problem. He stoutly opposed Houston's scheme to negotiate a boundary between Texas and the Comanche nation. In Johnston's opinion, that would be giving up a very large portion of the republic to a bunch of savages. Besides, the settlers would never honor such a naive treaty. Lamar was of a like mind.
"Barely a week before the date set for the council is upon us," fumed Lamar. "Maguara and Yellow Hand and Buffalo Hump all agreed to attend. And they had better, sir, or they shall suffer the consequences."
"Mr. President," said Singletary, "my readers would like to become acquainted with the terms you propose to offer the Comanche chieftains—assuming any of them show up."
Lamar looked askance at the editor of the City Gazette. Jonah Singletary was a sardonic, bitter misanthrope, whose caustic pen Lamar felt fortunate to have on his side in the political arena. Still, he did not entirely trust Singletary, because he could not fathom the man's motives. Singletary's only joy in life seemed to be slinging scarlet abuse in his editorials. So far he had spared Lamar and his backers. But why? The question nagged Lamar.
"I can oblige you there, Jonah," replied the president, his tone so friendly and familiar that one might have thought the two men were brothers rather than uneasy allies. "I intend to impress upon them that unless they surrender all their white captives and refrain from any further hostilities against the citizens of this republic, I shall unleash the military might of Texas upon them and chastise them unto death, and I shall not rest from this endeavor until the republic is rid of the heathen race."
"I see," said Singletary. He was inclined to query the president regarding what military might he was referring to. The republic's army barely existed. Lamar had wanted to build and garrison a string of frontier forts from the Red River to the Rio Grande, but he had neither the money nor the men to carry through with that scheme. All Lamar could really count on were the Texas Rangers. But Singletary exercised self-discipline. It would not do to alienate these men by administering to them, dreamers all, a cold dose of reality.
"The problem may be," he said, "that these heathens cannot comprehend how it came to pass that the land over which they have reigned supreme for generations now belongs to us by dint of a little scrape on the banks of the San Jacinto River."
Lamar eyed the editor suspiciously, and Singletary, apprehensive lest he had gone too far, changed the subject. Rising, he proferred a copy of the day's edition of the City Gazette to the president. "I thought, sir, that my remarks concerning certain gentlemen who are currently loitering in the general vicinity of Bullock's Hotel might amuse you."
Lamar snatched the paper from Singletary's grasp. "What? No doubt you refer to Captain McAllen and his associates." He read for a moment. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. " 'Our fair city is blessed with the continued presence of a hero who served so selflessly the noble cause of Texas independence. I refer, of course, to Captain J. H. McAllen of Brazoria, who, we venture to guess, may be scouting for signs of his beloved wife, who has been known to stray in this vicinity.' "
"My God, man," said Johnston, aghast. "I'm amazed you're still alive, Singletary. If you wrote about me in such a vein I would have killed you before the ink was dry."
Singletary merely smiled.
Lamar read on. " 'In company with the brave captain is Dr. Artemus Tice, that therapeutic vampire who has slain by his notorious malpractice more poor souls than the Yellow Jack carried away two years ago on Galveston Island. McAllen's other companion is unknown to us, but we feel confident in assuming that he is one of that stalwart band of Mississippi hooligans known as The Black Jacks.' "
"The other man's name is Torrance," said Johnston. "And he is a Black Jack. Yesterday he departed for San Antonio. There is one more. That
"Barely a week before the date set for the council is upon us," fumed Lamar. "Maguara and Yellow Hand and Buffalo Hump all agreed to attend. And they had better, sir, or they shall suffer the consequences."
"Mr. President," said Singletary, "my readers would like to become acquainted with the terms you propose to offer the Comanche chieftains—assuming any of them show up."
Lamar looked askance at the editor of the City Gazette. Jonah Singletary was a sardonic, bitter misanthrope, whose caustic pen Lamar felt fortunate to have on his side in the political arena. Still, he did not entirely trust Singletary, because he could not fathom the man's motives. Singletary's only joy in life seemed to be slinging scarlet abuse in his editorials. So far he had spared Lamar and his backers. But why? The question nagged Lamar.
"I can oblige you there, Jonah," replied the president, his tone so friendly and familiar that one might have thought the two men were brothers rather than uneasy allies. "I intend to impress upon them that unless they surrender all their white captives and refrain from any further hostilities against the citizens of this republic, I shall unleash the military might of Texas upon them and chastise them unto death, and I shall not rest from this endeavor until the republic is rid of the heathen race."
"I see," said Singletary. He was inclined to query the president regarding what military might he was referring to. The republic's army barely existed. Lamar had wanted to build and garrison a string of frontier forts from the Red River to the Rio Grande, but he had neither the money nor the men to carry through with that scheme. All Lamar could really count on were the Texas Rangers. But Singletary exercised self-discipline. It would not do to alienate these men by administering to them, dreamers all, a cold dose of reality.
"The problem may be," he said, "that these heathens cannot comprehend how it came to pass that the land over which they have reigned supreme for generations now belongs to us by dint of a little scrape on the banks of the San Jacinto River."
Lamar eyed the editor suspiciously, and Singletary, apprehensive lest he had gone too far, changed the subject. Rising, he proferred a copy of the day's edition of the City Gazette to the president. "I thought, sir, that my remarks concerning certain gentlemen who are currently loitering in the general vicinity of Bullock's Hotel might amuse you."
Lamar snatched the paper from Singletary's grasp. "What? No doubt you refer to Captain McAllen and his associates." He read for a moment. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. " 'Our fair city is blessed with the continued presence of a hero who served so selflessly the noble cause of Texas independence. I refer, of course, to Captain J. H. McAllen of Brazoria, who, we venture to guess, may be scouting for signs of his beloved wife, who has been known to stray in this vicinity.' "
"My God, man," said Johnston, aghast. "I'm amazed you're still alive, Singletary. If you wrote about me in such a vein I would have killed you before the ink was dry."
Singletary merely smiled.
Lamar read on. " 'In company with the brave captain is Dr. Artemus Tice, that therapeutic vampire who has slain by his notorious malpractice more poor souls than the Yellow Jack carried away two years ago on Galveston Island. McAllen's other companion is unknown to us, but we feel confident in assuming that he is one of that stalwart band of Mississippi hooligans known as The Black Jacks.' "
"The other man's name is Torrance," said Johnston. "And he is a Black Jack. Yesterday he departed for San Antonio. There is one more. That
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