Ole Devil and the Mule Train (An Ole Devil Western Book 3) Read online

  Unscathed, due to the failure of Jimmy-Whoop’s rifle, the leading Hopi was able to avoid being dislodged when his mount displayed a similar alarm to that shown by its companions. Retaining his seat as it started a bucking run to get away from the commotion, he did not attempt to slow the animal down. In fact, being able to guess who had attacked his party—although uncertain of how many of the enemy were involved—he was determined to make good his escape and deliver the information he hid collected.

  Allowing a good two miles to fall behind him before he brought his horse to a halt, the Hopi paused for long enough to satisfy himself that he was not being followed. Deciding that none of his companions had escaped and he was not being pursued by any of their assailants, he set the animal into motion and directed it towards the red glow in the sky which marked the site of his Regiment’s camp.

  Half an hour later, the surviving scout was standing in the presence of the Mexican officers and his fellow Hopi chiefs. Although he had deserted his companions, he made no attempt to hide or excuse his actions. They had been on a reconnaissance, not a raiding or fighting mission. So it had been his duty to save himself and report his findings to his superiors, not to try to avenge or rescue those who had fallen in the ambush.

  Freshly awakened, ‘Colonel’ Abrahan Phillipe Gonzales de Villena y Danvila stood scowling and huddled against the chill of the night in the blankets which had formed his bed. Before he had heard many of the newcomer’s words, he lost all of his resentment over having had his sleep disturbed.

  Using the point of his knife to draw an accurate map of the area in which their quarry was located, employing a piece of bare ground for the purpose, the scout delivered a thorough description of their activities.

  ‘So you think they’ve taken at least the majority of the rifles across the river, chief?’ asked Major Santoval, at the conclusion of the report.

  ‘Si, senor,’ the scout replied. ‘They took off the loads, but not the saddles and I saw them fastening on rifles as the light was fading.’

  ‘But you think some of them will be staying on this side?’ Villena inquired, darting a malevolent scowl at the commanding officer of Company Five for having anticipated his question.

  ’Si, senor,’ the scout agreed. ‘They made a pile with many small, square boxes and sacks of grain. And the palefaces were digging the kind of holes from which they fought us the last time. They also sent more men to help the Indian who watched from the top of the hollow.’

  ‘That means they’ll be waiting for us,’ guessed the sycophantic Major Mendez-Castillo who commanded Company Eight, guessing his superior would welcome such a comment.

  ‘Or want us to think they are,’ Santoval pointed out, ‘when they’ve all crossed and are marching through the night.’

  They’re waiting!’ Villena stated. ‘The boxes will contain ammunition which, as they’ve no boats, they can’t take over without it being ruined by the water. And, if I know that damned Texian, he won’t leave it for us. So we’ll go and fetch it in the morning. And this time, there won’t be any mistakes.’

  Listening to the plan that their self-appointed ‘colonel’ was outlining, not even the normally critical Major Santoval could find a fault with it. Carried out the way Villena intended, they would not only deal with whoever was waiting but could resume their pursuit of the mule train and capture the rifles it was transporting.

  Chapter Fifteen – There Will Be No Quarter

  ‘Well, it won’t be long now,’ Sergeant Smith said quietly, as he stood with Ole Devil Hardin, Tommy Okasi and Tom Wolf in the center of the Texas Light Cavalry detachment’s all too small defensive perimeter and looked at the rim of the basin. ‘I reckon it’s too late now to start wishing I’d lived a better life.’

  ‘This’s the kind of time when most folks get to thinking it,’ Ole Devil replied, without taking his attention from the sight which was holding all their interest. ‘But at least they’re playing the way we want and haven’t passed us by to go after the mule train.’

  ‘The scout we took alive said their Mexican leader had a great hatred for you, Diablo Viejo,’ Wolf remarked, speaking English for once. ‘And that it was a desire to take revenge on you that made him keep after you when others wanted to turn back.’

  Although fluent in their tongue, unless he respected the white men he was addressing, the chief of the Tejas Indians employed by Ewart Brindley would usually speak in either Spanish or his own language. lxxii

  After interrogating the dying scout, Wolf had sent two of his men to tell Ole Devil what they had seen and done so far. Accompanied by the third, he had returned to where they had already seen the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment making camp. Leaving Bad Breath to take care of their horses, he had gone forward on foot. Although he had been successful in penetrating the ring of pickets, the Hopis had picked a site for their camp which would not allow a surprise attack against them to succeed. Nor was there any way he could get close enough to their horse-lines to try and delay the pursuit by scattering the animals.

  Watching from as close as he could reach while still remaining undetected, the chief had not been able to hear what was said by the surviving Hopi scout to the assembled Mexican officers and Indian war leaders. However, he had deduced that the man had succeeded in studying Ole Devil’s defensive arrangements and a plan of campaign was being made. Then the Hopis had aroused their men and commenced making what he assumed to be their war medicine. Shortly before sun up, a group of braves about twenty strong had made ready to leave. Concluding that they were to be an advance scouting party, who would be followed at a more leisurely pace—to conserve the horses’ energy for the assault—by the rest of the Regiment, he had withdrawn.

  Traveling fast, Wolf and Bad Breath had found the small defending force awake and in position when they arrived at the basin. Without satisfying his curiosity over the absence of the mule train, having in fact made an accurate guess at why it had been sent away, he had informed Ole Devil of what he had seen and been told. Knowing him to be a man of shrewd judgment, the Texian had accepted his summation of the situation. Ole Devil had also accepted his offer that he and the other scouts remained instead of going after their employer. With the assurance that he could return, Eats Grasshoppers had taken his companions’ horses across the river. Wanting to prevent such a valuable item as the Browning Slide Repeating rifle from being taken by the enemy, Ole Devil had sent it and the pouch of reserve magazines with the scout, retaining his two pistols and the bowie knife with which to do his share of the fighting.

  With all the preparations made, there had been nothing for the defenders to do except wait. Yet that had been the hardest part of all for them. Everyone had appreciated what a desperate situation they were facing. They might each have four loaded firearms available—with the exception of Tommy Okasi, who preferred to depend upon his samurai’s weapons—but even with the addition of the Tejas scouts they would be outnumbered by almost ten to one. If the Hopis pressed home a charge with sufficient determination—and none of them expected otherwise—they were sure to swamp all resistance by the sheer weight of their numbers.

  Although Wolf had stated that, from what he had seen while returning, the attack would not happen for some time, none of the defenders could relax. In fact, it had almost been a relief when Jube—who was in command of the pickets on the rim—reported that the Hopis’ advance party were in view. Following their orders, the eight men had fallen back to their companions without offering to resist. Shortly after, the braves had appeared at the top of the slope. Holding a brief consultation, they had obviously decided that the Texians were too strong for them to tackle unaided. So, apart from a warrior who had been sent to inform their superiors, they had done no more than keep the basin under surveillance. Almost an hour later, a Mexican officer had joined them. He had studied the defensive positions and scanned the opposite side of the river through a telescope, probably trying to locate the mule train, then departed to inform his superiors
of the situation. Yet another ninety minutes had dragged by before the rumble of many hooves had heralded the arrival of the main body.

  ‘Then he will soon have his chance to get revenge,’ Ole Devil declared, watching the numbers of the enemy increasing until they formed an almost solid mass across the front down which they would be moving if they wanted to ride into the attack.

  ‘Very soon I would say,’ Wolf replied, gripping the caplock rifle appreciatively and glancing around. ‘Ah, Diablo Viejo, this will be a remembered fight.’

  ‘It’s an honor to have you at our side, chief,’ the Texian replied.

  ‘My thanks,’ Wolf said quietly, but sincerely. Then he raised his voice and addressed the rest of the defenders with the traditional exhortation of a war leader who knew that a hard battle would soon commence. ‘Brave up, brothers. This is a good day to die.’

  Almost as if to challenge the chief’s inspiring and defiant words, the martial notes of a bugle rang out from the top of the slope. Listening to them, every member of the pitifully small defending force took a firmer grasp on the weapon he was holding and looked upwards.

  As the sound died away, there was a movement among the massed ranks who were sitting their horses on the rim!

  Even before the bugle call had ended, Ole Devil became aware that he was not hearing the Mexican Army’s usual signal for a charge. However, knowing that the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment were privately recruited and equipped volunteers, he considered it likely that they had instituted their own system of passing commands in such a manner.

  Yet there was no concerted advance when the bugle ceased to blow!

  Instead, only one Mexican officer and a single Hopi brave, the latter carrying a lance with something white flapping from its head, rode forward.

  ‘Hold your fire, men!’ the young Texian called, realizing what was happening although he was puzzled by the development.

  Over the centuries, in Europe particularly, a conventional means of requesting a parlay had been formulated and generally accepted. It had been brought to the New World in the course of colonization by members of various nations to whom it was known. First calls from a bugle gave notice that no surprise was intended. Then the displaying of a white flag announced a desire for a truce and conversation.

  Studying the approaching pair, Ole Devil was disturbed. The Mexican was in his early thirties and his formerly well-fleshed figure had lost considerable weight since he had been fitted for his uniform. There was a wary expression on his face, which showed signs of his recent exertion, but that was understandable under the circumstances. However, he showed that he had a sound knowledge of the procedure for calling a parley.

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ the Mexican greeted, in good English, halting about thirty yards away from the nearest rifle pit. ‘I am Major Ramon Mendez-Castillo, commanding Company Eight of the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment and I speak with the authority of Colonel Abrahan Phillipe Gonzales de Villena y Danvila.’

  ‘Good morning, Major,’ Ole Devil replied, meeting politeness with politeness. ‘I am Captain Jackson Baines Hardin, commanding Company C, Texas Light Cavalry.’

  ‘Colonel Villena is a humane man and he has no wish to shed blood unnecessarily, gentlemen. So he has sent you this ultimatum,’ Mendez-Castillo went on, studying the grim faces of the defenders and deciding there was no point in extending the formalities. ‘If you lay down your arms and give your parole to leave Mexican territory immediately, you will be permitted to do so. If you refuse, he will—with great reluctance—be compelled to order an attack. In that event, no prisoners will be taken and there will be no quarter given.’

  ‘My thanks to Colonel Villena for his consideration, Major,’ Ole Devil answered, without glancing to see how the offer might be affecting his companions. ‘And assure him that I regard his word as being as binding as that of General Cós.’ He saw Mendez-Castillo’s fleshy lips tighten and knew that his meaning was understood, lxxiii so continued, ‘And will you also tell him that I too am a humane man. So I will send him my terms. If he will order his men to lay down their arms and surrender to us, we will take a chance and accept his parole to leave the Republic of Texas and take no further military action within its boundaries.’

  A scowl creased the Mexican officer’s surly features as the Texians chuckled at their superior’s counter proposal. However, guessing why it had been made, he retained control of his temper. He was helped in this by knowing that Villena had never expected the offer to be accepted and, in fact, had made plans which would be carried out whether it was or not. Realizing that his work was not yet ended, he went on with it.

  ‘You have no chance, not even the slightest, of survival, gentlemen,’ Mendez-Castillo warned, hating to use the honorific but willing to do so if it served to bring about his superior’s wishes. He was directing the words at the defenders rather than to their leader. ‘Why throw your lives away on such a futile venture when you can leave in safety?’

  ‘Shall I shoot him now, Cap’n Hardin,’ Jube inquired, in a matter of fact tone. ‘Or do I have to wait until he comes back with his men?’

  ‘I’ll have you court-martialed if you shoot him while he’s here under a flag of truce, blast it!’ Ole Devil declared, noticing that alarm had replaced the somewhat smug condescension with which the Mexican had been watching them. He felt himself grow increasingly perturbed, but did not show it and continued, keeping his unwavering gaze fixed upon Mendez-Castillo’s face. ‘You have had my answer, Major. And I think that I had better point out your flag does not give you the right to try to seduce my men from their duty.’

  That might, the young Texian realized, be the real reason behind the request for a parley. Yet he could not convince himself it was anything so simple.

  No matter what else Villena might be, he was no fool. He would realize that there was little chance of persuading the defenders to surrender on such terms. Even before news of Cós’s perfidy had become known, the Anglo-Saxon colonists had learned to be very wary of Mexican promises.

  So why had Mendez-Castillo been sent on such an errand?

  There had to be some other, more definite reason!

  Finding out went far beyond merely satisfying curiosity!

  It could be a matter of life or death!

  Everything about the Mexican’s bearing and attitude struck Ole Devil as being wrong. Partly it was suggestive of a man who held a royal straight flush lxxiv at stud poker when the up-cards lxxv proved no other could be out and he would not fail to win the pot. Yet there was also something furtive, nervous even, about him, as if he considered that he was in, or very close to, some serious danger.

  Had the latter sentiment been in evidence before Jube had injected his comment?

  Did the Mexican fear that his flag of truce would not be respected?

  Or was there another and more serious cause for his perturbation?

  On the face of it, almost everything was in the attackers’ favor. They had a vast numerical superiority and, although they could not avoid a certain amount of losses, careful management could restrict these to the younger and more headstrong Hopi braves who would be all too eager to lead the assault. So, once Mendez-Castillo had rejoined his companions, there would be only minimal danger. Only something completely unexpected and untoward could turn the scales in the Texians’ favor under the circumstances.

  Yet Ole Devil grew ever more convinced that the Major believed—or was afraid—something might go wrong.

  The young Texian wished that he could take his eyes from Mendez-Castillo and find out if anything was happening on the rim. However, he knew that his companions were watching and would warn him immediately if there was any sign of the enemy setting their mounts into motion.

  Even as Ole Devil was reaching that point in his conclusions, he felt as if he had been touched by an icy hand. A thought, alarming in its portent, drove into him. It was one, he told himself bitterly, that should have occurred to him straight away. In exculpatio
n, despite having slept soundly and woken considerably refreshed, there had been so many other things demanding his attention that he might be excused for having failed to take such a contingency into consideration.

  Except that the lapse might cost the defenders their lives more quickly than would otherwise have been the case!

  While the steeply sloping ground on the downstream side of the U-shaped basin would be impassable, at least with any speed, on horseback, men could walk—or even run—over its uneven surface without too much difficulty. Certainly they would have a better chance of approaching unseen than riders. Especially when the attention of their proposed victims was being diverted and held in another direction.

  ‘Very well!’ Mendez-Castillo said, disturbed by the Satanic-faced Texian’s unremitting scrutiny—which was beginning to induce a sensation of religious-inspired superstitious dread—and wanting to remove himself from it. Starting to rein his horse around, he spoke louder than was necessary. ‘Colonel Villena is not an unreasonable or impatient man. He will give you an hour in which to consider his proposal and make up your minds. But, I must warn you, if at the end of that time you still persist in this foolish and futile defiance, we will strike you down without mercy.’

  ‘My thanks to Colonel Villena for his consideration,’ Ole Devil replied, addressing the words to the Mexican officer’s back as he had completed the taming of his mount and started it moving while speaking. ‘And tell him that we apologize to the widows of the brave men he will be sending to their deaths.’

  ~*~

  ‘The stupid fool!’ the commanding officer of Company Five spat out, as he sat his horse with the other senior Mexicans on the rim and watched Major Mendez-Castillo bringing the parley to an end. ‘He hasn’t kept them talking nearly long enough!’