At the moment there was no force in Texas that could resist them. The Rangers had largely been disbanded during the War, and what remained would be insufficient to stop a movement of the kind considered. Moreover, there were a good many Texans who would join with them.
The cotton market was gone for the time being, although once things settled down the British ships would be returning to pick up cotton for the mills of Manchester and other centers. In the meantime there was nothing. There were millions of cattle, of course, and there would soon be a huge market in the East, where most of the beef, even the milk cows, had been killed for food during the War. But how to get that cattle there? The Mississippi lay across their route, a seemingly impassable barrier.
The wagons rolled on, the riders held out on the far flanks. Occasionally when he topped out on one of the low sand-hills he could glimpse the sea, the blue waters of the Gulf. It was not far.
Ashford glanced back. Nothing followed them. He had done well to get these men across that much country without being attacked, and it was almost over.
The girls … for a moment he felt a twinge of guilt … would bring a nice price below the border. The guilt returned, and he felt himself flushing. What would some of his friends say? Did the end justify the means? He would have guns, he would return with a conquering army and free the South once more. He would drive the hated Blue Bellies back north of the Ohio and keep them there.
He would be a hero, the savior. He might even be elected president of the new Confederacy. If a dozen or so women contributed to the cause it was well worth it, and where else could he get money? Money was what he needed.
Some of his men spoke of raiding ranches, but Ashford was no fool. Cash money had always been in short supply on the Texas frontier, and what had been saved would have been used up in the four years of the War. There would be little or no money.
The British had always been friendly to the South. Once he had an army he could get them to send ships to transport them north. Maybe it would be better to land closer, to come ashore at Charleston or even at Newport News.
He would not need over a thousand men to start, for others would flock to his banner. He would strike so swiftly there would be no chance to gather forces against him. It would be a complete surprise, and by that time the Union Army would have been disbanded.
It was a glorious dream, but one Ashford believed in and was sure he could accomplish.
Only hours remained. They would rendezvous with the ship, obtain arms, rid themselves of the women, and start to gather their strength.
Or maybe they, too, should go aboard the ship, go south to Tampico, and having landed there, build their strength and return from there?
He must try to make a deal with whoever had brought the arms and money. He could go aboard, make a place for his men … yes, that could be it.
They could sleep on deck, cook their own food if need be. And he would be gone.
If any pursuit came from Refugio or anywhere he would seem to have vanished into the coastal mists. He would erase the tracks, leave nothing for the Travens to find.
Good! That was the way he would do it.
Eight
Standing among the willows along the creek Mac Traven watched the wagons move out. The country was too open. There would be no chance to cut off one wagon and get away with it, and their time was running out. Once the women got aboard ship the Travens would have no chance.
Rounding up help was out of the question. In the first place, they knew nobody in this part of Texas, and spring was a worrisome time, when people had to get their crops in. Nor was there time. The Gulf could be little more than ten miles away.
Ten miles! Even in the sand and the swampy land, which seemed to alternate around here, they should make it by sundown, and if the ship was there they would be gone. It was now or never.
Dal and Jack moved up beside him. “Ain’t much time,” Jack said. “We got to do something.”
“We get ourselves killed,” Dal said, “and they got no chance at all. That’s a mean bunch. They aren’t going to run, and nobody’s going to scare them. They’ve been through the mill, and they can shoot. We’ve been mighty lucky so far.”
“We’ve got to do something!” Jack growled irritably.
“They’re holding further west than I expected. Doesn’t seem like they’re headed for San Antonio Bay.”
“Copano,” Jack said. “It’s a mite of a place on Copano Bay. The Rangers trapped three Mexican ships in there one time. Used to be a pirate hang-out, too. I say they’re headed for Copano or some spot along the shore near there.”
“What’s it like down thataway?”
“Low ground, lots of live oaks and willows. All that country around Copano Creek is wooded. Maybe I should say it was wooded. I ain’t been down there since I helped some Irish folk through that country. The way people keep cuttin’ down the trees and mucking out the stumps to make farm-land a body never knows what he’ll find when he goes back.”
“Maybe that’s our chance,” Mac suggested, “in that brush and live-oak forest?”
“If we was to ride west we’d come up to Salt Creek. She flows right into that country.”
“All right. Let’s get going!”
What to do? What could they do? Three men against thirty? But it was up to them. Otherwise the girls would be sold as slaves, treated like animals …
They followed Willow Creek until they were within a mile of the wooded region, when they turned at right angles and rode west and south into the trees.
Happy Jack pointed toward some torn-up ground near a bunch of oaks. “Javelinas,” he said. “Wild pigs been rooting up the ground for roots an’ such. Quite a passel of them.”
They followed a dim path into the woods, weaving their way along. The smell of the sea was with them all the time now, mingled here with the smell of decaying vegetation. There was no sound but the hoof-falls of their horses and the sound of leaves brushing their bodies.
“We better find a place to hole up,” Jack suggested. “And if we get those women away we’ll need more horses or a wagon.”
“No way we’ll get a wagon,” Dal said. “Jack? You know this country. Where’s Refugio from here?”
“West. Maybe a mite north. It’ll be the closest town if we’re runnin’.”
They found what they wanted in a thick stand of live oak near Copano Creek, a small clearing where there had once been a cabin or barn. The building had been pulled down long ago, but the logs lay about, and part of the roof slanted down until it almost touched the ground. It offered enough shelter for two or three people. “Better take a stick and stir around in there,” Jack warned. “That’s a good place for snakes.”
Dragging scattered logs into position they made a crude fort and cleared a space to tie the horses. “Get some sleep,” Jack advised. “I got an idea we’ll be up most of the night.”
Happy Jack did not feel happy. He was stiff and tired. This was the most riding he’d done in some time, and he was beginning to feel it.
Dal was pale and tired, not yet recovered from his wound and the weakness with which it left him.
They each found a place to lie down, and stretching out were soon alseep. Later, Mac opened his eyes to see several whooping cranes fly overhead, flying east toward the Gulf. He lay quiet, listening to the snores of Dal and Jack, and then he got up and taking his Spencer, scouted around their hide-out.
No fresh tracks of men or horses. Bear tracks, but several days old, javelinas, and what could be a cat track, a big one, probably a panther. There was no need to worry about them, for once they caught the smell of man they would stay away.
Glancing back, Mac saw both of his companions were still asleep, so he walked into the forest. He was, he felt, not far from Copano. He had been walking for almost an hour when he glimpsed the water. Emerging from the trees, he looked out upon the Gulf. There was no ship.
A few small boats were farther out, but nothing else.
Keeping to the edge of the trees so his body’s outline would merge with them, he walked north, scouting for tracks. He found nothing.