Fiction: Jaudon – An American Family (a novel) [3]

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Chapter 3. Houston

James screamed at the sight of Chassy’s limp body. There was a hole in her back from the Henry rifle’s bullet, which seemed to have killed her instantly. He threw his arms around her and pulled her to him. He held her in his lap, rocking her and crying until at last Sara touched his arm. “James, we have to get across the Sabine before nightfall.”
    James nodded, kissed Chassy’s face one last time, and then rose and lifted Chassy into the back of the wagon and pulled a blanket over her. “She’ll be buried in Texas.”
    They caught the horses and gathered the weapons and ammo. There were two Henry Repeater rifles and two of the new 44-caliber revolving six-shooters. James strapped one of the holsters with a pistol around his mid-section. They put the saddles in the wagon along with the other pistol and the rifles. These horses they did not set free, but tied to the rear of the wagon, with their faithful milk cow.
    Then they turned to disposing of the two bodies. First, they removed the men’s clothing, some of which they would keep, and burn the rest. James tied a rope around the ankles of each man and tied the other end to the back of the wagon. In the middle of the Sabine River, he cut the ropes to let the river carry the bodies downstream. By the time someone found them there wouldn’t be enough left to identify.

    On a small hill overlooking the Texas side of the river they stopped and made camp. It was there they buried Chassy. Sara and little Claude Napoleon Jaudon stayed on that hill with Chassy for two days, while James hunted for food. They and their animals needed the rest and the beans and fatback they had brought from home were almost gone.
    The Henry was a beautiful rifle, and James bagged a small deer and three big Texas jackrabbits. They cut up the deer meat and packed it in the salt barrel on the side of the wagon, along with the remaining fatback. They ate the rabbits.

    On the morning of the third day, refreshed and fed, James and Sara said good-bye to Chassy. The cow was giving milk again and little Claude was putting it away. Chassy had been mixing sugar water with the little milk she and the cow were producing and that had been all Claude got for a couple of days. While it had kept him alive that long, it wouldn’t have for much longer.
    Even the old horses James had traded the mules for had a higher step after feeding on the fresh green grass and resting. And despite the pain from the loss of Chassy, Texas felt like hope. James didn’t know how, but he knew he could make his fortune in this adopted country. And he would settle for nothing less than a fortune.
    They set out on the road toward Houston.

About ten miles from Houston, Sara spotted something on the road ahead. “It looks like someone’s wagon has broken down.”
    As they came closer, James handed Sara his pistol. “It may be a trick. Be ready to use this.”
    He stopped the horses and heard Sara cock the gun. It was a Mexican family: a man, his wife, and a child about the size of Claude she was holding to her breast. The mother looked very distressed, and fearful. They had a two-wheel cart, a skinny little burro, and three goats. “Hello,” James said, “can we help?”

    “I speak only little English, señor.”
    “I speak no Spanish, señor. It looks like a wheel on your cart might have broken. I’ll take a look at it.”
    James stepped down from the wagon and walked to the two-wheel cart that the donkey had been pulling. He knelt down to take a look.
    The Mexican said, “Si, si, look. It no good.”
    The Mexican was right. James could see now that the axle had snapped in two. He stood back up. “There’s no fixing that out here on the road.”
    He looked at the mother and her child and exchanged glances with Sara. “Sara, we’re going to have to bring them with us – as far as Houston anyway.”
    James put out his right hand and with his left pointed at himself. “I’m James Jaudon.” He pointed at the wagon. “That is my sister, Sara Jaudon.”
    The man patted his chest. “Mi, Rafael Rodrigo, esa, Maria y Ricardo.”
    James smiled and with indicative gestures said, “Come, Rafael, we’ll load your stuff on my wagon and you go with us. Tie the donkey next to my milk cow. I don’t know about the goats.” Rafael understood the gestures more than the words.
    Rafael waved his hands, “La cavra walk behind el macho cabrio. No problema!”
    “Your goats, you deal with them,” James said, again with gestures.
    James had Rafael saddle the two dead men’s horses, which they would ride to lighten the wagon’s load. Once the newcomers’ stuff was loaded, Maria crawled into the back and placed her baby on the bedding next to Claude and then got on the seat next to Sara. The two women smiled at each other and Sara slapped the rains and away they went. The male goat ran along in back of the wagon with the two females a few feet behind.
    At the outskirts of Houston, Rafael rode up to the side of James. “Señor James, hombres here” and he pointed ahead, “no like Mexicans.”
    James reached over and patted him on the back. “You work for me. There will be no problem.” He gestured for Sara to pull the horses up. “Hand me those two Henrys.”
    He slid one of the Henrys into the rifle sleeve along the right side of his saddle and handed Raphael the other one, to slide into his own rifle sleeve. Then they continued on their way into town.
    Houston in 1866 was a lawless place, as was most of Texas. Texas was attracting Southern families who had lost everything in the war – including slaves, previously owned by some of the whites, who had been freed. Revenge killings were an everyday occurrence. The town was then governed by the Union military command under the laws of Reconstruction, but the Union troops could do little to stop the killings and the robberies taking place on a daily basis. This was what James was taking his extended family into.

    Houston was the largest city James or Sara had ever seen. The main road in was wide but dusty. People lined the wooden walkways that bordered it. The road was lined with all sorts of stores and businesses and tall buildings open to the public. Despite the lack of law enforcement, Houston seemed to be growing. A large number of freed slaves were in evidence, some of them wearing suits. James wished Chassy had lived to see this.
    Loud voices suddenly brought James’ dream-like state to an end. Two men standing in their path were shouting at Rafael, “Who did you steal that horse from, Mexican?”
    Sara had stopped the wagon, and the goats were moving up between the cow and the donkey, as though they sensed trouble. James rode up, his hand on his gun. “That’s my horse, and this man works for me. You got a problem with him, you need to deal with me.” James’ gun was still in his hoster, but he cocked it, and the distinct sound of this was not lost on the two men.
    Sara stood up with the old flintlock, cocked it, and hollered, “That means they work for me also, and unlike my brother, I shoot first and talk later. So, if you don’t move out from in front of my wagon, I will shoot your sorry asses.”
    The two men’s hands went up and they began to back away. “Don’t shoot, we meant no harm.” They retreated to the sidewalk and Sara uncocked the gun and handed it to Maria before slapping the reins across the rumps of the horses. They proceeded farther into town.
    James smiled at the sound of the two women laughing. But he knew they had to move on toward San Antonio, then on west beyond it, where the free land lay. Houston wasn’t a good place for them to hang around. It would get them killed or have them killing someone – not a good choice either way.
    On the other side of Houston, the land was flat and dry. At a main crossing were four roads, and they headed southwest down the one with a sign that said San Antonio.
    That night they made camp in a wooded area alongside the road.

Copyright © 2019 by Ed Rogers