The three of them—Houston, McAllen, and Caldero—sat on empty barrels at a rickety table, a jug of aguardiente between them. Houston declined a drink, explaining that he was practicing temperance in keeping with the promise he'd made to Margaret. McAllen didn't like the taste of the anise-based liquor, but he took a drink so as not to offend their host. Caldero indulged in a long swig from the jug. It might have been water for all the effect it seemed to have on him. Then he lit a cheroot by the flame of a tallow lamp. The windowless hut was dark and gloomy and McAllen heard something scuttling about in the back corner, but he couldn't tell what it was. Wreathed in acrid blue smoke, Caldero propped his booted feet on the table, his big-roweled Chihuahua spurs gouging the old gray wood.
"So tell me, Houston. Why have you come so far to see me?"
"To ask a favor."
"What makes you think I would do any Texan a favor, even you?"
"Don't you think you ought to find out what it is before you decide not to do it?"
Caldero shrugged indifferently. "I will listen, because at the moment I have nothing better to do."
"We've come to ask you to intercede on our behalf to free a young woman from the Comanches."
Caldero's piercing blue gaze swung to McAllen. "Your woman, no doubt, señor."
"She will be when I get her back."
"The Comanches took her during the big raid two months ago," said Houston. "I'm sure you've heard all about that."
"It made me very happy."
"A lot of innocent people got hurt," snapped McAllen.
"Easy, John Henry," advised Houston.
Caldero smiled and shook his head. "There is no such thing as an innocent Texan."
"I guess I ought not to be surprised that you think so," said McAllen bristling, "since your own men make no distinction between man, woman, or child when they attack our homesteads."
"We attack your settlers because they are trespassers. We make an example of all Anglos who dare to steal land that does not belong to them. And you must admit, our methods are effective. How many Texan farms did you see between here and the Nueces, eh?"
"Your methods are barbaric," replied McAllen.
"Really? I have also heard about the murders of the Comanche chiefs in San Antonio de Bexar, and of the attack on their encampment, where many innocent women and children were also slain. I am thinking that the look on your face tells me that you yourself were present, señor."
"I was," admitted McAllen bluntly. "And I don't like what happened there any more than I like what you and your men do."
"Gentlemen," Houston said with a sigh, "it's very entertaining to watch a couple of young bulls go at it head to head, but it really isn't accomplishing anything."
Caldero took another drink of aguardiente. "You are right, General. Your friend and I, we are much alike. I am thinking that one day maybe we will have to settle our disagreement. But not today. Today you have come to ask a favor of your enemy. But I cannot see why I should do this thing for you."
"Maybe because you're a romantic at heart," suggested Houston.
Caldero laughed and slapped the table with the flat of a hand. "You are right. I am a romantic. I am glad you did not say I should do this because I owed you a favor. If you had saved the lives of my men it might be so. But you did not save them."
"I wasn't trying to save their lives. All I wanted was for them to get a fair trial. No doubt they would have been hanged anyway. But at least it would have been a legal execution."
"A fine distinction," mused Caldero dryly, "and one that I am sure would have been wasted on them. But, even if I were to do this thing, there are many Comanche villages. Do you know which band took this woman?"
McAllen brandished the broken shaft of an arrow from beneath his dusty black shell jacket and handed it to Caldero, who glanced at the fletch and the markings and nodded.
"Quohadi," he said.
"The Antelope band?" asked Houston.
"Sí. They live on the Llano Estacado."
"So will you help us or not?" pressed McAllen.
"What will you do if I say no?"
"I'll find her myself. No matter how long it takes—or how many of your Comanche friends I have to go through."
Caldero looked long and hard at McAllen, and knew this grim and determined man meant every word he said.
Houston leaned forward. "Caldero, you know me. I've always tried my best to keep peace with the Indians. Even the Comanches. That hasn't been easy, since they've always raided our farms and settlements."
"As I said before, it is because you Tejanos are trespassers."
"I'm running for president again," said Houston, "and once I've replaced Lamar I'll try my damnedest to stop this war. More killing won't solve anything. If you help us find this girl and get her back, a lot of lives will be saved. And that will bring us one step closer to peace."
"You're taking the wrong tack with this man, General," decided McAllen. "He's not the least bit interested in peace."
Caldero puffed vigorously on his cheroot. "I tell you what, Houston. If I help you, you must do something for me in return."
"What might that be?"
"You will state publicly that the Nueces River, in your opinion, forms the southern boundary of your so-called Republic of Texas."
McAllen stood up in a hurry. "Let's get out of here, General."
"Hold on, John Henry."
McAllen was incredulous. "You're not even going to consider that—are you?"
"Caldero," said Houston, "you know I could never do that."
"I know that now. Just as I know now that you are a man of honor, whose word can be trusted."
So it had been a test, mused McAllen as he sat back down. Had Houston agreed to Caldero's spurious condition the bandit leader would have known he was lying, and that would prove Sam Houston was the kind of man who would say anything a person wanted to hear. And that, in turn, would mark him as an unreliable, unscrupulous man, a man without integrity. Though a bandit, Caldero had a code of honor he tried to live by.
Caldero took another drink. "I tell you what I will do," he said at last. "I will try to find out where this girl is." He pointed at McAllen. "But if I do locate her, you will have to go and get her. It will not be without risk. But then you don't care about that, do you?"
"No, I don't."
"You will have to give something of equal or greater value to the warrior who owns her, if he chooses to trade."
"I realize that."
Caldero nodded. "What is this woman's name, and what does she look like?"
McAllen told him.
"And where can I get word to you?"
McAllen told him about the plantation at Grand Cane.
"Go there," said Caldero. "Wait for word from me. It may take weeks. Months. I may never find her. She might be dead."
"No. She's alive."
"Wishful thinking? We shall see."
Riding away from the adobe hut, stirrup to stirrup with Houston, and with Joshua and Dr. Tice coming along behind them, McAllen didn't say a word until they were deep in the brasada scrub and out of Antonio Caldero's sight.