Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (40 page)

      
“What the hell is going on?” Slade thundered, leveling a black scowl at Charlee. He looked fierce with a two-week growth of bristling beard on his wind-beaten countenance. Seeing the Derringer that had discharged and broken the window, Slade scooped it up, recognizing it as the one left in his case at Bluebonnet. “Did you try to kill her?”

      
“No!” Charlee calmed somewhat and stood straight despite Lee's restraint. “I did bring the gun, but I wasn't going to shoot her in cold blood. She knocked it from my hand. I...I guess I lost my head. I came here to face her down after I found out she and Markham had killed Richard Lee...and Jake Carver.” As she finished, she flashed a venomous look at Tomasina, daring her to deny the accusations.

      
Before Tomasina could reply or Slade intervene further, a sardonic voice interrupted them from the sala door with a chilling command.

      
“Drop your weapons, gentlemen, if you'd be so kind, else I'll be forced to shoot one of the, er, ladies.” Ashley Markham no longer looked dapper, nor felt devil-may-care. He was exhausted, filthy, and furiously angry, not to mention frightened out of his wits by his near brush with death on the Texas plains. He watched through narrowed eyes as the young
Tejano
and his dangerous companion complied with his orders.

      
When Slade removed his pistols and tossed them to the floor, Tomasina crumpled in a heap by the overturned writing desk, still sobbing but watching the scene from the corner of her eye.

      
Lee and Charlee stood slightly apart from Slade and Tomasina, both very still now, waiting to see what the harried Englishman would do next.

      
“So touching, Tomasina, rescued by your own true love from the hands of his hoyden mistress. Too bad he shan't be able to rescue you from me, you treacherous bitch!” The hatred gleaming in those icy blue eyes was enough to make Tomasina's already pale face blanch once again.

      
“Ashley, I do not understand. I—”

      
He cut her off with a dismissive oath. “Save the dramatics. I found Kennedy's gold in your cellar, all packed up and ready to go, rather as I had suspected. You must realize I had a great deal of time to figure out your machinations on my journey back to San Antonio. A bit too much of a coincidence, your amour, here, turning up in Iron Hand's camp with a company of rangers, don't you think? Unless you told him where I'd be. Did you hope we'd kill each other?” He spat the words at her venomously.

      
Charlee gasped as she recalled Tomasina's exact words to that effect only moments earlier. Then, her eyes shifted from the shivering, cowering woman on the floor to Slade, who diverted Markham's attention with a question of his own.

      
“What now, Markham? There are four of us. Even with that English-made Colt there's no way you can kill us all. Give it up and get out of here. You've got a good running start.”

      
“Oh, no. Leave you alive to bulldog my trail from Texas to London? I rather suspect you're that tenacious, aren't you, Don Diego? No, indeed. I'll get rid of you, all of you, except for my conniving companion Tomasina. For her, I'll reserve something special along the way...when I tire of her...” He let his words trail off in a softly menacing hiss.

      
When Markham aimed his Colt at Slade, Tomasina took her only chance. The instant his eyes shifted from her to Jim, she seized her small pistol, for which she had so desperately and covertly searched. But as she raised it toward Markham, he saw the barrel glint from the corner of his eye. Instantly, he turned from Slade to the woman and his revolver barked at close range. The slug hit Tomasina in the chest and threw her backwards.

      
Markham stepped back with Slade once more in his sights, but Jim had dropped to one knee and was lunging toward his gun on the floor at the same time Lee was diving for his. The split second it took Markham to glance from one man to the other and decide where to aim first was one split second too long. It cost him his life. Slade's shot hit him in the chest and Lee's followed it. The force of two bullets propelled Ashley Markham through the sala door into the hall.

      
While Lee inspected Markham to be certain he was dead, Jim knelt by Tomasina who was crumpled on the rug. Blood ran everywhere as he pried her hand away from her chest. “Charlee, give me your petticoat—quick! I need something to stop the bleeding.” Obediently she tore her one thin slip into strips. Slade grabbed them without even looking at her.

      
“Easy, Sina. Lie still while I bind this tight to stop the bleeding. Dr. Weidermann will be here soon.” He looked at Lee. “Shoot that son of a bitch again if you aren't sure he's dead, then run for Weidermann.”

Chapter Seventeen

      
The stoop-shouldered Englishman puffed on his pipe, looking absently out the window at the dismal, muddy street scene of the capital city. Some capital, he harrumphed to himself, but then it fit this godforsaken Texas Republic. Washington-on-the-Brazos was named after Washington on the Potomac, which, he had been given to understand, was only marginally more civilized.

      
Just then young Mr. Miller entered the small anteroom and cleared his throat. “The president will see you now, Mr. Elliot.” Sweeping up his white planter's hat from a table, Charles Elliot, British charge d'affaires in Texas, entered Sam Houston's office.

      
“Good afternoon, Mr. Elliot. I trust you are settled in as comfortably as circumstances permit in our crude frontier town,” Houston said, offering a vigorous handshake.

      
Elliot had the grace to blush, having made known his preference for remaining in Houston City. “Yes, Mr. President, I am tolerably well set up.” As he sat down in the horsehair chair Houston offered him, he indicated his pipe, which had gone out, and asked, “Do you mind?”

      
“Not at all. Tobacco is a gift from our red brothers for which we shall be forever in their debt. I do not view it as a vice, but rather a providential deliverance from the grind of our daily tasks.” As he spoke, he took a seat behind his large desk, which was covered with its usual eruption of papers and books.

      
“I've had some heartening news today.” Houston continued, watching the Englishman's watery blue eyes for a response. Elliot's slouching demeanor made him devilishly tricky to read. “It seems a general invasion of our southern borders is not forthcoming from Mexico. In fact, General Woll has retreated from San Antonio with several groups of militia in hot pursuit. They gave him a sound trouncing at Salado Creek. I do appreciate your good office as a mediator between the Republic and Santa Anna's government. However, it would seem Texas can handle the situation on her own in the immediate future.”

      
“But surely you aren't considering reprisals? Her Majesty's government cannot condone a Texian invasion of Mexico any more than the ill-fated Mexican invasion of Texas.” As he watched Houston, his fingers played on the pipe.

      
Bombast still gives me the edge
, Houston thought in wry amusement, noting how small gestures could give a man away, while the flamboyant theatricals he staged were a superb smoke screen for his real motives. So Elliot was upset at the prospect of Texas invading Mexico? As if Texians could afford to finance any such thing! Houston said, “I have been forced by this heinous invasion and the resultant public outcry to order Brigadier General Somervell to organize the militia and volunteers who are massing in San Antonio. They will make a special patrol of the border, in numbers no less than those of Woll's forces. We can muster the manpower any time El Presidente chooses to try us, sir.” He omitted mentioning that Somervell had been given strict instructions not to cross into Mexico.

      
“Well, yes, I suppose it is rather a face-saving necessity, what?” Elliot nodded, once again puffing and tapping. “Just so you understand Lord Aberdeen's position regarding Britain's good offices between the Republics of Texas and Mexico. We can be of inestimable value to your cause.”

      
And your own cause, which is to keep us as a buffer between the Americans and the Mexicans
, Houston added to himself. “I do appreciate that kind offer. You know how earnestly I desire to keep my sovereign republic free from foreign dominion. To that end I have always cultivated the friendship of Great Britain…France and the Americans.” As he delivered the last words, he noted Elliot missed a tap on his pipe bowl, but only one. Houston gave him credit. At forty-one, Charles Elliot was beginning to learn a few things about cloaking his missionary zeal.

      
Wishing to change the subject from the ticklish situation of Anglo-American rivalry over North American real estate, Elliot turned to his reason for calling that day. “I've come to beg a favor, Mr. President. One of a rather confidential nature, I'm afraid. If you can see your way clear to assist me, I give you my personal assurance that Her Majesty's government will be well disposed to look the other way when General Somervell's army...er...‘patrols’ the Mexican border.” His slouched form leaned slightly forward in the chair.

      
Houston gave him a wintry smile.
You're really sticking your neck out on this one, Charley-boy. It must be a very large favor indeed.
“I'm always disposed to be cooperative with Her Majesty's government, Mr. Elliot.” He waited.

      
“Well, it seems we, that is, I, having just arrived here a month ago, find myself in rather an awkward situation regarding a British subject. He has no official ties with Her Majesty's government but has been traveling in North America for several years.”

      
“All of North America is rather beyond the scope of my authority, not to mention my interests,” Houston put in drily.

      
“Er...quite. But this chap has been in Texas now for several months and has made a bit of a blunder, overstepping his authority.”

      
“I thought you said he has ‘no official ties’?” This was beginning to be fun.

      
The tapping resumed. “I shall be most candid, Mr. President, in admitting to you that Mr. Kennedy has contacts of no little influence in the Foreign Office, as well as being a well-known author at home and abroad and a friend of your Republic.”

      
“Ah, young William Kennedy. His views expressed on an independent Texas completely coincide with my own. I've read his work, both volumes.”

      
Charles Elliot let both eyebrows rise. The old barbarian was startlingly literate at times. “I am so pleased you are disposed to help him, then. You see, he is being held by a local ranger commander outside of San Antonio.”

      
When Elliot paused to collect his thoughts, Houston urged him on. “Pray, continue.”

      
“It seems Mr. Kennedy has run afoul of some rather unsavory locals, men who deal with the hostile savages, and was in their company when they were captured. Naturally, the lawman assumed he was one of these contraband dealers.”

      
“Naturally,” Houston echoed innocently.

      
“Well, he is a friend of your Republic and, additionally, well thought of in Foreign Office circles. If you could clarify this to your subordinates, Her Majesty's government would consider it a signal favor, a sign of closer ties between our nations.”

      
Houston sat back in his large oak chair behind the desk, head thrown back, staring at the ceiling, appearing to consider the matter on which he had made a decision earlier in the day. He had first received notification of Kennedy's arrest from the same courier who had brought word of Woll’s retreat.

      
“I should imagine a man of Mr. Kennedy's scholarly inclination to be an ill-suited companion to Comancheros. I shall see to his release forthwith, Mr. Elliot.”

      
The charge d'affaires hesitated, obviously in grave discomfort now. “There is one more problem, Mr. President.”

      
Houston waited once again, saying nothing but nodding for Elliot to continue.

      
“Mr. Kennedy was entrusted with a rather substantial amount of gold for a purely innocent trading venture under the sponsorship of some private investors. It has fallen into the hands of local authorities in San Antonio, where he had left it for safekeeping with one of your citizens, a Mrs. Jacob Carver.”

      
This was getting better and better! So, the British government was willing to expose Tomasina Carver's involvement in British espionage, right down to her lace under drawers! Houston hoped Slade would take it well. “And you need to recover the evidence”—he pretended to correct himself—“I mean, the
investment
, for Kennedy's friends.” J
ust so Elliot thinks I'm doing him a really big favor.
He gloated. “Of course I'll see to it, Mr. Elliot, never fear.”

      
After Elliot left, pipe long cold but heart aglow with triumph for the success of his delicate mission, Houston called his faithful secretary into his office. “I need to send several communications, Miller, all of them exceedingly unofficial, especially the one that goes to our Ambassador on the Potomac. First, let's give Jim Slade some doleful news.”

* * * *

      
Slade carried Tomasina gently from the sala to the kitchen, where the doctor instructed him to lay her on a sturdy table. While the skillful Russian extracted Markham's bullet, Jim held her down, stilling her agonized thrashing with the weight of his body. Charlee assisted, filling in for Deborah in the emergency.