The Yellow Rose Read online

  Mateo Lebonne knew there was no limit to the self-confidence of General Santa Anna. He also had serious doubts about the project that the general had laid out to those under him. Mateo had learned, however, that Santa Anna did not suffer criticism gladly, so he simply nodded.

  Brodie did not know what to make of Sam Houston and his army. They had found him outside of Gonzales on the Guadalupe River. It was mid-morning, and the rain was pouring down. When Brodie saw the tents and lean-to shelters spread in the piney woods, he was disappointed. “Is that the army?” he shouted.

  “That’s it,” Deaf Smith said. He grinned at the boy and said, “What’d you expect, a bunch of men in fine uniforms marchin’ in order?”

  “No, sir, I didn’t expect that.”

  “I think you did,” Zane laughed. “Well, we found Houston if he’ll have us.”

  “Oh, I’ll expect he’ll have you. You fellows wait here,” Smith said.

  “After I make my report, I’ll see that you get somethin’ to eat and get you signed up. But the general usually likes to see his volunteers. He may want to talk to ya.”

  “I’d like to meet him,” Zane said. “I’ve heard a lot about him.”

  Sam Houston sat at the camp desk feeling uncomfortable on the small stool. Houston was six feet three and two hundred and forty pounds of hard muscle. His face was stern, for he had done the hardest thing for a soldier to do—which was to order a general retreat. He knew that the small army he had gathered would never win over Santa Anna in a war of maneuver in the field. He also preferred to pull the enemy away from Mexico as far as possible, crossing the defensive rivers as they fled. He also was planning how to accumulate more soldiers to strengthen his forces.

  The loss of all of Colonel Fannin’s men at Goliad had been a hard blow. He had needed those five hundred men, but now they were gone, lost by the actions of a foolish, ill-trained man. Lifting his head, Houston listened to the rain falling on the tent. The rivers were up, and the population of Texas, for the most part, was on the run. Santa Anna had started a panic to drive the colonists across the frontier. The entire population, frightened and horrified by the tales of the army’s atrocities, were now fleeing. Many able-bodied men had joined Sam Houston’s army, but the women and the children and the old men were left to fend for themselves. Wagons and horses and those pitifully on foot, carrying what they could, headed east, leaving a pathetic litter as they fled from the Mexican army.

  Houston looked down at the letter he was writing. He had been under personal attack by many because of his retreat. The president of the republic wrote, “The enemy are laughing you to scorn. You must fight them. You must retreat no farther. The country expects you to fight. The salvation of the country depends on your doing so.”

  Houston was writing back to Rust, the Secretary of War. He had said plainly that he was holding no council and that he was consulting with no committees. The last line of the letter said, “If there is a failure, the fault will be entirely mine.”

  Houston leaned back and thought of the hostile army that faced him, demanding to fight. He had retreated down the Brazos River past San Felipe and ordered the town burned. He had left part of his small army to guard the crossings over the Brazos, but he had no real battle plan. His only hope was to bring Santa Anna to battle in a way to his own advantage. He had fallen back, and now he was waiting for the enemy to make a mistake. He heard the sounds of voices outside the tent, and one of them was familiar, the screechy voice of Deaf Smith. Houston felt relieved, for Smith was the one man that he trusted more than any other. When Smith stepped into the tent, Houston said, “It’s good to see you, Deaf. Sit down and have a drink.”

  “Don’t keer if I do, General. It’s been a wet, muddy, cold rain out there.”

  Houston poured whiskey from a bottle. The two men drank, and then Deaf said, “I brung three able-bodied volunteers back with me.”

  “Only three? I wish there were three thousand,” Houston said.

  “Well, they ain’t, but I have some news for you.” Deaf Smith reached into his inner pocket and brought out a leather pouch. He handed the pouch over to Houston and watched as the big man read the contents.

  Smith would follow Sam Houston anywhere, even into perdition, and it pleased him to see the light on the craggy face of his leader.

  “Where’d you get this, Deaf?”

  “I took it from a Mexican courier. I thought you’d be interested.”

  Houston got up and began to pace the ground. The tent was leaking, and the water dripped down on his head, but he paid no attention. “We can do something with this information.”

  “I got even more news than that. You’ll like it, Sam.”

  Houston reached over and pounded Deaf on the back, nearly upsetting him. “You’re better than Santa Claus. What is it?”

  “We won’t have to fight the whole Mexican Army,” Smith said.

  “Santa Anna’s dividing his army up. As far as I can tell, he’s split them into four, maybe five, divisions. They are scattered all over creation.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “They’re all spread out hittin’ the ranches and the farms, drivin’ the people before them. It ain’t a pretty sight, General. I feel right sorry for our people.”

  Houston’s face grew stern. “So do I, Deaf, but this will help.”

  “What do you got on your mind?”

  “How big is Santa Anna’s division, the one he’s leading himself?”

  “Maybe seven, eight hundred men. Of course, he could be joined by reinforcements.”

  “We’ve got to get him before they all join up. If we can nail Santa Anna, the rest will collapse.”

  “I reckon you got you a plan in your mind,” Smith grinned.

  Sam Houston rubbed his head and then stared at Smith. “I do, and it’s gonna take a miracle to make it work, but it’s the only hope we got.

  Come here, Smith. Let me show you on this map what I think we’ve got to do.”

  The two men moved to the table containing the small map. Houston began to speak, pointing with his finger, and showed Deaf the strategy he had in mind. When he finished, he turned and said, “What do you think, Deaf?”

  “I think we’ll eat ’em alive. And the army’s ready, too. They’re tired of retreating. They want to fight, General.”

  “That’s good, because that’s exactly what they’re going to do!”

  Finally Smith came out of the tent and said, “You fellows come in and meet the general.”

  Brodie walked in, following the other two. When he got inside the tent, he stood silently eyeing the big man who was seated before a rough desk. He wore deer skin clothes, Indian moccasins, and stared at them with eyes hard as any Brodie had ever seen.

  “Where you men from?” Houston asked.

  “I’m from Arkansas. This is my nephew. He’s from Arkansas, too,” Zane said.

  “I come from Wales, General,” Rice said.

  “From Wales? Well, there’s some good fightin’ men come from that part of the world. You come to fight, did you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rice said. “My name’s Rice Morgan, sir.”

  “Well, Morgan, I’m glad you’re here, and your names, fellas?”

  “Zane Satterfield, and this here is Brodie Hardin.”

  Houston stood up and walked over, his eyes level with those of the young man. “Well, if you ever fill out, you’ll be quite a man. How old are you?”

  “Nineteen, General.”

  “You’ll be a little bit older before this is over with. Smith, sign these men up.”

  “We heard you were givin’ land to any soldier that’d stick it out,” Zane said.

  “That’s right. Six hundred and forty acres each.”

  “That sounds good to me, General.”

  The three men turned and walked out, and Smith introduced them to a tall, lanky man named Hank Henley, who had a full beard. “Sergeant Henley, these men will be servin’ with you. See if you
can find some grub and teach ’em what you can before the trouble starts.”

  Henley stared at Smith. “You think we’re gonna fight soon?”

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”

  “Good,” Henley said with satisfaction. “I’m tired of retreating. I come to kill Mexicans, not camp out in the woods.”

  “Reckon you’re gonna get your wish,” Smith said. He gave the three a wink, then turned and walked away into the darkness.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  A cloud of dust rose as the cavalry and the infantry began to form into position. Santa Anna stood straight as an arrow watching his troops prepare to move out. Behind him Mateo Lebonne was also watching, but with much different feelings. Mateo knew that Santa Anna was thinking of gaining another victory. He had won the Battle of the Alamo at a high cost, but the general was never one to worry about losing men. Now he had divided his army up into five divisions. After waiting for some time, he was ready to implement the rest of his plan, which was to drive the Texans all the way across the Sabine River. Then Mexico would own Texas, and the diablos Tejanos would be gone from Mexican soil forever!

  Mateo had given himself to the liberation of Texas. He had left his home, his family, and joined General Santa Anna as a scout. He had pledged his strength and his mind and his soul to the same cause. But he could not help but be troubled about what happened to those he loved who were in the path of the juggernaut. He had saved Clay and Brodie from certain death during the massacre of Goliad, but it could just have easily gone the other way. His two good friends could have suffered the same fate along with the other Texans who died there. Now he listened carefully, for Santa Anna had gathered his generals together, and his eyes flashed with excitement as he began to speak.

  “You are the arm of God to destroy our enemies,” he cried out. The troops around could hear as well as the generals who surrounded their leader. “Burn their towns. Kill their stock. Kill anyone who opposes you. Mexico for Mexicans! Death to the devil Texans!”

  Cheers went up, and many of the officers of the cavalry lifted their sabers, which flashed in the sunlight.

  Mateo could not enter into the celebration. He was certain that the Texans were doomed, and he worried about his mother and his sister. He was troubled also about the Hardins. It had been the Hardin family who had saved his mother, his sister, and himself from poverty when his father had died.

  Santa Anna turned, and his face was flushed. He saw Mateo and came over and said, “It’s a glorious day, Mateo. We will see the dead piled high.”

  “Yes, my general,” Mateo said. He thought quickly and said, “Perhaps I could go with General Almonte. I know that territory well that he will be following.”

  “No, I need you with me. We will leave at once, and I intend to scout out Houston. Then I will kill him and all those who stand with him.” Santa Anna’s eyes flashed, and he smiled cruelly. “We will see the blood of these Texans. Come, I want you to go in front of my column. Ride quickly and find Houston for me.” His hand came down on Mateo Lebonne’s shoulders. “You have a fine future, Mateo. Now, go!”

  General Juan Almonte had led his division on the north side of the sweep toward the Sabine River. He had been obedient to Santa Anna’s orders to burn everything in sight, and his men had killed those they found. There were few of them, and Almonte was disappointed, as were the men, who had looked forward to massacring the fleeing Texans.

  “Lieutenant Alanso!” Almonte called out. He waited until the young lieutenant rode up to him and saluted. “Yes, my general.”

  “Take a detail farther north. I have received word from our scouts that there are several ranches there. You know what to do when you find them.”

  Lieutenant Alanso laughed. He was a handsome young man with many sweethearts and had a brilliant future in Mexico. Not only General Almonte but also President Santa Anna had his eye on this young man who came from a noble family. His eyes gleamed, and he laughed. “They run like rabbits, General.”

  “You know what to do with rabbits, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, my general. I will rendezvous with you just this side of the river. There will be nothing left alive where I travel.”

  Lieutenant Alanso drove his men hard. They rode all morning and by midafternoon had found two ranches, both of them deserted. His men burned them and took what loot was left. At two o’clock a scout came riding in, his face covered with dust. It was hot, but he ignored it, and a smile came to his lips as he said, “I have found a ranch over there, Lieutenant Alanso. It is deserted, I think.”

  Alanso stretched in his saddle and laughed. “I wish all soldiering were this easy, Sergeant. Come, lead us to it.”

  He spurred his fine horse and led his troopers, twenty-two of them, at a fast gallop. His mind was not really occupied with the ranch they intended to destroy. He was thinking ahead to the time when the entire army would come against the ragtag troops that Sam Houston was supposedly gathering. Alanso knew that his men had found whiskey at the last ranch they had burnt to the ground, and many were half drunk, but this did not trouble him. I will sober them up after we burn this ranch. Perhaps there will be a fresh beef or two there. Then we will ride ahead and rendezvous with the general.

  Professor Fergus St. John Nightingale III closed his eyes with ecstasy. He was seated in a copper tub, his spidery arms and legs hanging over the edge, and his man James Langley, from time to time, dipped down into the soapy water with a ladle and poured it over his master’s head.

  Clay was watching this phenomenon with disbelief. He shook his head and said, “I don’t see how you can worry about takin’ a bath when there’s about five thousand Mexicans about to drop in on us. We need a bath about like a cat needs a wedding license.”

  “Oh, I say, old chap, don’t worry. Our Comanche friends are keeping track of them. I don’t know how it is, but those fellows seem to make themselves invisible. They could hide behind a pocket watch, I do believe.”

  Clay got up and stared off toward the south. He shaded his eyes but still could see nothing. “It bothers me, them Indians. I ain’t used to trustin’ them.”

  “Oh, you can trust these fellows. They’d like nothing better than to collect a few scalps. Better they get the Mexican scalps than ours!”

  Suddenly, Fergus rose up out of the tub and stood there gazing off into the distance. James Langley stood to one side with a large, fluffy towel, which the professor wrapped around himself.

  Julie had been watching the scene. She had been on the front porch sitting there with Jerusalem, when she suddenly laughed. “Look at that crazy Englishman. I never saw such a long, skinny man in all my life. He’s skinny as a rail, but he’s tougher than he looks.”

  “I’m glad he’s here, Julie, but those Comanches scare me.” Jerusalem was thinking, at that moment, about the time she had been kidnapped by the Comanches. If Clay had not come and taken her out of the camp of one of the most fierce war chiefs of the Comanche, she knew she would be dead by this time.

  Julie got up and watched as Langley began handing Fergus his clothes. He wore the fanciest clothes that had ever been seen in Texas.

  They perhaps were fitting for Windsor Castle, but not in this place. “I’m worried about the men,” Julie said.

  “So am I. Zane and Brodie are country bred, but Rice is no soldier. I don’t even know if he can shoot. Well, God will have to take care of them,” Jerusalem said. She suddenly straightened up. “Look.”

  “What is it?”

  “See that dust over there? I think it’s the Indians. Come on. Let’s go see what they found out.”

  Julie followed Jerusalem to where Fergus was putting on a top hat.

  He turned to beam at them, saying, “Nothing like a bath to invigorate a fellow, I always say.”

  “Well, I say I hope them Indians found out something about the army,” Clay said. He stood there looking, and the three Comanches pulled up. Young Man Afraid of Thunder slipped off his horse, ke
eping a firm hold on his rifle. Clay had never seen him without it.

  “Soldier come from there,” Young Man said, pointing back over his shoulder.

  The other two Indians dismounted, and Paco said, “Smoke behind them. Burning houses, I think.”

  “How many?” Clay asked quickly.

  Paco held up his fingers spread wide, closed his fists, then opened them again.

  “About twenty,” Clay murmured. “Could be worse. How long before they get here?”

  “Not long.” Young Man grinned suddenly. “Many scalps.”

  Fergus smiled brightly. “I say, this is exciting! A bit of sport.”

  Clay said sharply, “This is no game, Fergus.” It seemed natural that he would take charge, and he began to speak rapidly. He noticed that Moriah had come out of the house along with Clinton, and he waited until they were close enough to hear his words. “We’ve got to make them think this place is deserted. We’ll all get under cover where we can’t be seen.

  They’ve got to think nobody’s here.”

  “And what then, Clay?” Clinton said.

  His eyes were big, and his face was pale.

  “We’ll let them ride in. They may send a couple of advance scouts, but if they don’t see anybody, they’ll wave the rest of the troop in.”

  “What’s the plan, Clay?” Julie asked.

  “I’ll knock the officer out of the saddle. Nobody shoots until then.”

  “Without warning? That’s not sporting!” Fergus protested.

  “It’ll give them time to understand we’re serious. I’m telling you, Fergus, this is no game. We’d better get them all. As soon as you hear my shot, everybody take a man out. Be sure you don’t shoot the same man twice because it’s got to be quick. If they get away, they’ll bring the rest of the army boiling back here.” He paused, then ran his eyes over the group. “Well, there’s me and Clinton. You Fergus and your man, that’s four. Three Comanches—that makes seven of us. I wish we had more.”