispered back to me, Weren’t too long ago when we could have been certain these fellers were Cherokee, but now the odds are more that they’re Cheyenne. Hell, we never go across the Red River, but I’d sure be interested in knowing the games they must be playing with each other over there. Where do you suppose all that hate comes from?

I responded, I can easily answer your question with another question: Could it be the same reason that both tribes hate us? We moved into their territory uninvited, and as I’ve heard it told, the Cherokee were pushed into Oklahoma and a land that the Cheyenne had claimed for centuries. Silas, it seems real natural to me. No one takes kindly to being shoved around or encroached upon.

I had just finished talking when Silas pulled up and gave me the silent signal to do the same. He slid out of the saddle and I followed his lead, but unlike him, I’ve seen nothing yet. He made the gesture for us to inch our horses back to better cover and still hadn’t whispered anything. Hell, are we that close?

About ten feet back up what trail there was, we tied our mounts securely to some low branches and near an ample supply of edible grass. It was then that he whispered directly into my ear from a mere inches away, There’s a Cheyenne buck sitting on his pony at the edge of the clearing, and fortunately, he’s facing out toward the vast open space. He has to be watching his comrades and not the trail as he most likely was directed to do. I have to think the roundup has already begun or why else would he be disobeying.

I whispered, Can we get to him, and can we kill him without his friends seeing it?

He responded, Being that there’s nine of them, I think you’re making a plan that goes beyond killing the lookout. Care to share it with me?

Again, I whispered, Don’t want to get too carried away with a lot of talking without knowing his whereabouts even though I don’t suppose he speaks American and will understand what we say. How far is he down there?

Silas spoke, Maybe fifty feet….no more.

I replied, In that case, keep your ear real close. We’ll be making this plan real quiet like, so here goes. Unless they know a better way, what they’re trying to do is next to impossible. These Texas cows just can’t be herded anywhere you choose mostly because of the length of their horns and the narrowness of the trail. Hell, we could hardly get through, and we aren’t wearing six or seven feet of horns that would somehow have to get through the narrow little spaces between all the trees as well. Also, we don’t need to tangle with the Indians in here either. Once a battle gets underway, they could become real hard to see and some of them could possibly slip away. Worse yet, being in close with them could get some of our friends shot up or even killed, and you have to know how their kin would take that news.

He responded, Cap, I see where you’re coming from, but do you think it’s fair that we get to have all the fun?

I added, Silas, what you and I think is fun are worlds apart, and I won’t even go there. Now, back to the plan. We’ll need to see how close the others are before we do anything. We sure don’t need to get their attention until they’re in range and with us both carrying two carbines. We have to be sure of all four shots. That will leave four for us to deal with after that and with both our hands full of Colt revolvers. We should fare just fine.

Silas interrupted, Just so I know if we’re thinking alike, you figure to take the fellows furthest away with our Sharps, don’t you?

I almost couldn’t find words to respond to his comment. We’ve been doing this kind of work the better part of ten years now and what he just said was way beyond what I would think I would ever hear him say. Finally, I spoke, I know how good you are with a hand gun, but this time…let’s do it by the book and take the rifle shots first. But let’s try to wait as long as possible with our first shots, possibly when the far riders are inside of two hundred yards. Even with this, we’ll still be making pistol shots up to a hundred yards. And we have to know, they won’t just be sitting there while we aim.

Silas said, If they’re the typical Cheyenne brave, they’ll start hollering and charge right at us. You know, Cap, I’ve never been able to figure that out. You and I know that it’s suicide, and for some reason, they seem to all want to die that way.

I answered, It all comes from the lack of leadership, I’m afraid. Without a chief telling them what to do, the others feel like equals and become individual fighters and that particular move seems to be the only one that they know. That, my friend, is why we have the success we do, and we should be glad that it’s the way it is. I’d hate losing my friends and neighbors to a battle-savvy foe. If you’re ready, let’s ease up there and have us a good look.

After a couple of minutes, I saw the brave for the first time who was failing at his assigned task of keeping an eye on the trail. He was sitting there some twenty feet out on the prairie with an ancient rifle cradled in his arms and was watching as his friends slowly and carefully moved the small herd forward. My attention went from him to the others and our timing couldn’t have been better. As we suspected, they were moving about fifty steers, and the animals didn’t seem to be all that agreeable as they liked the grass where they were and didn’t much like being bothered. With the absence of cowboy know-how, they were struggling; and if the situation wasn’t so dire, it’d have been comical. I looked over at Silas, and we both grinned at one other, especially after seeing one of the braves break his lance over the rump of an ornery bull. If the beggar was going to live, he’d have to figure out a good story to tell his squaw as to how he lost his lance. It was then that Silas reached back and unsheathed his mighty bowie knife and then looked back to me for a final instruction. He was ready and once they moved a few more feet, I’d be as well. We were motionless. We were tense, and more than anything else, we were all business now.

Soon, I gave him the nod, and he eased up into a kneeling position; and if the Indians that were driving the herd would have looked up, he’d have been out there in plain sight for all to see. He reared back and, with a mighty swing, hurled the knife with the kind of accuracy that I’ve grown to expect. It went in the buck’s upper back all the way to the hilt and the impact from the heavy knife was enough to knock him to the ground. Most likely he was dead when he hit, and to my surprise, his horse never moved an inch. Silas dropped back down and looked at me then whispered, How do you figure that? Even his horse is touched with a case of stupid.

I didn’t have to whisper now and spoke, You take the two on your side, and I’ll get the two over here. You ready?

He replied, We could wait a couple more minutes to shorten the pistol shots if you like.

I added, Until one of them looks over this way…we’ll wait. Be ready and I’ll give the word. We don’t want to make this too easy.

Eventually, I gave the word and both of us fired from a prone position, and just like that, two ponies no longer were burdened by the weight of a rider. We both went to our second Sharp’s carbine and the results were the same, but for some reason, the cattle were making so much noise that the other Indians didn’t hear the shots nor see our smoke. I called over to Silas, We might just as well reload our long guns. I think they’re all deaf.

We did just that and killed the other Indians and the only way it would have been easier is if we killed them while they were sleeping. Out of instinct, we reloaded, and for the longest time just sat there looking out at the herd. Finally, I spoke, You realize the others won’t believe the truth so we might just as well create a story.

He laughed. Hell, I don’t believe it and I’ve been right here the entire time. Cap, I ain’t been in the middle of anything this easy, ever. Maybe it was repayment for some of the close calls awhile back.

He got me to chuckling as well, but eventually sanity got the better of me and I asked, Got any of that chew left? And wouldn’t a cup of Mabe’s coffee taste good right about now?

I hardly got the chew working good before I heard a voice call out from a short distance back behind us. It was Mabe, and he called out almost as if he heard my words a minute earlier, What you fellers shootin’ at? You ain’t killin’ the Buford cattle, are you?

I responded, Nothing like that, my friend, but all the Indians have been properly killed and all that we need to do now is dispose of their remains. If you can, try to corral their ponies long enough to free them from all the feathers, blankets, and bridals. Maybe next time they come face-to-face with an Indian, they’ll run like hell in the opposite direction. Mabe, what about our coffee?

As he rode up beside the boulder that we were perched on, he spoke, Got it right here in my canteen, and I’m betting it’s still warm. Once we heard the shooting, we came on the double. Why didn’t you call us up?

I answered, Mabe, there wasn’t the time. They were right here, and you have to know how dangerous a shoot-out in this undergrowth would have been. I just couldn’t risk it, and besides, you know how good a shot Silas is.

From up ahead, Ned called out, Silas, you lose your Texas toothpick in this feller’s back? It sure looks like yours, but if it ain’t, I’d love to call it my own.

Silas didn’t see the attempt at humor like the others did and shouted, Over my dead body and just maybe then it still won’t be all that easy. Now, bring it over here, but wipe it off first. You know how sensitive I am about the sight of blood, especially on my knife.

He had just got the words out when I heard horses and they were coming fast. At once I thought it was from more Indians, but a quick look back past the cattle herd, I knew that these riders were white men, most likely from the Buford clan. I stood up and waved them over, but none of us were in any kind of hurry to drop our guard. There were five of them, and they all had long rifles.

They slowed as they approached, mostly so as not to spook any of the steers and then eased on over to my perch. The elder Buford spoke, You must be Texas Rangers, and I thank you kindly for stopping this. How’d you know?

I responded, We’ve been out of Waco for two weeks, and it was an accident that we saw their tracks coming out of the river. We do know who lives where and it was our guess that it was your cattle that they were after. It’s that time of year when the buffalo start moving off toward Kansas and these heathens think they need to eat, and they have never cared whose food they steal. There were nine of them, and we got them all.

He said, Only heard eight rifle shots. What did you do, throw a rock at one of them?

Silas stood up and had that grin on his face as he spoke, Shucks no, I let this feller play with my knife for a couple minutes. Was just getting it back when you rode in. Ain’t it grand?

The elder Buford spoke, That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen and here all this time I thought mine was the biggest. You don’t want to swap, do you?

Silas was sure enjoying this and added, Just like I told old Ned a minute before you all rode up, you can take it off my corpse if you’re man enough.

He laughed back as he added, You mean after a good old-fashioned knife fight, and I’m assuring you, I’m way too old for that kind of foolishness. You just keep your knife. You fellows have the time for a sit down? Our women can make food taste real good, and you folks are welcome to whatever we have. We’ve got some corn squeezing and tobacco for later and a real nice barn for you all to sleep in. What do you say?

I responded, My name is Thaddeus Thorndike, and I’m the leader of this rabble. Everyone just calls me Cap and it’s no more complicated than that. We’d love to take you up on your offer with one additional request and only if you can spare it. We’ve flat run ourselves out of coffee and will pay you handsomely for five pounds of beans. We’ll be heading back to Waco in the morning, and with any luck, that’s only three camps.

He answered, Like I said, what’s mine is yours with the exception of our womenfolk. Now let’s ride.

I asked, What about the corpses?

He was obliging, The boys will ride out here tomorrow and burn them. I know it’s not very Christian, but it’s what I want them to know their fate will be anytime they decide to make the crossing.

Way Too Much Rain

Two

My horse stepped up on the little mesa and this afforded me a perfect view of the magnificent valley below. I moved forward enough so the others could have room to step up on the level as well. It was raining quite hard and had been since early morning, and it was cold and it was spine-chilling nasty. My slicker wasn’t getting the job done, and I can’t remember the last time I was so miserable. The water even found its way through the top of my western brimmed hat and not only had my head soaked, but the damned water was running down my neck and onto my back. My knees down to my boots were as wet as they would have been had I gone wading in the river. This misery wasn’t mine alone, and I had to know everyone was suffering. We all needed shelter and most of all we needed to dry out. I got my binoculars up to my eyes and focused then scanned from north to south. All I saw that was alive were some mule deer moving around over by the forest. I then turned my attention to the Anderson ranch or, more than anything, what was left of it. A couple years ago they just pulled up stakes and moved back East. I heard that it had something to do with the estate of a family member back in Tennessee and that was all that anyone ever heard of them after that. All I know is that this is one beautiful place and I can’t for the life of me understand why other folks haven’t taken squatter rights. If my situation was different, I believe I would.

I looked at the others as I spoke, There’s no movement down at the Anderson place, so we’ll be taking the place over until this damned rain stops. From here, it looks like the roofs are still where they belong, and just maybe, we’ll be able to find us a dry place. Mabe, how we doing for fixings?

He responded, All we got as far as found is concerned are beans, flour, some salt and soda, and of course a whole lot of coffee.

As I looked from one half-drowned ranger to another, I spoke, If a couple of you have the energy to ride over to the woods, I’m betting that we can have venison as well. I’ll say this, whoever the two of you are, there’ll be no guard duty tonight and please don’t do an overkill. I know how big a buck mule deer can be and a little doe will do us just fine. You know how I hate waste.

After this little parley, we carefully moved down off the high place and then sloshed our way over to the buildings. First is first and we tended to the horses. The barn was mostly dry, and there was still an amount of hay, both for them to lay on and to nibble on as well. Other than our saddles, we took everything else over to the house and noticed right off that it wasn’t built for ten large men, but it was dry, and there was an amount of dry firewood too. Mabe had a good fire going in the hearth, and it was finally drawing the way it was intended. Initially, we had our doubts because most of the smoke was being drawn into our space and that is never very pleasant. Fifteen minutes later, and we were all stripped to our drawers with wet clothing stretched out in every conceivable way. Considering that we had just spent two weeks in those clothes without a bath, the cabin reeked to high heaven. It reminded me of a wet dog. Hell, it was like ten wet dogs.

Lukas heard the horses as they neared the cabin and called out to me. I eased over to the door and opened it a crack, but I had my Colt handy just in case it wasn’t our friends. Alphonso hailed the cabin, and after recognizing his voice, I opened the door. The rain was really coming down, and it was quite dark for this time of day and from fifteen feet you couldn’t know who was who out there. He hollered, Where do you want this critter?

I replied, Just drop it here on the porch. This is as good a place as any to skin her out, and I want to commend you, she’s the perfect size. We’ll eat our fill tonight and again in the morning. Now, take care of your animals and find yourselves a place by the fire. Mabe’s got the beans and coffee started already.

A couple hours later and no one could move, they were so stuffed and I even heard some snoring, and it wasn’t fully dark yet. I took this time to speak, Gentlemen, we still have the bottle of whiskey in our medical pouch and being that no one saw fit to get himself shot or worse, I think we should pass it around. I’d hate turning it back into supply unopened. Being that we’ll be in our own beds tomorrow night and that this will be our last camp, I’m going to take a big chance and remove the cork. Now, hear this. If any of you decide to get hurt tomorrow, you’ll be on your own, dealing with the pain. You’ll just have to grin and bear it. Also, there’s no need to have guard shifts if a couple of you can see fit to sleep out in the barn. Mabe, make sure there’s lots of coffee and now, so much from a bossy captain. Let’s pass the bottle and be gentlemanly about it, as if that’s possible.

We were more than halfway through the bottle when Lukas Ploughman asked, Cap, being that this is my first time out and the rest of you are seasoned veterans, I’d like to hear about the early years. I’ve overheard just enough to be real confused about those times. Wasn’t your pappy in the thick of things back then?

I smiled because I liked the idea of talking about it and have known for some time that what happened should never be forgotten. I responded, I’ll get it started and anyone with something to add should jump into the fray. My folks moved out here from Shreveport in 1827 because of the free land, and within two years, my pappy became a ranger. My big brother was four or five at the time, and I wasn’t even thought of yet. That was our beginning, and it was one dangerous place with Indian raids mostly on a daily basis, and on top of that, the Mexicans broke the treaty for one reason or the other and we got a full-blown war for independence started. My father rode with ‘Deaf’ Smith, John Tumlinson, and Bigfoot Wallace to mention a few. Now, Lukas, you’re probably recognizing these names from right here in this room. Alphonso is John Tumlinson’s son and Theodore Wallace is Bigfoot’s nephew. You realize that Silas Coffee is also a captain and second in command if I were to fall. His father held the same rank and mostly battled Cherokee Indians during the war. Silas, am I right about that?

Silas continued, You’re right. Had it not been for a handful of rangers, the Brazos all the way to the Red River would have been lost to the Indians. He did join the others at the last battle down by Galveston Bay when they captured Santa Ana. To this day he still talks about Deaf Smith and that it was the last time they fought side by side. I still think ‘Deaf’ is more revered than Houston or Austin, and I feel terrible that he died from consumption before I was old enough to meet him. My pappy talks as much about the two lads from New Orleans that came here to help our cause. They apparently had a lot to do with our success with both the Indians and the Mexicans, and from what I’ve been told, they thought the sun rose and set on Jim Bowie and Deaf as well.

Lukas asked, Whatever became of them?

Silas continued, I know they weren’t brothers and one was named Lukas, just like you, and the other was Richard. Got no idea of their last names. Once this place got too peaceful for their liking, they went back to New Orleans. As the story goes, they were filthy rich and used a lot of their own money to pay for munitions that we got from the United States. It sure sounds crazy, but every time I talk about it, I’m taken by the notion. But I swear…everything is true. Not only were they heroes here in Texas but were and still are revered all the way from Pittsburgh to New Orleans. It’s a shame…I never got to know them either.

I added, Lukas, they’re what my pappy likes to talk about the most when the time is right and the jug is being passed around. I know they were real people, but it’s difficult to believe some of the stories. They were the best there was with their fists, with knives, and with both pistol and rifles. From what I have been told by a lot of folks that knew them, including Sam Houston, they wanted to be at the Alamo with their friends in the worse possible way. But Houston was already thinking beyond that place and the lads along with Deaf were intricate parts of his plan. Who knows…adding them to the fighting men at the Alamo could possibly have made the difference, but most likely not.

Mabe called out, The bottle is empty and the coffeepot is now set up for the morning. Let’s settle…I’m exhausted. Besides, this is the usual conversation at most fires when it’s safe enough to be jawing, and I’m sure we’ll all hear more as time goes on.

Lukas spoke, One last thing that gnaws at me and I’d really like to know. What about Crockett?

I responded, You’re referring to Davy Crockett, aren’t you? Well, for one reason or the other, he came into Texas by boat from New Orleans with as many as twenty followers, mostly Tennesseans, and against Houston’s wishes slipped into the Alamo before it was surrounded. As you must already know, they all died there and most likely quite bravely. As far as his reason, the story is told that his reason isn’t as gallant as initially thought. Seems that he was hoping to regain the popularity of his glory years and possibly reenter the political arena. We don’t think he ever understood the real danger. Now…it’s time to do some sleeping.

Another War

Three

I ordered the column to halt at the edge of the Navasota, which until right now wasn’t something that any of us ever gave any thought to. This little trickle of water was always there, but never as much as a foot deep and never more than ten feet across. Now, we were looking at a swollen river close to being out of its banks with the water moving quite fast and to top that off, all kinds of debris was heading down stream with the flow.

I looked over to Silas and spoke, We got a lot of rain, obviously way more than I’d have ever guessed. Until right now, I never thought of the Navasota as a river, but it sure as hell is today. What do you think we should do? Home is over there and this could take days to drop back down to what we’ve grown accustomed to.

He was gritting his teeth and looked to be in some sort of pain, but eventually imparted his wisdom on all of us. He added, "She can’t be more than three or four feet deep, and I know we’ve crossed worse. The only problem is…I’ve already had my bath for this month, and it was just yesterday. I don’t think the current is enough to knock any of us over, but we’re going to get soaked.

It’s got to be all of fifty feet across there, and we can keep our fingers crossed that nobody goes down. Taint no day for a swim, and I’m betting the water is real cold too. Cap, you can take a vote, but I’m figuring no one will want to wait it out. Most everyone’s mind is on the home fires and the notion of getting bedded down with his missus and nothing is going to change that, not even this deluge of water. You might just as well give the order. We all want to cross right now.

Well, we did just that, and as luck would have it, no one went down and there was no real swimming done by anyone. Wallace was unsaddled briefly but managed to hang onto the pommel. He was the wettest by far, but no one was dry from the waist down, and with the availability of some firewood, we decided to get a blaze going. Everyone had their boots as full of water as was possible and all of us wanted to get our feet tended to before heading out. Besides, some hot coffee seemed to be the cure for what was ailing all of us, and I’m glad that Mabe knew that.

I asked Ned Turner, Did you manage to keep the logbook and our maps dry?

He responded, That I did, Cap, that I did. One time some years ago I failed, and ever since then, I’ve been rolling everything up in an oil cloth. You know, Cap, I’ve been thinking, especially now that we’re so close to Waco, and it doesn’t have a thing to do with our books. I guess I’m about worried sick about this bickering that’s going on about slavery and the talk about Texas leaving the union. Could that ever happen?

I responded, Ned, you have a right to be worrying. Hell, all of us should be. This is as serious as was our war for independence from Mexico and maybe even more than that. I’m having trouble catching up with the whole notion and Texas isn’t the half of it. The entire south is up in arms, and if you think about it for a minute, it affects them a whole lot more than it does us. We only have a few slave plantations and most of them are confined to the south of us, down near Galveston and the coast as far as Matagorda. They could easily be replaced by Tejanos laborers for slave wages and that could be that, but the other states have economies that are entirely made-up by enormous plantations that operate totally with slave labor. I’ve heard that Georgia has twice as many slaves as they have white people, and as impossible as that seems, most likely it the god’s truth.

I stopped my little speech with the idea of savoring the taste of the coffee that Mabe just poured in my cup, but old Ned wasn’t having any of it. He asked, Will this end up in a shooting war with Americans against Americans?

I laughed just enough to be heard. Then responded, I just can’t see it happening. Too much to lose and nothing to gain. You know, we all get mad at our neighbors from time to time, but we never want to kill them because of what they believe. Hell, that’s what America is all about. We’re free to think however we like.

Silas spit some tobacco juice into the fire as the signal that he wanted to speak. Once it was quiet,