Land of the Free by Jeffry Hepple Read Free Book Online Page B

in until
they were outside. “Is dueling legal in New Orleans?”
    “It doesn’t matter. Neither
Joseph or Josiah Meddling are gentlemen. If you issued a challenge
to either they would accept your challenge and then hire thugs to
kill you from ambush on the day and appointed time of the
duel.”
    “Well, I assure you that I
will not walk away from this.”
    “I’m not asking you to do
anything but cool off before you act.”
    “You’re right. I have to
give it some more thought.”
    “While you’re thinking, can
we go to the market?”
    “Yes.”
     
    ~
     
    Yank decided that Marina was
correct about the New Orleans market. One could indeed buy anything
and everything from exotic fruits and nuts to alligator hides and
precious metals. He watched the river traffic while she shopped
quickly, bargained fiercely, and soon returned to him, dressed in
tall boots and riding trousers with no makeup on her face and her
hair stuffed into a huge sombrero.
    “How do I look?” She turned
in a circle to show him.
    He thought she looked
strikingly beautiful but only said that she looked fine.
    She paid him for the
unspoken compliment with a dazzling smile. “Then let us go examine
our livestock and materiel.”
    “Livestock?”
    “Horses, mules, beeves,
goats and chickens for food and transportation.”
    “There was an expenditure on
the books approved by Commander Thompson but I saw no livestock of
any kind at the Navy Yard.”
    “If Commander Thompson or
Harvey bought any animals they will be at the stockyards. We’ll
inquire there.”
    “At the
stockyards?”
    She saw his color fade.
“What?”
    He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
    “Well it certainly is
something. You looked as if you’d seen a ghost.” She watched his
face a moment. “Don’t tell me that you’re afraid of horses and
cattle.”
    He laughed. “No.” He looked
away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’ve never seen a slave
market or met anyone like Josiah Meddling before today.”
    She nodded, waiting for him
to go on.
    “It looked like a
stockyard.” He turned toward her expecting her to laugh at him or
ridicule, but she looked puzzled instead.
    “If you feel that way, why
were you offended by my spitting on that pig, Josiah
Meddling?”
    “I wasn’t offended, I was
just surprised.”
    “I think shocked was the
word you settled upon.”
    “If you prefer.”
    “You really must learn to
hide your feelings.”
    “Like you?”
    “I am not a
colonel.”
    “What difference does that
make?”
    “It just seems odd that a
leader of men should be so transparent. I feel that I can almost
read your mind by watching your face.”
    “I shall work on
it.”
    “There’s no need to get
angry.”
    “I am not angry.”
    “Well you are,” she
countered. “It’s written all over your face.”
    “Could we perhaps change the
subject, Miss Cortés?”
    “Very well. If you will
agree to call me Marina.”
    He shrugged. “If you
insist.”
    “What’s your name?” she
asked.
    “You know my name,” he
grumbled. “It was on those emancipation papers. I’m John Van
Buskirk.”
    “Do people call you John,
Van, or are you Colonel Van Buskirk to everyone?”
    “My friends and family call
me Yank.”
    “Yank?”
    “As in Yankee
Doodle.”
    She began to
giggle.
    “Why is that
funny?”
    “Well I was trying to work
around to putting us both on a first name basis, but I refuse to
call you Yank, Colonel Van Buskirk.”
    “Perhaps that would be
best.”
    “I don’t think I like you,
Colonel.”
    “I don’t particularly care,
Miss Cortés. In fact, I prefer it. That will make things a bit less
complicated.”

August 20, 1804
    New Orleans, Louisiana
Territory
     
    At the sound of the knock on
his hotel room door, Yank snatched the pistol from under his pillow
and rolled off the bed. “Who is there?” he called out in
French.
    “Marina Cortés.”
    “Just a moment.” He put down
the pistol, stepped into his trousers, padded to the