Get Urrea! (An Ole Devil Hardin Western Book 5) Read online

  ‘I have to make sure that my men are taking care of everything,’ Escalier said stiffly and without enthusiasm, having caught Beatriz’s prohibitive headshake. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Senora Alvarez.’

  ‘Of course,’ the woman confirmed.

  ‘Tell the inn-keeper that the lady can have my room,’ Ole Devil suggested. ‘I’ll move into—’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, senor,’ Beatriz put in. ‘There’s not so much difference in quality between any of Pandrosa’s better rooms. Don’t be long, Alphonso. I’ll wait until you’re ready to eat.’

  ‘There’s nothing like soothing a man’s pride,’ Ole Devil remarked when the Mexican officer was outside the room.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, senor … ?’ Beatriz answered, but her tone showed that she did. She paused after senor, a note of interrogation in her voice.

  ‘Von Richthofen,’ Ole Devil supplied, that being the name on Santa Anna’s pass. ‘Count Franz von Richthofen.’

  ‘You are German?’ Beatriz inquired.

  ‘Prussian!’ Ole Devil corrected haughtily. ‘Formerly of His Majesty’s Hussars.’

  ‘My apologies, Count,’ Beatriz said with a smile. ‘Why do you think that General Urrea would have need for your services?’

  ‘Mainly because Santa Anna has no further use for them,’ Ole Devil replied. He produced his pass. ‘I’ve been working for him, but since the Battle of San Jacinto—of which I see that you’ve heard—I doubt if he’ll be in a position to make it worth my while to continue. But General Urrea will.’

  ‘How about your companions?’ Beatriz asked. She ignored his comments on Urrea.

  ‘Schmidt was my sergeant major in the Hussars.’

  ‘And the Indian?’

  ‘He’s a Florida Seminole,’ Ole Devil explained, watching for indication that the woman knew he was lying. ‘For some reason, he fell foul of their main chief, Osceola, and had to flee for his life. He calls himself Tommy No-People because he can’t go back. But don’t let his size fool you, he’s a very good fighting man with or without weapons.’

  When selecting Tommy’s identity, Ole Devil had decided upon the comparatively little known Seminoles of Florida. They had already intermingled sufficiently with escaped Negro slaves to account for Tommy’s less Indian facial characteristics. Nothing the Texian could read on the woman’s beautiful features suggested that she had knowledge of the Seminoles, or doubted what he had just told her. In fact, he felt sure that she had little or no interest in the Oriental apart from using him as a means of continuing the conversation without returning to the subject of why Ole Devil believed Urrea would have need of their services.

  ‘You were at San Jacinto?’ Beatriz asked, interested, having heard something of the battle from a Mexican soldier who had escaped on a horse and had reached Matamoros while she was there.

  ‘No,’ Ole Devil lied, but saw a way in which he could return to the reason for his being in Mexico. ‘As soon as I saw that Santa Anna was falling into the trap that General Urrea had anticipated, I got well clear of him.’

  ‘I don’t follow you,’ the woman declared and her whole attitude implied that she was genuinely puzzled.

  ‘The General knew that el Presidente was doing the wrong thing by chasing after the Texians’ Provisional Government instead of concentrating upon catching and defeating Houston’s Army,’ Ole Devil elaborated, wanting to impress Beatriz with his high—if possibly incorrect—opinion of Urrea’s sagacity and tactical brilliance. ‘And after Goliad, the Texians were going to be a whole lot harder to beat. So—’

  At that moment, Escalier returned. There was an air of secret triumph about him as he came to the table.

  ‘I’ve told the men to get a meal in the barroom, Beatriz,’ the captain announced. He sat down, carefully avoiding looking at Ole Devil.

  ‘Bueno,’ the woman replied, indicating the young Texian. ‘You were wrong about this gentleman being a spy. He is Count Franz von—Ric—’

  ‘Richthofen,’ Ole Devil supplied, concealing the thoughts he had regarding the Mexican officer’s apparently innocent statement.

  ‘Richthofen,’ Beatriz repeated. ‘And he has been fighting against the Texians.’

  ‘Through loyalty to the Mexican citizenship that he had taken, of course,’ Escalier sneered.

  ‘Put any name you want to it, hombre,’ Ole Devil answered in a coldly challenging voice. ‘There are some in the Mexican Army who might call your presence here into question.’

  ‘Why you—’ the captain spat out, beginning to shove back his chair.

  There was more to Escalier’s anger than the way the sardonic-faced gringo had used the derogatory ‘hombre’ instead of his military rank. Not having been admitted into Urrea’s confidence, his conscience was troubling him over his premature departure from Texas. While there had been some trouble from Yaquis, they were only a small band led by a renegade Mexican and they were neither sufficiently active nor dangerous to warrant the return of the whole Tamaulipa Brigade to deal with them. So he was worried by the thought that his fellow officers who had been captured with Santa Anna might regard his action as desertion. To have the point mentioned by a man whom he already hated was almost more than he could bear.

  ‘Gentlemen!’ Beatriz snapped, half rising. ‘Count von Richthofen! Captain Escalier! Must I remind you that I am here?’

  The words had a cooling effect upon one of the men at the table.

  ‘M—My apologies, Bea—senora,’ Escalier gulped, remembering the way in which the gringo had produced his pistol and feeling not entirely ungrateful for the woman’s intervention.

  For his part, Ole Devil remained seated. Except for having started to lift and turn his right elbow, he did not appear to have moved. If Beatriz had been watching, she might have seen him tense slightly as he heard the second name she mentioned. Apart from that brief display of emotion, there was nothing to suggest that it held importance for him.

  Lieutenant Paul Dimmock had had no premonition of what might lie ahead, but he had considered it his duty to learn all he could about his captors. So, in addition to identifying the infantry battalion that had carried out the ambush, he was able to supply Houston with the names and descriptions of the officers who had commanded the escort. From what Ole Devil had been told, he realized that he was in the presence of a man who, if not having actually planned it, had been a leading participant in the ambush.

  ‘Count von Richthofen?’ Beatriz said, turning her eyes to the Texian and looking at him in her most appealing fashion.

  There were some people in Texas who regarded Ole Devil as a hot head who could not, or would not, avoid becoming involved in fights. They were wrong, for he was anything but that.

  ‘Very well, gracious senora,’ Ole Devil replied, and allowed his elbow to return to his side. However, his eyes stayed on Escalier’s face and he went on, ‘I was taking pay from Santa Anna for what I do best, fighting. As he isn’t in a position to continue paying me, I intend to offer my services to General Urrea.’

  ‘Why would he have need of them?’ the captain asked in as tough a voice as he could manage.

  Before Ole Devil could reply, there was an interruption. The thud of blows, intermingled with shouts of pain, rose from somewhere outside the dining room. If the direction was any guide, they originated in the bar. Mannen and Tommy were there—as were the men who formed Escalier’s escort.

  Chapter Nine – Is This How You Fight For Mexico?

  Mannen Blaze might look somnolent to the point of being dull witted, but he was far from that. Among other things, he was a pretty fair judge of human nature. So, although he did not give any sign of it, he sensed danger as soon as the six members of Captain Alphonso Escalier’s escort entered the barroom. There was a burly, brutal featured sergeant and five equally hard looking Lancers. None of them appeared to be armed, but the Texian guessed that each had a knife concealed somewhere on his person.

  Pausing just inside the door, t
he sergeant nodded to where Mannen—having crossed to ask where to find the backhouse—was standing at the bar. As the non-com’s companions began to walk forward, he caught one of them by the sleeve. While the rest approached the counter, he and the selected Lancer went towards the table at which Tommy was sitting.

  Watching the four soldiers with the aid of the mirror behind the bar, Mannen might have thought that they were coming merely to order drinks if it had not been for the other two separating from them. He noticed that the quartet were forming a rough half circle, heading straight in his direction. Knowing that Tommy could take care of himself no matter what might be planned—and feeling sure that more than a chance, innocent visit was taking place—Mannen continued to keep the four men under observation.

  For his part, the little Oriental was equally as aware of the newcomers’ suspicious behavior. However, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he continued to sit and stare in front of him as impassively as if he had really been a Seminole warrior.

  ‘Hey you, Indian!’ the sergeant growled, coming to a stop at the table while his companion went around it to halt to the right and just behind Tommy. ‘Get up and clear off, I want to sit here.’

  Although Tommy spoke little Spanish, he had a pretty good idea of what the non-com had said. However, knowing that to obey would make no difference, he made no attempt to do so.

  ‘You heard!’ the Lancer barked, grabbing the little Oriental by the shirt collar with his left hand and clenching the right fist ready to strike as he dragged his victim from the chair. ‘Get u—’

  The command was not finished, but it was obeyed; if not in the manner that its maker had intended.

  Tommy responded with superb timing and the speed of a striking diamondback rattlesnake. Sending his chair skidding from beneath him, he came to his feet without needing to be pulled. Before the Mexican’s blow could be delivered, Tommy snapped his right fist in a backhand swing that was powered by the momentum of his rising. The set of rock hard knuckles impacted against the center of the Mexican’s face. Blood flooded from his nostrils as he released his hold. Blundering backwards with his hands fluttering to the injured organ, he collided with a chair at an adjacent table. Sitting on it involuntarily, his weight caused it to collapse and he was deposited rump first on the floor.

  ‘What the—?’ the sergeant bellowed, starting to step forward.

  Once again, Tommy brought a comment to an abrupt end. His left hand flashed out to hook under the top of the table an instant after the right had delivered its blow. With a surging heave, he flung it over so that the edge struck the non-com’s forward shin. What had started as shouted words ended in a howl of pain. Instead of continuing to advance, he went backwards with greater speed than agility. Nor did his troubles end there.

  Throwing a quick glance at the bar, Tommy went over the table as if he was playing leapfrog. On alighting, his small body sailed even higher into the air. At the pinnacle of his bound, the instep of his right foot curled out and made contact with the side of the sergeant’s jaw. Already off balance, the force of the tobi-mae-geri ‘jumping front’ kick spun him around and sent him sprawling headlong across the room. Ramming skull first into the wall, he went down as limply as if he had been boned.

  Hearing the commotion behind them, the remaining Lancers looked back. As was often the case when Occidentals came into contact with the highly effective martial arts of the Orient, they were amazed by what they saw. However, they were hard and tough veterans. So their shocked condition did not last for long.

  ‘Get the Indian, Pedro!’ shouted the biggest of the quartet, lunging towards Mannen who was still standing with his back to them. ‘Come on, boys. We’ll fix the gringo.’

  Despite his apparent lack of comprehension of what was happening, the Texian had been watching everything. As he had expected, Tommy was fully justifying his confidence. However, that still left him with the problem of defending himself.

  Although Mannen was armed, he made no attempt to draw either the pistol or the bowie knife. Instead, he twisted to meet his assailants with a speed that belied his normally lethargic movements. Having given his orders, the largest of the Mexicans was starting to carry them out. Unfortunately for him, his companions had not matched his rapidity of thought and action.

  Gliding forward a step, Mannen swung his right arm. Before the soldier’s hands could close upon the Texian, a massive fist connected with his solar plexus. He had never been kicked by a mule, but the sensation he experienced was very similar. All the breath was smashed from his lungs and, folding like a jack-knife, he went into a hurried retreat.

  Having disposed of one attacker, Mannen gave his attention to the rest. Pedro had turned to carry out his companion’s order, but the last two were moving in to attack. The man to the Texian’s left was closer and faster, but the other struck him as posing the greater danger. While the nearer assailant was relying on bare hands, the second Lancer had reached for the hilt of the knife that was sheathed in the back of his tunic s collar. Before he could get the weapon into use, Mannen delivered a backhand swing to his temple that knocked him staggering and caused it to fly from his fingers.

  Even as the Texian struck the blow, he felt his left shoulder gripped and pulled. He was unable to prevent himself being turned, or to avoid the punch to the chest which sent him backwards into the bar. However, as his attacker moved in, his own fist shot forward. Connecting with the Mexican’s face, the blow caused him to withdraw. The respite Mannen gained was of short duration. Starting to follow up his attack, two arms wrapped around him from behind and pinned his hands to his side. Making no attempt to retrieve his weapon, the second Mexican had returned to the fray. Seeing the opportunity that was being presented to him, the first Lancer moved in with the intention of taking full advantage from it. As he advanced, he started to draw his knife.

  Remembering that the small Indian had in some way managed to fell two much larger assailants, Pedro was disinclined to rely upon his bare hands. So, as he went across the room, he slid a knife from its sheath in the top of his left boot. He considered that the weapon would give him all the edge he needed against the unarmed little man. Closing fast, with the blade of the knife extending ahead of his thumb and forefinger, Pedro made a stab aimed at the Indian’s stomach.

  Although Tommy had left his daicho in the room which he would be sharing with Mannen, he was not greatly perturbed at confronting an armed assailant. Nor did he allow himself to become over confident. The Mexican handled his knife with sufficient ability to be dangerous even to a man highly skilled in ju jitsu and karate.

  Facing Pedro as if offering his torso as a target, Tommy watched the knife as it was driven towards his mid-section. To the Mexican, it seemed that nothing could save the ‘Indian’. Advancing his left leg, Tommy swung his other foot in a rearwards half circle which turned his body clear of Pedro’s thrust. In addition to making the evasion, Tommy raised his hands almost to shoulder height. Holding them with the left thumb under the right palm and the fingers spread in a ‘V’, he sent them down to intercept, close on and jerk at his attacker’s right wrist.

  Such was the unexpected reversal of his fortunes that Pedro could not prevent himself being hauled forward, with the knife being directed towards the floor. He was even less able to avoid what came next. Setting his weight on his left foot, Tommy reversed the direction taken by his right leg. Bending its knee so that the thigh was parallel to the floor, he propelled the ball of his foot into Pedro’s groin. Pure unadulterated agony caused the Mexican to release his knife.

  Although the counter to Pedro’s attack would have been sufficient to render him unlikely to want to resume it for some considerable time, Tommy had not finished with him. Seeing that Mannen was in difficulties, the little Oriental wanted to make sure that there would be no further intervention on his third attacker’s part. Letting go of the wrist, Tommy folded his right thumb across his palm. Holding his fingers extended straight out, he chopped the edge of hi
s hand against the back of Pedro’s neck. Already swinging past, due to the impetus of his abortive assault with the knife, the Mexican went down like a rabbit that had had its back broken.

  Like the soldier who was holding Mannen from behind, the man in front carried his knife at the back of his neck. Its blade was barely clear of the sheath as he approached, but he did not anticipate any trouble from the handicapped gringo. In that, he made a mistake.

  Despite having his arms held so that they were inoperative, Mannen was far from helpless. Surging forward a couple of steps, against the ever-increasing pressure exerted by his captor to prevent him from doing so, he swung his legs from the floor. With the knife coming over his head, the Lancer received both feet in the center of his chest. Allowing his knees to flex, Mannen straightened them with a force that caused the man to almost fly backwards across the room. Chance rather than intent sent him in Tommy’s direction.

  Having just felled his third attacker with the tega-tana, hand sword, chop, the little Oriental sidestepped to avoid being struck by Mannen’s victim. Kicking his legs from under him as he went by, Tommy deposited him supine, winded and stunned just beyond the other would-be knife wielder.

  Some of the power Mannen had exerted was put upon the Lancer who was pinioning his arms. As he was already pulling rearwards, taken with the Texians weight and violent actions, the soldier was thrown off balance. Nor did he have an opportunity to recover. Bringing down his feet, Mannen thrust himself backwards. By doing so, he drove his erstwhile captor against the firm and unyielding front of the counter. Crushed between the Texian’s iron hard frame and the wood, the Lancer lost his hold. Turning, Mannen caught him by the front of the tunic and gave a swinging heave. Sent across the room, the man fell on to and smashed a table. Following it down, he made no attempt to rise after he landed.

  Even as Mannen was dealing with the last of the escort, Ole Devil Hardin, Captain Escalier and Beatriz Alvarez came into the room. What they saw brought them all to a halt. Of the three, being aware of his cousin’s and Tommy’s abilities, Ole Devil was the least surprised. For all that, he realized that much of the ease with which his companions had defeated their attackers stemmed from over confidence on the Mexicans’ part. A glance at the flabbergasted expression on Escalier’s face told the young Texian that he had expected something very different. Ole Devil found Beatriz’s reaction interesting. Anger rather than alarm showed on her face as she glared around.