Ole Devil at San Jacinto (Old Devil Hardin Western Book 4) Read online

  Moving forward with the knife held ready for a gut ripping slash, Moreno saw the muzzle of the Texian’s pistol twisting in his direction in a way he had never envisaged as possible. The unconventional method of handling the weapon did not end there. Instead of operating the hammer in the accepted fashion, the heel of Ole Devil’s left hand flashed across to meet and push it to the fully cocked position. Nor did he raise the pistol to eye level and sight at arm’s length along the barrel, but thrust it ahead of him only slightly higher than his waist.

  Even as a realization of his peril was assailing the corporal, Ole Devil’s right forefinger squeezed the pistol’s trigger. So excellent was the manufacturer’s craftsmanship that the hammer fell without disturbing his instinctive alignment. The shot crashed out and, above its smoke, he saw Moreno’s head snapping back under the impact of a .54 caliber ball between the eyes. While the Mexican’s legs continued to advance, the knife flew from his grasp and his shoulders tilted rearwards.

  Without knowing it, Tommy was solving Dimmock’s dilemma. While he was striking down the two men, he did not forget their companions. A rapid glance in each direction warned him from whence he faced the greater and more urgent danger. Seeing the man on his left driving the lance at him, he flipped himself sideways and down. Nor did he move any too soon. The weapon’s diamond section head almost touched his neck as it passed above him.

  Deftly breaking the fall with his left hand, Tommy was already turning the tachi upon his assailant. Such a sinuous, almost whip like motion was made possible by the pliancy of the magnificently tempered steel from which it had been manufactured. xxxiv While he was doing so, having assessed the situation, he allowed the hilt to rotate until the blade was parallel to the ground. Instead of attempting to cut, he sent it out in an equally effective lunge.

  Passing between the Mexican’s ribs, the—what European cutlers might refer to as a ‘reverse-Wharncliffe’ xxxv —point of the blade pierced his heart. His momentum, combined with the strength and sharpness of the steel, caused it to pass onwards until the circular tsuba hand guard met his chest. Knowing he could not retrieve the tachi in a hurry, Tommy released it. Dropping the lance and dying as he blundered onwards, the vaquero collapsed across Orlando’s crumpled body.

  Showing none of Ole Devil’s speed and dexterity, the remaining Mexican nevertheless now had drawn his pistol. However, he was fumbling in his attempt to cock it. The fact that he had seen three of his companions killed by the little ‘Indian’ while one of the Texians had shot Moreno and the other was rushing at him carrying Antonio’s lance, was not conducive to steady nerves. He tried desperately to swing the weapon in Dimmock’s direction, but caught a movement from the corner of his eye. Looking around, he discovered there was a further menace threatening him.

  Temporarily deprived of the tachi, Tommy was anything but defenseless. Rolling on to his back, he flipped himself erect and whipped the shorter, but only slightly less effective, wakizashi from its sheath. There was, however, no need for him to use it.

  Allowing himself to become distracted ruined any slight chance the last of the quartet might have had to take one of his assailants with him. Handling the lance almost like a pitchfork, Dimmock plunged it home. There was a brief shock of agony for the Mexican as the point pierced his chest and went through to burst out at the rear. Stumbling backwards, he dragged the shaft from its wielder’s hands and sprawled lifeless to the ground.

  Hurt though he was, anger put motion into Antonio’s limbs. Starting to rise, he saw Ole Devil swiveling to face him and snatched out his knife. There was no hesitation in the way the Texian responded, nor was he inclined to harbor thoughts of mercy under the circumstances. Not only had the youngster been a willing participant in the plot to murder his party, the very nature of his assignment precluded the taking of a prisoner.

  Dropping the empty pistol, Ole Devil sent his right hand across to the concave ivory hilt of the James Black bowie knife. As the weapon emerged, he hurled himself at the youngster. A muffled scream burst from Antonio as the massive blade swept his own knife aside and buried into his heart.

  Drawing the knife free as his victim fell backwards once more, Ole Devil looked to make sure his companions had come to no harm and did not need his assistance. Tommy was obviously uninjured and stood retrieving the tachi from the vaquero’s torso. Although Dimmock also appeared to have come through the fracas unscathed, there was a worried expression on his face as he walked forward.

  ‘I’m sorry, Captain Hardin,’ the lieutenant said. ‘I could have ruined everything, letting myself be goaded like that.’

  ‘We’d have had to fight them anyway,’ Ole Devil replied consolingly. ‘They meant to kill us and the way you acted gave us an edge.’

  ‘Perhaps—’ Dimmock began, still showing more perturbation than relief at learning his superior did not blame him for his actions.

  ‘Forget it, Paul,’ Ole Devil ordered. ‘Now they’re dead, we can go ahead with letting Santa Anna find out what’s in store for him.’

  Chapter Ten – They Have to Be Convinced It’s Genuine

  ‘So that’s what the great el Presidente looks like!’ Lieutenant Paul Dimmock said with quiet vehemence, as he lay between Ole Devil Hardin and Tommy Okasi peering cautiously over the top of a ridge. ‘Well I’ve always heard that he was a fancy dressing son-of-a-bitch and it’s true.’

  Having disposed of the six vaqueros’ bodies, weapons, and such of their belongings as had not been required by sinking them in a deep backwater on the Colorado River, the Texians and the little Oriental had made preparations to continue the assignment. Selecting the three best of the dead men’s horses so that they could conserve the energies of their own mounts, they had unsaddled and liberated the rest. On their home range, the animals would have returned to the hacienda causing concern over the whereabouts of their absent riders. Being in a strange area, particularly when going home would entail swimming across a river, they were unlikely to go in search of the Zacatecas Lancers’ remuda. So, at least until their companions returned from the abortive search for the ranch, the escort would not be missed.

  With the majority of the traces of the fighting obliterated, Ole Devil had led his party eastwards. Although the afternoon was well advanced before contact was made, locating their quarry had presented no great difficulty. Dimmock’s local knowledge had supplied a clue when he remembered there was a reasonable trail to the south. All that had been necessary was for them to take precautions against another unwanted meeting. On two occasions, they had seen small bands of Mexicans in time to avoid detection. Wearing sombreros and serapes which had belonged to their victims as a minor disguise in case they should be noticed from a distance, they had finally attained a position from which they could carry out an unobtrusive surveillance.

  ‘That’s him all right,’ Ole Devil agreed, in no louder tones, conceding that his subordinate’s second remark was justified. ‘And he’s still up to his old trick of leading the parade.’

  ‘He’s not taking as much care as the last time we saw him,’ Tommy remarked, referring to a reconnaissance mission carried out by Ole Devil, Lieutenant Mannen Blaze and himself earlier in the year. ‘Nor are the soldiers around him. We’d never have got so close that earlier time.’

  ‘That we wouldn’t,’ Ole Devil confirmed, studying the trail something under half a mile away.

  Riding well in the lead of his command, Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna was surrounded by his thirty strong bodyguard of Popocatepetl Dragoons, resplendent in their shining helmets and breastplates. They were followed by his ornate carriage and the two big wagons carrying the luxuries with which he invariably kept himself supplied.

  On his own behalf, as became one who was pleased to regard himself as ‘the Napoleon of the West’, el Presidente cut a fine figure mounted on his high stepping thoroughbred white stallion, its saddle and bridle glistening with embellishments of precious metals. Middle-aged, clean shaven and not unhandsome in a
Latin fashion, he had a well-knit figure which was improved by artificial aids. His attire that day was based upon the uniform of the Marshal of France circa 1804. The black bicorn hat had more than a sufficiency of heavy gold lace edging, was decorated by a plume of ostrich feathers imported at considerable expense, and bore a massive golden Mexican eagle insignia. Heavily embroidered with gold wire in the shape of oak leaves, his dark blue coatee also sported enormous epaulettes of the same material. White breeches, now stained by the day’s travel, were tucked into black Hessian boots. A gold cloth sash and a well polished black weapon belt supporting a sword reputedly worth seven thousand U.S. dollars completed his far from modest ensemble.

  As Tommy had said, if the leisurely and casual way in which they were moving was any guide, Santa Anna and his retinue felt confident that there were none of the enemy within miles.

  ‘The rest of the column don’t seem to be taking any better precautions,’ Dimmock commented, turning his gaze from the glittering array of military ostentation. ‘And they aren’t anywhere near as fancy looking, either.’

  Although el Presidente and his bodyguard might convey the impression that they were leading a triumphant parade, the mass of men who were following some distance behind clearly did not share their sentiments. The ragged, plodding lines of foot, horse and artillery were paying just as little attention to their surroundings. However, they appeared to be too dispirited to care what might befall them. Bringing up the rear came the baggage train of pack mules and creaking, lumbering oxen-drawn carts. It seemed woefully small in comparison with the number of soldiers who were dependent upon its contents.

  ‘If you’d been through what they have,’ Ole Devil drawled, also studying the main column. ‘You wouldn’t be feeling any too happy with life either. They had it rough all along and it’s getting rougher by the day.’

  ‘You sound almost sorry for them,’ Dimmock stated.

  ‘I am, for the enlisted men,’ Ole Devil admitted. ‘Most of them didn’t want to join the Army.’

  Despite all the fervor with which el Presidente and his generals had assembled the force to march north, and notwithstanding its recent successes, the corruption and basic instability of his regime was taking effect. Already impoverished by years of civil war, inter-factional feuding, and officials lining their pockets, the Mexican treasury was unable to produce the finances for the venture. The money was procured by enforced ‘donations’, or through loans at usurious rates of interest, xxxvi but much of it was squandered on non-essentials and little went to purchase badly needed supplies or equipment. xxxvii

  As early as during the siege at the Alamo Mission, the various shortages had been the cause of much suffering and numerous desertions among the recently conscripted men. Now even the better quality regiments of regular soldiers were feeling the pinch. Their previous actions had been fought in the warmer lands further south. So they were ill prepared to cope with the far from clement weather of a Texas spring.

  To the various Activos battalions, inexperienced and barely trained ‘reservists’ forcibly enlisted for the duration of the campaign, the conditions were barely tolerable. What small improvement had accrued to their spirits during the Victory celebrations after the fall of the Alamo Mission was being wiped out by the hardships of the march. Being foot soldiers, xxxviii they were unable to forage with the facility of the cavalry. Engrossed in that necessary adjunct to survival, the latter were paying little attention to what should have been their duty of providing a screen against Texian reconnaissance or raiding parties.

  Comparing the column with one which he had studied just north of Monclova during the first week of February, Ole Devil could see that it was greatly reduced in numbers. Even then, it had not struck him as being in the best of condition. His report to that effect had been one of the factors upon which Major General Samuel Houston had based the decision to let the stand at the Alamo Mission take place. Clearly there had been great losses through casualties and, in all probability, desertion. However, those who remained still greatly outnumbered the Republic of Texas’s Army.

  From his examination, Ole Devil felt confident that—provided his party could accomplish their assignment—the odds could be reduced. Nor would he allow his sympathy for el Presidente’s under fed and badly clothed conscripted civilians prevent him from trying to carry out the task.

  ‘It’s a pity we didn’t bring our rifles,’ Dimmock remarked, returning his attention to Santa Anna’s retinue.

  “Why?’ Ole Devil asked.

  ‘We could fire a couple of shots at him and run for it,’ the lieutenant explained.

  ‘The bullets would barely reach the trail at this range,’ Ole Devil pointed out. ‘And firing would let them know there are enemies nearby.’

  ‘It would bring the escort after us all right,’ the lieutenant conceded. ‘But we ought to be able to make it back to the horses before they catch us.’

  ‘Ought to isn’t good enough,’ Ole Devil said grimly. ‘When we make our move, it has to be a lot more certain than that. Our instructions from the “Government” look authentic, but they’ll have to be convinced it’s genuine before they’ll do as General Houston wants. Letting them get it too easily won’t do that.’

  ‘Would the honorable gentlemen care to hear an ancient and wise Nipponese saying unworthy self has just made up?’ Tommy inquired, twisting around to scan the terrain behind them. He continued without waiting for an answer. ‘Person who spends too much time watching others may be seen himself.’

  ‘I hate to admit it, but “unworthy self” is right,’ Dimmock informed his superior with mock resignation. ‘As long as we were on the move and didn’t let them come too close, anybody who saw us would probably take us for foragers. But they’d know we weren’t if they saw us lying here.’

  ‘I’d never have thought of it myself, though,’ Ole Devil answered, pleased to see that the lieutenant did not resent the rejection of his suggestion, and wondering if his recovery from the gloom cast by the taunting from the youngest vaquero had been caused by the excitement of being at such close proximity to the Texians’ supreme enemy, or through the prospect of action in the near future. ‘There’s nothing more for us to see and we can’t do anything here. We’ll go and take a look at what’s ahead.’

  ‘Unless I’ve got it wrong, the trail goes through some woodland about three or so miles ahead,’ Dimmock announced, as the trio withdrew carefully from the ridge. ‘But, even if they reached it before sundown, they’d be too late to go through in daylight and wouldn’t want to after dark. So I’ll bet on them making camp by the creek that’s just this side.’

  ‘Let’s find out if your memory’s as good as it was about the trail,’ Ole Devil suggested, with a grin which showed he felt sure that it would be. When satisfied that they could not be seen by the Mexicans in the column, he straightened up and went on, ‘We might find what we need on the way there.’

  The trio’s horses had been left in the concealment offered by a small draw about a quarter of a mile from the ridge. As they were approaching, they heard the animals start to give snorts of alarm.

  ‘Something’s frightening them!’ Dimmock barked, bounding forward as his companions also increased their pace.

  Swiftly as the Texians advanced, the little Oriental outdistanced them. By the time they reached the top of the draw, he was already dashing down the fairly steep slope with the sure footed agility of a bighorn sheep. However, their attention was directed at the bottom.

  Although none of the horses had managed to tear free the reins by which they had been tethered to bushes, it was plainly only a matter of seconds before at least some of them did. All were rearing, or backing away, in attempts to divest themselves of the restraints placed upon their movements. Nor was the cause of their behavior hard to locate.

  ‘Hot damn!’ Dimmock ejaculated, skidding to a halt and staring at the predatory beast which was causing the horses’ alarm as it stalked them through the bushes at the
other side. He grabbed at his pistol’s butt. ‘Look what it is!’

  ‘Don’t fire unless we have to!’ Ole Devil warned, duplicating the lieutenant’s action in spite of realizing their predicament.

  Being so close to the trail, as Ole Devil was all too aware, there was a danger that shooting would be heard. If it was, it would be investigated. For all that, he did not ignore the possibility that the need to use the pistol might arise. They might be compelled to do so to save Tommy’s as well as the horses’ lives.

  The carnivore with which they were contending was undoubtedly feline, but of a kind which only rarely came so far north into Texas. If it had been a mountain lion, the usual inhabitant of that region, the situation would have been much less serious. Although adequately equipped to do so, members of the species Felis Concolor were disinclined to face opposition from human beings. Seeing the little Oriental approaching, a cougar would almost certainly have turned and fled.

  Unfortunately, the animal was not a mountain lion.

  With such a thickset build and the yellowish hide marked by black rosettes, it could only be a jaguar! Its very size and marking ruled out the faint hope that it was the smaller and less dangerous ocelot which was the only other possible contender.

  Heavier and far more aggressive than the cougar, a jaguar was much less likely to be frightened away from potential prey by the sight of a human being.

  Nor did it!

  Giving a low, coughing roar, the jaguar abandoned its stalk and hurled itself in Tommy’s direction. The sight of it caused the horses to redouble their efforts to escape. One of the vaqueros’ mounts broke its reins and bolted along the bottom of the draw, but the rest were unable to do so.

  ‘Get down there and catch it!’ Ole Devil snapped, grasping his Manton pistol and never taking his eyes from the little Oriental.