Now Lamar had turned his attention to the Comanches, the feared warlords of the Staked Plain, who kept the Texas frontier in a constant stir with sudden raids. The president sent agents among the Comanches, claiming he wanted to meet with the tribe's leaders to talk peace.
"It is incredible to me," said Houston, "that the Comanche chiefs have agreed to come to San Antonio and meet with Lamar. Especially Maguara. That old fox ought to know better. Lamar's stated policy has been extermination, not conciliation. I smell a rat."
"What do you want me to do?" asked McAllen.
"The meeting is scheduled to take place in a few weeks, at the Council House in San Antonio. John Henry, can you be there?"
"I can."
"Go first to Austin. Perhaps you will see or hear something there that will give you a clue to Lamar's true motives."
McAllen nodded. "That's fine. In fact, I've been planning to pay a visit to someone in Austin."
Ashbel Smith shot a startled look of alarm in McAllen's direction, but Houston failed to notice.
"I know you're wondering what good you can do," said Houston, brows knit. "Everyone knows you are a 'Houston man.' As such, you are not likely to be consulted by Lamar and his cronies. Which is a shame, since you've gone up against the Comanches a time or two and know their ways as well as anyone."
"They've struck near enough to Grand Cane a time or two to make us sit up and take notice," said McAllen. "We've tried to make them pay a steep price."
"Just go there, and keep your eyes open. If you see trouble stirring, do what you can to nip it in the bud. God knows Texas is in no condition to fight a full-scale war against the Comanche nation."
"You evidently expect some skulduggery on Lamar's part."
"He has surrounded himself with Indian haters. This old nose smells danger, my friend. I have smelled it many times before, and I know the scent."
"I'll do what I can, General."
"Splendid." It seemed as though a great burden had been lifted from Sam Houston's shoulders. "Now, have another drink, and I will tell you all about this remarkable young lady who has made such a difference in my life. . . ."
Chapter Two
"John Henry," said Ashbel Smith, "I was afraid for a moment you were going to mention this business with Jonah Singletary in the Old Chief's presence."
They had gone some distance from Sam Houston's cabin, riding in silence, following the trail that wound through the evergreens of Cedar Point, and which would eventually connect with the Lynchburg Road. Tonight they would reach the town of Houston. From there it was ninety miles to Grand Cane. McAllen was ambivalent about getting home. There was plenty of work to be done, and McAllen was committed to making his plantation one of the most successful in Texas. He was not motivated, as were so many of his peers, to create a worthy inheritance for his heirs; he had no children, and had accepted the bitter fact that he never would. No, he would make Grand Cane prosper because that was just the kind of man he was. Once he started something, he never went at it in halves.
The problem with going home was that Leah, his wife, would probably be there. These days, McAllen did not care to linger long in her presence. She daily reminded him what a fool he had been to marry her. Not in words, but in her actions. The romance writers waxed eloquent about domestic bliss; McAllen lived in a domestic hell from which there did not seem to be an acceptable avenue of escape.
Ashbel Smith's remark disrupted his grim reverie. He glanced, scowling, at the physician. The thought of Leah seldom failed to put him in a bad humor.
"And why would I do that?" he asked. "This business between Singletary and I is purely personal."
"General Houston would disapprove, were he cognizant of your intentions." Knowing that McAllen revered the Old Chief, Smith hoped to weaken his traveling companion's resolve regarding Singletary. "Rumors to the contrary aside, he has fought only one duel in his life, and I know he has regretted doing so every day since. His adversary was General William White, a lawyer and veteran of the Battle of New Orleans. White interposed himself in a quarrel between Houston and another gentlemen. Harsh words were hastily spoken. A challenge was issued and accepted. For a week Houston practiced his marksmanship at the Hermitage, under the experienced eye of Old Hickory himself. Finally the two men met at the appointed place and hour, on the Tennessee-Kentucky border, at the farm of a man named Duncan.
"Houston did not want to kill White, but the old gentleman would not recant," continued Smith. "Realizing that White was a poor shot with the pistol, Houston gallantly agreed that they would take their marks at the distance of only fifteen feet. It so happened that Duncan had a pup he had named Andy Jackson. On the morning of the duel, Houston was awakened by the barking of Andy, the pup. He later told he considered that a good omen, and knew that, even at fifteen feet, he would go unscathed. And that he did, though General White was less fortunate. He lingered for months at death's door. No one was more relieved by the old gentleman's eventual recovery than Houston. He swore he would never fight another duel, though heaven knows his enemies have slandered him mercilessly. I know his respect for you would grow if you could see your way clear to forgetting Singletary's vile insinuations regarding your wife."
"You seem keenly interested in talking me out of this, Ashbel."
"I am, my friend, I am. Singletary is a Lamar man. He uses the pages of the Austin City Gazette to tell all manner of lies about his mentor's political adversaries."
"Then he is past due a lesson in common decency."
"But you would be playing right into their hands by pursuing the course of action which you propose. Ever since the Levi Laurens affair, there has been a public clamor to outlaw affairs of honor."
McAllen nodded. Everyone in Texas was familiar with the tragic details of the Goodrich-Laurens duel. Three years ago, Dr. Chauncey Goodrich, one of Ashbel Smith's Texas Army surgeons and a hot tempered Mississippian, had been forced by circumstance to share a room in Houston's Mansion House with young journalist Levi Laurens and two other gentlemen. During the night, a $1,000 bill was stolen from Goodrich's bags. Goodrich accused Laurens, and Laurens was obliged by the code of honor to demand satisfaction.
Rifles at twenty paces were the terms agreed upon. Laurens fell mortally wounded and died two days later. Shortly thereafter, Goodrich quarreled with a San Antonio gambler, who plunged a Bowie knife through the man's heart. Ironically, it was later discovered that one of the other men who had shared the room with Goodrich and Laurens, Marcus Cicero Stanley, had stolen the $1,000 note. Stanley fled to England to escape justice, but McAllen had heard that he now languished in a London prison for robbing the famous artist George Catlin at his Indian Portrait Gallery. The death of Laurens had triggered editorials and demonstrations denouncing the code duello, a storm of sentiment that was still raging unabated across the republic to this day.
The irony of his own situation did not escape John Henry McAllen. Jonah Singletary had made snide comments in the City Gazette about his wife, Leah, who had been seen in the company of more than one young Austin man-about-town, while McAllen was off with his Black Jacks chasing a Comanche raiding party that had struck several farms in Brazoria County six weeks ago. "Poor Captain McAllen," Singletary had sneered. "While the heroic fellow is on the warpath against those red savages, his wife can be found on the footpath of Lovers Lane with several of our own local bucks."