Another of those blessings. . . .
One of those blessings was John Henry McAllen, whose friendship and loyalty had prompted him to take steps in a bold initiative which had resulted in Sam Houston's possession of the Lamar letter. That saved my hide, and saved Texas, too, mused Houston. He could only hope that McAllen found that young woman, Emily Torrance. A good man deserved a good woman.
But only time would tell. . . .
Time was taking a heavy toll on McAllen. Having personally delivered Lamar's incriminating letter into Sam Houston's hands—he could not trust anyone else with the delivery of such an important document—he had returned to Grand Cane to await word from Antonio Caldero.
Not a day went by that he did not wonder what kind of fool he was for relying on a bandit like Caldero. Maybe Caldero felt as though he owed Houston and had said he would help without really intending to make much of an effort to locate Emily. And if Caldero did make a genuine effort, how long would he pursue the endeavor? Here was a man dedicated to one thing—the cause of keeping Texas out of the Nueces Strip—and who had played a deadly game of cat and mouse with the Rangers for years. How much time and effort would he expend in search of a Texas girl kidnapped by the Comanches?
Every morning, McAllen awoke to an almost irrepressible urge to saddle Escatawpa and head west. He had to convince himself on a daily basis that if Caldero really was trying, then he had a much better chance of getting Emily back that way. He couldn't do Emily much good dead—which would be his likely fate if he ventured alone onto the Llano Estacado. Finally he decided to give Caldero two months. If he hadn't heard anything by then he would go on his own, come what may. Two months wasn't much time, but McAllen could not give more; if he waited much longer than that to get started he would be slowed by the onslaught of winter.
He tried to immerse himself in plantation affairs. There was plenty of work to do, and McAllen felt as though he had neglected his home all summer long. The sugarcane was maturing fast. Soon it would be time to cut it with cane knives. Stalks stripped of their leaves would be placed in a hopper, and the rollers, turned by mules, would press the juice from the stalks. The juice would then have to be boiled to form sugar crystals.
In the mill, or "sugar house," the raw cane juice was first placed in the largest of three kettles, la grande, where lime was mixed in to act as a flux for releasing impurities. As the liquid heated up, the foreign particles rose to the top and were removed with copper skimmers into a wooden trough. La grande's contents were then ladled into a smaller kettle, la flambeau. Here the juice continued to boil, creating more scum to be skimmed off. As the juice cooked, it thickened and fewer impurities were released.
Finally the syrup was ready for the smallest and hottest kettle, la batterie. Here the syrup was boiled to the consistency needed for crystallization, at which time the batch was ready for "striking," removal to the cooling vats. Throughout the cooling process the syrup continued to granulate. Completely cooled, the raw sugary material called massecuite was transferred into large barrels for the final purging of molasses. What remained were brown crystals, or raw sugar, ready to be marketed. Arrangements would have to be made to transport the sugar and the molasses down the Brazos by boat.
In addition, a large quantity of wood would need to be cut and stored for heating and cooking during the winter months. In the process, fences that needed mending would be attended to. Early corn had already been picked, and a second crop was being planted. These and a dozen other tasks demanded attention. But McAllen's problem was that Jeb had proven himself an extremely efficient overseer and quite capable of handling everything in a more than satisfactory manner. So McAllen's involvement wasn't necessary, which meant he had to motivate himself, and that wasn't easy. He had only one thing on his mind—the only thing that seemed to matter. Emily.
Bits and pieces of important news reached him. Major Charles Stewart was found guilty of the murder of Jonah Singletary and sentenced to hang. Many people had expected Sam Houston to intervene on the major's behalf, ironically, it was President Lamar who stepped in to save Stewart from the hangman's noose. Lamar commuted the Englishman's sentence, and then went so far as to pardon him. McAllen presumed that the president had struck a deal with Stewart, giving the Englishman his life in exchange for political ammunition in the form of details regarding the connection between Houston and Great Britain. But Lamar was flogging a dead horse. His actions demonstrated the extent of his desperation. The accusations he hurled at his opponent had no effect on public opinion. Having made his own secret deals with the French, Lamar was the pot calling the kettle black.
Stewart, however, did not leave Texas alive. After arriving in Galveston to seek passage on a British ship, he was found dead in an alley near the wharves. The consensus was that a gang of Irish wharf rats had attacked him—the corpse had been stripped of everything of value. But McAllen had a sneaking suspicion that Leah's father might have been behind the killing. Assuming he knew that Stewart had raped his daughter, Henry Pierce would not have let the Englishman escape justice. Of course, Pierce was an important man in Galveston—important enough to get away with murder. If there was a connection, no one was going to look very hard to find it.
The French chargé d'affaires, Saligny, was more successful than Stewart in leaving Texas. Having had all he could stomach of Bullock's pigs, the count had shot and killed one of the innkeeper's prized Berk-skires and then had to flee for his life from the dead pig's irate owner. There was more to his departure than that, McAllen was certain. The revelation of the Franco-Texienne Land Bill made Saligny's position in Texas untenable. Lamar could not afford to have anything more to do with him.
Brax Torrance, having recovered from the amputation of his foot, disappeared from Grand Cane, and rumor had it he had gone to join the Texas Rangers. As for Yancey, McAllen never expected to see his friend again.
Finally, in early October, McAllen's suit for divorce, on the grounds of adultery, was adjudicated and finalized.
The very next day, Jeb came running up to the main house to give McAllen a note found pinned by a knife to the door of the sugar milclass="underline"
I have found her. Meet me at the Caves of the Colorado in a fortnight.
There was no signature, but then there didn't need to be.
Within the hour McAllen was ready to go. Joshua had the horses saddled, and Bessie had put some provisions in a gunnysack. Before mounting up, McAllen handed Jeb a piece of paper. Jeb looked it over—McAllen had taught him to read. But Jeb couldn't believe he'd read it right.
"As you can see," said McAllen, "it's been witnessed by Dr. Artemus Tice. Whether I come back or not, Jeb, you and the others are free. I've sent a copy to Robert Mills, my factor. You know him. If I die, you'll get your own section of land. If I come back, I'll pay everyone who wants to stay a percentage of what we make off the crops."
"You'll come back, Marse John," said Jeb. "And I reckon we'll all be right here waitin'."