Free Lorenzo's Revolutionary Quest by Lila Guzmán

rest.
    â€œHey, Dujardin!” Lorenzo yelled in French. “Good job.”
    Dujardin grinned. “How do you say ‘hardheaded’ in Spanish?”
    â€œ
Cabezón
,” Lorenzo replied.
    â€œThat one—he is very
cabezón
!”
    A fitting name. Cabezón it was.
    Once the cattle were headed in the same direction, Lorenzo’s men took their positions. Up front, two point riders guided the lead cattle eastward. Swing men on the outskirts of the herd, left and right, kept it tight and in motion. Drag riders in the back hurried stragglers along. Behind them came wranglers with the remuda of extra horses.
    Dust billowed in great clouds. Riders stopped long enough to pull bandannas over their noses and mouths. Only their eyes showed.
    Everything worked perfectly. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, no threat of a storm. They headed up the King’s Highway. Five leagues a day—about fifteen miles—was a decent traveling speed for a cattle drive. If they covered that each day, they should arrive at the Mississippi on October 9. The flatboats were due to arrive a week later,giving Lorenzo a margin for error.
    Miguel pulled alongside. “Morning, Captain. Nice weather for a cattle drive. Hope it lasts.”
    Lorenzo grunted. This fellow always rubbed him the wrong way.
    For several minutes, they rode side by side in silence.
    Patrols from San Antonio regularly checked on the movement of local tribes. Miguel’s presence wasn’t unusual, but still it bothered Lorenzo.
    â€œSan Antonio is that way,” he said, jerking a thumb backwards.
    â€œI know.”
    â€œHow far do you intend to travel with us?” Lorenzo asked.
    â€œAll the way to New Orleans.”
    Lorenzo drew rein. “What?”
    â€œYou know that nothing important leaves San Antonio without a military escort.”
    â€œI don’t need an escort.”
    â€œWho said you were important? We’re here to guard the cattle.”
    To keep from saying something he would regret, Lorenzo urged Piñata forward and left Miguel in a trail of dust. Once he cooled down, he realized why Miguel was along. No doubt Menchaca didn’t trust Lorenzo to deliver the cattle and had sent him along to make sure he did. It was probably a good idea to have Miguel and his three soldiers along. The extra guns might come in handy. Even so, Miguel was a nuisance.

Chapter Fourteen
    For two hours, Lorenzo kept the herd moving fast. Once or twice, the cattle, understandably nervous about leaving home, tried to turn back and had to be persuaded to rejoin the herd.
    At the first stream, vaqueros yipped and urged the cattle into ankle-high water.
    Lorenzo splashed across beside them and hoped every water crossing would be this easy. He went over the list of rivers ahead of them: the Cibolo, Guadalupe, San Marcos, Colorado, Brazos, Trinity, Neches, Sabine. Some would be small, some deep, some treacherous with quicksand. Other than stampedes, deep rivers were the most dangerous part of the trip. Since there were no bridges, the only way to get cattle across was to make them swim.
    When they were far enough from San Antonio, Lorenzo slowed the pace a bit. The cattle needed to graze frequently to keep fit.
    By noon, the Texas sun beat down unmercifully. Both cattle and men moved a little slower through terrain covered with brush and mesquite, across rocky dry creeks.
    Lorenzo rode ahead and told the cook to stop near a ford. He circled back to the men. “Let’s eat!”
    Everyone sprang from their horses and searched for shade, some near the wagon, others beneath trees. They pulled
charqui
from their saddlebags and bit off mouthfuls of dried beef. Some rolled cigarettes. Otherssplashed into the stream, filled their hats with water, and dumped it over their heads to cool off. Still others relieved themselves against trees.
    Downstream, cattle crowded around and dipped their heads. Water dribbled from their muzzles.