Paxton and the Lone Star

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Authors: Kerry Newcomb
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your pa,” Hogjaw answered without hesitation. “Man like me runs across a good deal of humankind, but counts his friends on the fingers of one hand. You know how long I’ve known that man acrost the table?”
    â€œI’ve heard,” Joseph said.
    â€œSince 1795,” Hogjaw went on, paying Joseph no attention. “We was younkers, no more than fourteen when we run off to sea together. Why, hell, we seen more of this world in ten years than the three of you could draw a map of. Places so far distant it’d make your head swim. We fought pirates—fought with ’em, too—and was shipwrecked together. Hell, I stood up for him the day he married your mother, Joseph, a woman I loved too.” He sighed, shook his head dolefully. “But she had an eye for him, by God. I never did stop bein’ his friend, though, and never stopped owin’ him either, for as many times as I saved his life, he saved mine once more.”
    â€œWell, now,” Thomas demurred, reddening.
    â€œIt’s the truth, damn it Thomas. And if I don’t repay you personal, well …” He sputtered, searched for words. “Well, hell! I’d hate to think this was the last time in my life I was gonna see a Paxton.”
    â€œThe last time?” True asked in the silence that followed his outburst.
    â€œBy this hand, True lad.” The mountain man’s voice dropped, and he seemed to be looking into a distance only he could visualize. “I ain’t gettin’, any younger. How many more times do you think I can make this trek? No, it’s not long, says I, that these old bones’ll move a mite too slow and a Injun lance will put an end to Hogjaw Leakey.” His gaze turned to True and his voice returned from that far place. “Mind you, I carry nor remorse nor grudge. Bloodthirsty heathens that Injuns be, they’re a kinder fate than old age, for at least a man knows he’s dyin’ and don’t totter off like a babe.” The folds in Hogjaw’s cheeks rearranged themselves into a grin as he called for the cider jug and filled his mug. “God, but this is as silken a snake poison as ever bit me!”
    True had heard Hogjaw spin poetic tales of the far sides of mountains before, but never had he known him to reveal so deep an introspective streak. Mulling over the older man’s words, he pondered what he’d heard of Texas—that it was part of Mexico and that land-hungry settlers from the States were buying immense tracts of land with the expectation of taming the savage wilderness. Hogjaw was the first person True knew personally who had actually been there. He took a sip of cider, felt the world shift beneath his feet, and knew he’d had enough to drink.
    â€œTom Gunn Paxton,” Hogjaw went on, his voice ringing, “the land calls to me. Land, wealth, adventure enough for a dozen lifetimes. I got to go back, and go back I will, for Texas is a fever burnin’ beneath my skin.” He paused and leaned across the table to stare into Thomas’s eyes. “I ask you now, old friend. Will you give your sons your blessing to go with me?”
    Thomas returned the mountain man’s stare for a long moment. Deep in his heart he knew this moment had been due for some time, and now that it had come, he found himself resisting it as he had promised he wouldn’t, for had he not left home too, as all young men must? He turned to his youngest. “Well, Andrew?”
    â€œI’m game,” Andrew said, the excitement rising in him.
    â€œAnd you, Joseph?” Thomas asked. “Your brother, Jason, would be happy to see you in Charleston to help manage Paxton Shipping.”
    Joseph stiffened, but kept his temper. For years, his father had held up his twin brother as an example to him. “Jason is a good businessman. I’d never be anything but a subordinate to him and you know it.” He leaned his elbows on

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