“Martin Connery, you said? I seem to know the name.”
“You may have heard it. As a boy in his teens he fought with a Kentucky contingent at San Jacinto.”
“And you think he would help us?”
‘I am sure of it, if you approach him in the right way.” She paused and lied in her teeth. “I was his favorite niece. If you had come to me in the beginning …”
“Perhaps that was a mistake. How far away is this uncle of yours?”
“Just south of here, near Mission Bay.”
He turned away. “I shall give it some thought. Your idea may be a good one.” His eyes searched hers. “Why should you do this?”
“I told you. I am a Confederate. I was sick when I heard of Lee’s surrender. Besides,” she paused and let some of her smile creep into her eyes, “I like a man of action. I like a man who does things. Of course, you were under duress, and it is not always possible to think clearly.”
“This uncle of yours. You would go to him with me?”
“Of course.”
He walked away, and after a moment she got back into the wagon, her heart beating slowly and heavily. Now with a little luck . . .
“Kate, how could you lie like that?” Dulcie protested. “You know Uncle Martin has never come near us. He does not like us, and I don’t think he cared who won the War. I know he was not a Confederate, and he did not believe they had a chance to win. Papa told us he always said all the arms factories were in the North. Besides, he’s a mean, cruel old man!”
“Maybe he is, but he’s kin.” And after a minute, Kate added, “And he’s very smart. I just hope he’s not only shrewd enough but willing to help.”
“Why should he?”
Of course, there was no reason why he should. Simply none at all. Her father had seen him only twice in many years, and the meetings had not been friendly. He was a hard, cruel old man, and even if he had not been a pirate, he acted like one.
Feeling around in the bottom of the wagon, she retrieved the bit of glass and went to work on Jesse’s rawhide ropes again. They were thick and tightly woven, part of an old lariat, she believed.
There was a brief spatter of rain. The wagons were moving again.
“He should stay in the edge of the woods,” Dulcie said. “If he goes to the shore now, he’s crazy!”
“Jesse? How are you feeling?”
“Much better. If I could get loose …”
“Run for it. Hide. Find Dal and Mac. Tell them I am going to take Ashford to Uncle Martin if I can.”
“You’ve got to be crazy! He won’t help! You know your Uncle Martin. He wouldn’t help anybody! And he never had any use for your pa. You know that. He’s a scoundrel!”
“Then he’s probably just what is needed to cope with Colonel Ashford.”
What had she been thinking of? Martin Connery cared for nobody. He was tough and mean, and he would not help. But she was sure he would not like Ashford, either. Martin Connery despised causes and those who fought for them. He fought for himself and perhaps the men who served him. He had no loyalty to her father, herself, or anybody else.
He had been a famous duellist and had killed a number of men in duels both here and abroad, several of them in New Orleans and Charleston. He was also famous as a womanizer.
Yet it might delay the moment when they were taken aboard ship, and something might happen to save them. The wind came with a rush. The wagon rocked on its wheels, and the canvas pushed in. Frightened, the girls clung together. Much more of this and the wagon would be blown over.
Jesse sat up and held his wrists out to Kate. “It’s now or never,” he said. “Hurry!”
Desperately she sawed at the already partly cut rawhide. Above the roar of the sea, the crashing of thunder, and the pounding of the rain she could hear the strangled sound of voices, of men shouting to each other. Soon that was stilled. No doubt they had taken cover.
The rawhide parted suddenly, and Jesse took the broken glass from Kate and went to work on the bonds on his ankles. A moment, and he was free. He chafed his wrists and ankles.
“They will be out in the woods somewhere,” she said.
“I’ll have to be lucky. There won’t be any tracks.” She had not thought of that. Of course there wouldn’t be. The rain was falling in sheets. At the back of the wagon, Jesse peered out, hesitated a moment, and was gone like a shadow. One moment he was there, and then he was gone.
Quickly she drew the laces together and tied the canvas as tightly as she could. Straining her ears, she heard no sound but the roaring of the wind and the sea. She huddled with the others, frightened as they were that the wagon might tip over.
Suppose … just suppose they all tried it? Suppose they went now, suddenly, running into the forest? They’d be drenched to the skin within minutes, and in their heavy clothes they would not be able to move swiftly enough, yet …
Quickly, she went to the back of the wagon. She started to unfasten the laces when a rough voice said, “Just you set back an’ set tight, ma’am. Ain’t nobody goin’ no place!”
Too late! In the confusion of the storm they had been forgotten, an oversight now taken care of.
She moved away. Had Jesse made it? Or was he lying out there now, stabbed or bayoneted to death, lying in the mud and slush, breathing his last?
It had been a good thought, but it had come too late. And just as well they had not gone with Jesse, for they would only have been an encumbrance, slowing him down until he, too, was taken or killed.
They could only wait …
Ten
For one moment after his feet hit the ground, Jesse took a quick look around.
Nobody was in sight. There were only the two wagons, the horses standing heads down in the driving rain, and a few scattered tracks showing where the men had fled for shelter in that first, fierce thrust of the storm. On the edge of the forest several trees had been blown down in a bygone storm, and their trunks had been covered by debris, forming a natural shed that offered at least partial shelter.
The one look was all he needed. Jesse plunged into the forest, ran desperately hard, tripped over a root, and fell sprawling into the mud and leaves. Scrambling up, he took a hasty look around.
A man was moving toward the wagon from which he had just come! Jesse ran into the forest, ducking and dodging among the trees, his face lashed by blown branches and whipped by the driving rain. He fell again, got up again, glimpsed what seemed to be an opening and dove into it, running hard.
Distance … distance was what he needed now. After that he could stop and look for a place to hide.
Where would Dal be, and Mac? Had they found shelter, or were they out in the storm?
He ran until he was gasping for breath, then fell against a tree, almost strangled by blown rain. He clung to the tree, then ran on. Time and again he fell, sometimes tripping, sometimes slipping. Weaving among the trees as he must he could not tell how far he had come.
This was snake country, but he need not fear them for they would have been smart enough to find shelter before this storm hit. As he ran, his mind began to work. The first blind panic gone, he tried to think, to decide what he must do, where he must look for his brothers.
Running as he had, the thought came to mind of an old argument he and his brothers had often debated, whether one ran because he was afraid or was afraid because he ran. For running contributed to fear, he was sure of that now. Deliberately, he forced himself to slow down, to look, to see where he was going.
He needed to find his brothers, but he also needed shelter, a place to hide, and weapons of some kind. The forest offered nothing beyond a club or a sharp stick, but there were plenty of both. Wind whipped the trees, and the driving rain continued. If he stopped to catch a breath he ended with a mouth full of water.
He stopped, leaned against a huge old cypress, and tried to rest a moment.
Escaping had been his only chance. As long as he remained with the girls there was no way in which he could help, and once they examined him again they would discover he was no longer badly hurt and could be imprisoned somewhere away from the girls. Now that he was free he must do what he could.