Promised Lands by Elizabeth Crook

Author:Elizabeth Crook [Crook, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-83383-9
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2013-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

Disgusted with the creeping pace, the men shoved unmarked boxes off the wagon trucks to lighten the load. They crossed a creek and stretched out down the road through a string of narrow, open prairies and scattered oak woods where the trees grew far apart and there was not much undergrowth, just green, lush grass and flower patches blanketing the earth.

The soloist continued singing in a clear voice above the jangling gear and tromping feet and the creaking of the wagons. He had an air of drama which Toby found confusing and a little womanish. Scholar told Toby not to look at Melvin: “Just better not to,” he explained. Some of the Grays began to say, “Shut up, Melvin,” and “God Almighty,” and “Would you listen at that, it’s goddamn pitiful.” But Melvin kept on singing, dancing in the median between the wagon ruts.

Soon after noon, the column entered Nine Mile Prairie and Fannin called a halt beside a swath of earth where a recent prairie fire had burned the old mesquite grass and fertilized the land for new and tender sprouts. He said to graze the oxen there, or they’d be useless.

His order traveled up and down the line, and commotion rumbled from the ranks and spread from the New Orleans Grays to general discontent: there wasn’t time to stop. They should be pressing toward Coleto Creek where they’d find refuge in the timber if attacked. Several of the officers—Shackelford, Duval of the Kentucky Mustangs, and Ira Westover—protested at the stop. Hugh went forward also, and spoke against it, though some wags among the ranks made gibes and catcalls and accused those urging to move on of simple cowardice and fear.

They had stolen a march on Urrea under cover of the fog; Urrea was outwitted, they said. He would never catch them now.

Fannin listened to the arguments. He listened to Hugh Kenner’s talk of De la Rosa’s spies, how no army could traverse this open country without being seen. He stood leaning back against a wagon with one boot planted in the grass and one cocked up on a tailgate hanging limp from broken hinges, and looked at his pathetic oxen and ordered that the oxen be unlimbered. He said the Mexicans were nowhere near, and would not dare attack an army of so many men with such intimidating firepower.

Cursing burst forth from the ranks, but the oxen were unlimbered and turned out to graze. The clouds hung low and sullen and there was no sign of how the day was passing, no shadows shortening or lengthening, only the quiet, grassy landscape and the bitter voices of the men.

The group was growing frayed about the edges.

After an hour’s rest they moved on. Another cart broke down, causing a delay while the load was redistributed to other vehicles. Horton and his riders, Miles among them, circled back then rode ahead to scour the Coleto timber to the left and front.

The four horsemen who had stayed behind to guard the rear,

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