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[Continuing chapter four]
The failure of Lopez’s filibuster had left Walker, Wheat and Nelson with nothing to do. But it had provided for Walker a third captain—the cold, serpent-deadly Lamar Fontaine, a soldier of fortune recently home from fighting for the Holy Roman Emperor in Savoy. Walker considered his discovery of Fontaine, a natural soldier who was now second-in-command of the Texas expedition, as proof yet again that God gave everything, even a humiliating setback, a purpose that aided His Will. And it was while the four of them had pondered in New Orleans, on the verge of making a decision whether next to mount an incursion into California or the Central American isthmus, that God had intervened once more by introducing Walker to Preston Brooks and James Stewart. Now they were once again seeming to serve another man’s agenda. But by the Grace of God Preston Brooks’s plans for Texas coincided exactly with Walker’s vision for the republic’s great future. Now Walker was anxious to see that future come to fruition.
“You talk to the wagon-master,” he told Wheat. “I want us to be on the road before nine. Have the men break up into their companies and have the wagons and men ready to separate into their traveling groups at any time. We’ll stay together as long as we can, but the moment I catch any of the locals paying too much attention, we’ll split up.”
“When do the boys put on their dresses?” Wheat struggled to keep the smile from his face, ultimately failing.
“Subterfuge is not a matter for levity, Captain Wheat,” Walker said, but he too could not resist the pull of a smile at the thought of some of his men dressed as women. It was a decision he’d made in an effort to enhance the expedition’s disguise as a settler wagon train. He could only hope that nobody got close enough to the train to penetrate what would probably be a very flimsy disguise. “Tell the men,” he said after a momentary struggle in which dignity finally won out, “that they may refrain from donning their disguises until our advance scouts report that we are within a few miles of the Sabine River crossings.”
“They’ll be pleased to hear that,” Wheat said with a good-natured laugh. He played with his mustache a moment. “You still determined to ride ahead instead of me?”
“I need you back here to keep the train moving,” Walker said. “You’ve a better way with this kind of work than I. Besides, I’ve ridden this road more times than you, so I’m the logical choice to scout in advance.” He shook Wheat’s hand. “Best see to your wagons and mules, Captain.”
Walker prayed for forgiveness as he walked away from the wagons. The truth was, he wanted to ride ahead of the column not so much because he knew the road as because he felt closed in by the presence of the slow-moving wagons. He’d never been comfortable with anything that slowed him down or restricted his movement. It was a signal weakness in a commander, he knew, and he’d tried hard to improve himself. The very existence of the wagon-train was a testimony to that; in Cuba Lopez had mounted his invasion with little more than a few hundred men, each carrying his own supplies, and Walker had blithely gone along with this lack of preparation because it had promised ease of movement. What it had delivered was hunger, and ammunition shortages, and eventually a humiliating capture by the effete, decadent Spanish. Walker had learned his lesson, and the Texas expedition had been properly prepared: Each of his three companies was accompanied by a dozen wagons carrying supplies for the men and fodder for their horses. Whatever he might lose in speed he would more than make up through having a properly equipped force should it become necessary to fight.
God willing, that wouldn’t be necessary. There were enough Texans who felt as he did to ensure that a minimal amount of blood would be spilled.
Walker smiled at the thought of the new capitol in Washington-on-the-Brazos being completed in time for a new occupant, one anointed to the position by virtue of his faith and his strength. He looked at his watch, willing the hands to move faster so that he could start riding.
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