[Continuing chapter fourteen]
The best thing about the Texas climate in late spring, Stewart decided, was that the heat made for the efficient drying of wet clothes. In order to head north-east from Washington he had had to cross two rivers, not one. I still have a few things to learn about campaigning, he decided as he walked along a broad track he had picked up about an hour out of town. Should have done a lot more planning. There was a ferry across this second river—he guessed it was the Navasota—but he didn’t dare risk the convenience. It wouldn’t come as any surprise if that Ranger, Cooper, was out here somewhere tracking him.
Not that he posed much of a threat to the conspirators at the moment.
“What am I going to do?” he asked himself, shifting the waterproof leather bag that held his weapons so the weight was more comfortably distributed. It was a rhetorical question—there was nothing he could do, really—but that didn’t make it any easier to contemplate. There had to be somebody here opposed to what his uncle was up to. Otherwise he’d wasted this trip—to say nothing of putting himself at risk.
He saw the armed men from a considerable distance, saw at any rate the cloud of dust they raised as they moved on the track toward him. So Stewart had plenty of time to climb a small hillock and hide himself in the grass and blue flowers in order to observe their approach. It didn’t take long for him to conclude that it was not Colonel Walker he was watching. For one thing, Walker should have had at least three times as many men as were making their way toward him. For another, from what he knew of Walker, his invasion would show better march-discipline than this rabble was managing.
Still, he had a moment of doubt when he realized who it was who marched, with a trio of others, at the head of the ragged column. Did you and Patton find him, then? Stewart asked Cleburne.
Then he realized the man he’d thought was Patton, at Cleburne’s side, was not his fellow-Virginian. And there was no sign of Colonel Walker.
I have to know, Stewart thought. He got to his feet.
“By god,” Cleburne shouted as Stewart started down the slope, “it’s the last man I’d expect to find in this place. Stewart, you astonishing bastard, how are you? I would have sworn you were with your General Davis.”
“I was,” Stewart said. As he approached the column it jostled to a halt, without the issuance of any sort of command. Not a military company, he thought. “And who is it you’re with, Mr. Cleburne?”
“Oho, boyo,” Cleburne said. “Am I to understand you’ve lost your enthusiasm for the grand William Walker?”
“He’s not with you?”
“Our intent,” Cleburne said with great care and a careful eye on Stewart, “is to restore order to the republic and stop Walker’s invasion. I hope you’re with us, Stewart. As God is my witness, I do.”
“God will be pleased, then,” Stewart said, the tension he hadn’t really been aware of flowing away. “The reason I’m here is to stop Walker. If I can. I’ve learned a few things, you see, about who’s behind him and why he’s come here.”
“Same as we’ve learned,” Cleburne said. “Or we’ve learned some of it, at least.”
“Where’s Patton?” Stewart asked, knowing the answer and dreading it.
“My brother,” the man beside Cleburne growled, “hasn’t gained any wisdom from his association with you, Captain Stewart. He’s still with that bastard Walker, I’m afraid.” The man extended his hand. “John Patton, sir. George’s older brother.”
“Older and wiser, it’s clear,” Stewart said, taking the hand. “Now I understand my taking you for Patton—George—at first.”
“William Barret Travis,” an older man said, thrusting himself in front of Cleburne. “Representing the true government of Texas.” Stewart knew the name; Travis was secretary of state, or whatever the Texans called it. Also one of the heroes of their revolution against Mexico.
“Captain Charles Stewart,” he said, taking Travis’s hand. “Unofficial representative of the Army of the Confederate States of America.”
“Unofficial?”
“My commanding officer knows I’m here, and why I’ve come,” Stewart said. “The situation in Richmond is delicate, to say the least. But in the event you’re uncertain, sir, the president knows nothing of the Walker conspiracy.” I should probably call it the Stewart-Brooks conspiracy, he thought. That’s probably what history will call it—if I succeed here. “I have come from Washington-on-the-Brazos, sir, and it appears to me Walker’s friends have complete control of the town.”
“We left there yesterday,” Travis said. “But now we’re going back.”
“It will be my privilege, sir, to assist you.”
“That’s the spirit, boyo,” Cleburne said.
“Not that it’s a pleasant task you’ve set for yourself, you know. Even if we retake the capital we are facing an invasion force that’s nearly a regiment strong, and half of them Texas regulars.”
“One impossible chore at a time, Cleburne,” Stewart said. “Let’s wait to worry about Walker until after we’ve dealt with this so-called President Reynolds.”
Not that he posed much of a threat to the conspirators at the moment.
“What am I going to do?” he asked himself, shifting the waterproof leather bag that held his weapons so the weight was more comfortably distributed. It was a rhetorical question—there was nothing he could do, really—but that didn’t make it any easier to contemplate. There had to be somebody here opposed to what his uncle was up to. Otherwise he’d wasted this trip—to say nothing of putting himself at risk.
He saw the armed men from a considerable distance, saw at any rate the cloud of dust they raised as they moved on the track toward him. So Stewart had plenty of time to climb a small hillock and hide himself in the grass and blue flowers in order to observe their approach. It didn’t take long for him to conclude that it was not Colonel Walker he was watching. For one thing, Walker should have had at least three times as many men as were making their way toward him. For another, from what he knew of Walker, his invasion would show better march-discipline than this rabble was managing.
Still, he had a moment of doubt when he realized who it was who marched, with a trio of others, at the head of the ragged column. Did you and Patton find him, then? Stewart asked Cleburne.
Then he realized the man he’d thought was Patton, at Cleburne’s side, was not his fellow-Virginian. And there was no sign of Colonel Walker.
I have to know, Stewart thought. He got to his feet.
“By god,” Cleburne shouted as Stewart started down the slope, “it’s the last man I’d expect to find in this place. Stewart, you astonishing bastard, how are you? I would have sworn you were with your General Davis.”
“I was,” Stewart said. As he approached the column it jostled to a halt, without the issuance of any sort of command. Not a military company, he thought. “And who is it you’re with, Mr. Cleburne?”
“Oho, boyo,” Cleburne said. “Am I to understand you’ve lost your enthusiasm for the grand William Walker?”
“He’s not with you?”
“Our intent,” Cleburne said with great care and a careful eye on Stewart, “is to restore order to the republic and stop Walker’s invasion. I hope you’re with us, Stewart. As God is my witness, I do.”
“God will be pleased, then,” Stewart said, the tension he hadn’t really been aware of flowing away. “The reason I’m here is to stop Walker. If I can. I’ve learned a few things, you see, about who’s behind him and why he’s come here.”
“Same as we’ve learned,” Cleburne said. “Or we’ve learned some of it, at least.”
“Where’s Patton?” Stewart asked, knowing the answer and dreading it.
“My brother,” the man beside Cleburne growled, “hasn’t gained any wisdom from his association with you, Captain Stewart. He’s still with that bastard Walker, I’m afraid.” The man extended his hand. “John Patton, sir. George’s older brother.”
“Older and wiser, it’s clear,” Stewart said, taking the hand. “Now I understand my taking you for Patton—George—at first.”
“William Barret Travis,” an older man said, thrusting himself in front of Cleburne. “Representing the true government of Texas.” Stewart knew the name; Travis was secretary of state, or whatever the Texans called it. Also one of the heroes of their revolution against Mexico.
“Captain Charles Stewart,” he said, taking Travis’s hand. “Unofficial representative of the Army of the Confederate States of America.”
“Unofficial?”
“My commanding officer knows I’m here, and why I’ve come,” Stewart said. “The situation in Richmond is delicate, to say the least. But in the event you’re uncertain, sir, the president knows nothing of the Walker conspiracy.” I should probably call it the Stewart-Brooks conspiracy, he thought. That’s probably what history will call it—if I succeed here. “I have come from Washington-on-the-Brazos, sir, and it appears to me Walker’s friends have complete control of the town.”
“We left there yesterday,” Travis said. “But now we’re going back.”
“It will be my privilege, sir, to assist you.”
“That’s the spirit, boyo,” Cleburne said.
“Not that it’s a pleasant task you’ve set for yourself, you know. Even if we retake the capital we are facing an invasion force that’s nearly a regiment strong, and half of them Texas regulars.”
“One impossible chore at a time, Cleburne,” Stewart said. “Let’s wait to worry about Walker until after we’ve dealt with this so-called President Reynolds.”
Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen
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