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

  The question was, what might the decision have been?

  Bringing the assignment to the conclusion required by Major General Samuel Houston called for the plan to be carried out in the way Ole Devil had ordered. Dimmock’s local knowledge had justified his inclusion in the party and, without his help, the fight against the six vaqueros might have had a different ending, but his mental state could have rendered him unsuitable for the vitally important duty which he had been given. A deviation of the land he might be contemplating would ruin everything.

  There was, Ole Devil conceded bitterly, nothing he could do to change things.

  It was far too late for Dimmock to be replaced.

  ‘Go on!’ Ole Devil breathed. ‘Shoot, damn you, shoot!’

  Almost as if he had heard his superior’s silent but vehement command, Dimmock obeyed. Satisfied that he could not make a better alignment of the sights, he held his breath to ensure there was no movement to disrupt it, and tightened his right forefinger.

  Liberated, the Hawken’s hammer descended and ignited the percussion cap!

  There was a deep crack as the detonated powder in the cylinder expelled the bullet.

  An instant later, about two hundred and fifty yards away, Santa Anna’s bicorn hat was sent spinning from his head!

  Having fired, Dimmock did not waste time in waiting to discover the result of his shot. Whatever its effect might have been, there would not be any opportunity to reload and try again. Furthermore, he realized that there was only one hope of survival for his companion and now, if he was to carry out the special task to which he had assigned himself, they must take flight without delay.

  Following Ole Devil’s instructions, Dimmock dropped the rifle as an unacceptable encumbrance. He rose and, without a backwards glance, sprinted to the waiting horses. Grabbing his reins from Tommy, he vaulted on to the saddle and set his mount into motion. With the little Oriental—carrying the long bow strung ready to be used—by his side, he galloped towards the slope. However, it was not their intention to make the easier ascent offered by the trail.

  Confusion reigned for several seconds after el Presidente’s headdress was removed by the Texian’s bullet. He and the whole bodyguard reined in their mounts. While he felt gingerly at his head, they stared around to find out if he, or anybody else, had been hurt. Then, attracted by the rumbling of hooves and the sight of the two riders dashing away, Colonel Juan Almonte bellowed orders. Followed by half of his men and leaving the remainder to form an even closer circle around Santa Anna, he gave chase.

  ‘It’s that “Indian” from last night!’ el Presidente screeched, drawing the required conclusion from Tommy’s appearance and armament. ‘Get them, damn you, get them!’

  Quivering with a mixture of rage and fright over the second narrow escape from death he had had in less than twenty-four hours, Santa Anna forgot to add a most important supplement to his order.

  Urging their horses onwards, Tommy and Dimmock made for the slope at an angle which would bring them to where Ole Devil was waiting to give covering fire should it be needed. Before commencing the far from easy climb, which would demand every bit of their attention if it was to be accomplished successfully, each of them glanced to his rear. As they expected, they found a party of Dragoons—some waving carbines and the others brandishing sabers—thundering after them.

  In itself, the sight was neither surprising nor exceptionally alarming.

  Pursuit had been inevitable no matter whether Dimmock’s shot had taken effect or missed its mark completely. For all that, the situation was far from desperate. With so much of a lead—even though, because of the delay, it was somewhat less than Ole Devil had envisaged—being mounted on horses of at least equal quality to those of the Dragoons and clad in much lighter, less cumbersome clothing, Tommy and the lieutenant had an excellent chance of outdistancing their pursuers.

  Provided, of course, that there were no mishaps!

  Just as the two young men were about half way to the top, something went wrong!

  Apparently through an error of judgment while negotiating a particularly steep and awkward section of the incline, Dimmock attempted to correct his horse’s movements. Doing so caused it to lose its footing momentarily. Thrown off balance, it slipped and started to slide back along the slope. Nor, although it recovered its equilibrium and managed to avoid falling over, could it gather sufficient momentum to resume the climb. Instead, it was compelled to continue its involuntary downwards progress.

  Yells of triumph and delight rose from the Dragoons as they saw the Texian’s desperate predicament. There was an even greater source of satisfaction in store for them.

  In trying to turn his mount upwards once more, it seemed that Dimmock was unseated and he toppled from the saddle. Showing remarkable presence of mind, considering the circumstances, he snatched the spare pistol from its holster on the saddlehorn as he was leaving the horse’s back. Furthermore, displaying such agility that he might have anticipated—or even arranged—the mishap, he contrived to alight on his feet. While he was no more able to prevent himself from going down the slope than his mount had been, at least he was not making a helpless and uncontrollable headlong plunge.

  Catching a glimpse of what was happening from the corner of his eye, Tommy took the chances involved in glancing around to confirm certain suspicions. Satisfied that his judgment was correct, he neither tried to stop nor turn his horse so as to render assistance. Only about half of Santa Anna’s bodyguard were following, but that still made the odds at least seven to one against them. Not that such a consideration would have prevented the little Oriental from going to his companion’s aid if he had felt the situation called for such a deed. However, being aware of how the ‘accident’ had come about, he was certain that the lieutenant would not welcome such a gesture on his part. So he returned his attention to the front and continued to guide his mount towards the top of the ridge.

  Bounding towards the onrushing enemy, Dimmock’s right hand tugged the pistol from its loop on his belt. As he had only recently started to wear the weapon in such a fashion, he had not acquired Ole Devil’s ability to cock the hammer as it was emerging. So it was fortunate, if somewhat peculiar in consideration of his experience with firearms, that he had been carrying both the pistols with their actions at full cock.

  There was a look of grim satisfaction and gratification, rather than alarm at his position, on Dimmock’s face as he came to a halt at the foot of the slope. Knowing where the ball would do most good, he raised the pistol from his belt and took aim at Almonte.

  ‘Death to the murderous butcher, Santa Anna!’ the lieutenant yelled defiantly in Spanish and he squeezed the trigger.

  The pistol barked and, although the bullet missed its intended mark, it was not entirely wasted. Back snapped the head of the Dragoon who was riding just behind the colonel. With blood running from a hole between his eyes and the helmet ripped from his head as the lead burst out of his skull, he slid from his saddle.

  ‘Shoot him!’ Almonte almost screamed, seeing the Texian bringing the second pistol into alignment.

  Even before the order was given, those of the Dragoons who were holding carbines were making ready to open fire. As they were el Presidente’s personal bodyguard, they were equipped with percussion-fired weapons instead of the antiquated flintlocks supplied to the majority of the Mexican Army. So all seven pieces went off in a ragged volley. However, discharged from the backs of fast moving horses, they might have counted themselves fortunate that even one of them made a hit.

  Struck in the right shoulder, Dimmock was spun around and the empty pistol flew from his grasp. The pain sent him to his knees, but such was his grim determination to complete the assignment he had set himself that he managed to keep hold of his second weapon. Gritting his teeth, he made another attempt to shoot Almonte.

  Although the colonel was fortunate enough to escape injury for a second time, he did not get off scot-free. Giving a scream as the bulle
t tore into its chest, his horse’s legs buckled and he had to throw himself clear as it started to collapse. Sweeping by him, his men bore down on the animal’s killer.

  Watching the Dragoons approaching with their burly sergeant in the lead and raising a saber, Dimmock gave a low hiss of satisfaction. Thrusting himself erect, he made what he knew was a pointless attempt to leap aside as the non-com launched a blow in his direction. Even as the blade was about to split open his skull, the lieutenant’s last thought was that, after what he had just done, nobody would ever again be able to hint that he had lacked in courage.

  A moment later, Paul Dimmock was dead!

  ‘Catch his horse for me, one of you!’ Almonte bellowed, as his men started to draw rein around the Texian’s body. ‘The rest, get after that “Indian”!’

  Although the Dragoons set off, none of their hearts were in the task. Already the little ‘Indian’ was approaching the top of the slope. From the speed at which he had made the ascent, his mount was superior to their own. What was more, there might be others of his ‘tribe’ waiting for him up there. If not, he was still armed with that deadly bow and almost certainly had more arrows of the particularly vicious variety with which he had killed their comrade-in-arms the previous night.

  Even those of the party who had not seen the missile in question had had it described to them in gory—possibly slightly exaggerated—detail. So there was a mutual, if unspoken reluctance and disinclination to go where such murderous devices could be loosed at them. However, being aware of their fate if they refused, they decided to at least make a token appearance of continuing the pursuit and would see what developed once they reached the ridge. At least, their superior would not be there to drive them on.

  Unaware of what was taking place behind him and not daring to look back, Tommy was able to see the crest of the ridge. He found that Ole Devil was still there, staring down the slope with an expression of bafflement and anger.

  ‘Go on!’ the little Oriental called, remembering what action was called for on his employer’s part. ‘He let himself be killed to make it work. Don’t spoil it, or his death will be in vain.’

  Chapter Fourteen – Of Course It’s Genuine

  Experiencing a shock as if he had been doused with cold water, Ole Devil Hardin’s mind absorbed Tommy Okasi’s words. They came as such a surprise that it was only by exercising all his strength of will that he found himself capable of carrying out the little Oriental’s instructions. However, he knew that he must do so. There would be a better chance of driving off their pursuers if they kept it from being known how many men were involved. Cursing himself silently and furiously for not having surmised what Lieutenant Paul Dimmock had meant to do, although he knew that few people would have anticipated such a gesture of self sacrifice, he forced himself to continue with the plan he had made.

  Turning, Ole Devil ran to his big black gelding. As his companion appeared at the crest of the ridge, he started the animal moving. A short way ahead lay another area of woodland just as Dimmock had predicted and which had been taken into consideration as part of their strategy. It was there that the Texian hoped they would be able to persuade any pursuers to turn back.

  Reaching the shelter of the trees before the first of the Popocatapetl Dragoons made their appearance, the two young men left their mounts tied with the three reserve horses which Ole Devil had already taken there. Showing his usual forethought, he had placed the animals where they could be seen thus causing confusion as to the actual size of his party. Returning to the edge of the woodland, he and the little Oriental took up positions behind the sturdy trunks of a couple of trees and awaited developments.

  Watching as the Dragoons rode slowly over the top of the ridge, talking and gesticulating from one to another, Tommy made a selection from his remaining arrows. Thrusting one into the ground within easy reach of his right hand, he held another in its palm and nocked a third ready for use. Waiting until the men were about one hundred and fifty yards away, he drew and loosed the first shaft.

  Hearing the eerie whistling of a hiki-ya point in flight, which lost little of its alarming qualities when discharged by day, the Dragoons came to a halt. However, as the arrow plunged downwards and imbedded itself in the turf a few feet ahead of them, the sergeant applied the spurs to his horse. Waving his saber, still smeared with Dimmock’s blood, he charged forward. Although one of the enlisted men was in motion almost as quickly, the rest hung back until they had gained a lead of some ten yards before following.

  ‘That sergeant’s mine!’ Ole Devil growled, cradling the butt of the Browning Slide Repeating rifle to his shoulder and squinting along the forty and five-sixteenths of an inch length of its octagonal barrel.

  Knowing that no answer was expected, Tommy did not make one. Nor was he surprised at his employer’s choice. Having seen the sergeant cut down Dimmock, Ole Devil intended to take revenge personally. So Tommy concentrated on loading and drawing his bow to deal with the second man.

  Studying the hesitant behavior of all but the leading pair of Dragoons, the little Oriental decided that the use of the wata-kusi points the previous evening was paying dividends. Unfortunately, he had brought only the two of them with him. Nor had he any more of the hiki-ya heads, not that he contemplated employing another one under the present circumstances.

  Having straight edges and being diamond-shaped in section, the yanagi-ha—‘willow leaf’—point lacked the specialized qualities of the other types of heads, but that did not detract from its worth. xlviii It was the most efficient general purpose point used by the kyudoka. Such was the kind of arrow upon which he was now relying.

  Sighting in the traditional yami, ‘eclipse’ fashion, so that the stave of the bow covered the center of the target, Tommy loosed the arrow as soon as he heard the flat crack of Ole Devil’s rifle. Shot in the head with a .45 caliber bullet, the sergeant went backwards over the cantle of his saddle. Flying somewhat slower, the arrow still arrived with sufficient velocity to pierce the Dragoon’s breastplate and reach the vital organs it was supposed to protect. Dropping the saber with a shriek of mortal torment, he grabbed at the shaft which was protruding from his chest and tumbled, dying, off of his horse.

  Thumbing down the catch at the right side of the rifle’s frame, Ole Devil caused the simple mechanism to operate. The slide magazine crawled through the aperture until the next loaded chamber was in line with the bore and was crammed forward against the opening. Then, without taking the butt from his shoulder, he reached with his forefinger to draw down the under-hammer. In far less time than was possible with any contemporary single-barreled firearm, he was ready to shoot again.

  Quickly as the Texian was able to recharge the piece, Tommy could replenish his more primitive weapon with even greater rapidity. Gathering up the third arrow, he nocked it to the string. However, he did not make his draw immediately. None of the other Dragoons were as near as the first pair and he had no wish to waste a shaft. He had been fortunate in felling his man at that range and anywhere beyond it would almost certainly see the arrow repelled by the metal breastplate, which might give the soldiers encouragement to press home an attack.

  Ole Devil had no such inhibitions. Sighting, he fired and saw the man at whom he had aimed reel under the impact, although he did not fall. Instead, he reined his horse around and sent it at a gallop in the direction from which he had come. Panic of that kind was generally infectious and so it proved on this occasion. Without the presence of either Almonte or the sergeant to make them continue the attack upon what—if the number of horses to be seen was any guide—appeared to be several of the enemy, the rest of the Dragoons also turned and took their departure.

  ‘We’ve done it, Devil-san,’ Tommy said with satisfaction, lowering the bow and returning the yanagi-ha shaft to his quiver. ‘Shall I go and make sure that no more of them are coming?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ole Devil replied, looking at the little Oriental in a speculative manner. ‘Do that.’


  Giving the Texian no chance to ask the questions which he knew would be forthcoming, Tommy went to collect the dead vaquero’s horse which he had been using. He was not ashamed of the decisions he had made where Paul Dimmock was concerned, but there were more important things to do at that moment than discuss them.

  Riding towards the top of the ridge, Tommy stopped before he reached the edge. Dismounting and allowing the animal to stand ground hitched, he advanced the remaining distance on foot until he could see over without allowing himself to be seen in return. As he expected, the party of Dragoons were still riding downwards and showed no sign of turning back. Nor were any more of the enemy making the ascent. On the trail, looking like a disturbed ants’ nest with various of its personnel milling around, the column had come to a halt and several officers were making their way in the direction of the advance party.

  There was, however, something of vastly greater interest and significance for the little Oriental to observe. Some short distance from the remainder of the Dragoons’ bodyguard and on foot, Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna was surrounded by a group comprised of his dinner guests from the previous evening. Among them, the center of all their attention, was Colonel Juan Almonte displaying a sheet of paper and holding several more in his hand. Standing nearby, Dimmock’s horse supplied the clue to what was happening.

  Clearly the ‘reward posters’ and the ‘Government’s’ letter, which the lieutenant should have dropped ‘accidentally’ with his saddlebags while ascending the slope, had reached their destination in a much more convincing manner. Everything now depended on whether el Presidente would accept them at their face value and act upon them in the way that Major General Samuel Houston hoped for.

  Deciding that there was nothing more he could see or do at that time, Tommy stood for a moment with his feet together and hands clenched by his side. He bowed at the waist towards the body of his dead companion in a silent and respectful salutation. Then, picking up the bow which he had laid down so as to pay his tribute to Dimmock, he withdrew from his point of vantage. Retrieving the hiki-ya and yanagi-ha arrows in passing, the latter being far easier than a wata-kusi point to remove from the body of its victim, he rejoined his employer. As they started to ride eastwards, he reported all he had seen and deduced.