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

  Even the hard core of staunch men who had remained under Houston’s command, barely a thousand in all, were unhappy over the way he was conducting the campaign. Since the majority of them had been armed with the consignment of caplock rifles Lieutenant Mannen Blaze had had awaiting their arrival at Groce’s Place, there had been increasing demands that they should ‘quit running and make a stab at getting even for what had happened to those gallant boys of the Alamo’. So far, the general had been able to fend them off by insisting that the Army learned the ways of the new weapons. However, knowing the mood the men were in, he was aware that he could not restrain their impatience indefinitely. Something positive would have to be done before long.

  Unfortunately, as Houston appreciated, the action he must take next would not be popular.

  ‘I hear you lost young Dimmock,’ the general said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ole Devil agreed, his face taking on angry and bitter lines as he explained the circumstances of the lieutenant’s death. ‘That was what convinced Santa Anna the “reward posters” and “President Burnet’s” letter were genuine,’ he concluded. ‘But I didn’t know what P—Mr. Dimmock had in mind—’

  ‘That goes without saying, captain,’ Houston declared. ‘And, as soon as it’s possible, we’ll let it be known what he did.’ liii

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Ole Devil drawled, fighting to hold off a yawn.

  ‘And now, my young friend,’ Houston went on, rising. ‘I’m ordering you to go and take a sleep. You look like you’re ready for it.’

  ‘I am,’ Ole Devil admitted, but he still snapped smartly to attention before continuing. ‘Can you tell me when we’ll be moving out, please, sir?’

  ‘I’ll have the Yellow Stone start ferrying the men over this afternoon,’ Houston replied, referring to a little steamboat which had traded along the Brazos River before the commencement of hostility and which had already played one important part in the campaign. liv ‘Your Company will be the last to go, which means they’ll be here until tomorrow. So you’ll be able to have a good rest.’

  ‘Gracias, sir,’ Ole Devil said.

  ‘Now get going, blast you,’ the general barked, but there was a kindly and even admiring glint in his blue eyes to belie the gruffness of his voice. ‘I’ve work to do whether you young line officers have or not.’

  Leaving Houston’s headquarters, Ole Devil did not go straight to bed. Instead, he accompanied Mannen Blaze to a secluded area. In a small canvas shelter, a bath-tub—‘borrowed’ from its original owner—was filled with hot water and awaiting him. Removing his clothes for the first time since setting out on the mission, he took a bath, shaved and trimmed his beard and moustache to their normal style, then donned his uniform. As a further demonstration of the respect and high regard in which the men of the Texas Light Cavalry’s Company ‘C’, held him, they had set up a tent well clear of the noise and bustle of the main camp. They also willingly formed a ring of sentries to ensure that he and Tommy Okasi, who had already bathed and changed, could sleep undisturbed.

  ~*~

  ‘Devil!’ Mannen Blaze said urgently, shaking his cousin’s shoulder.

  ‘Wh—!’ Ole Devil gasped, waking up far more slowly than was usual for him. ‘Wh—What is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to disturb you,’ the burly redhead apologized, sounding as if he too was practically asleep. ‘But there could be trouble.’

  Swinging his feet from the cot, which like the bath-tub had been ‘borrowed’ by the men of Company ‘C’, Ole Devil saw that Tommy was also stirring. The little Oriental had removed the stain and, except that his face was a little drawn after the exertions of the past few days, looked his usual self. There was a muted rumble of conversation from not far outside the tent and, looking through the open flaps, the Texian could tell that the afternoon was well advanced. He had slept long enough to have lost the fatigue which had assailed him and felt much refreshed.

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ Ole Devil inquired as he stood up.

  ‘There’s a meeting of protest, they call it, going on,’ Mannen explained, his sleepy tones underlaid with anger. ‘Some of the anti-Houston bunch are trying to talk the others into heading straight down to Thompson’s Ferry and jump Santa Anna instead of what they call running like cur dogs with our tails between our legs.’

  ‘They’re what?’ Ole Devil barked, bending down to collect his belt and passing its end through the first loop on the left side of his breeches. Although he slid on the bowie knife’s sheath, he did not bother to replace the magazine pouch; both of which he had removed when extracting the belt from his trousers. Encircling his waist with it, he fastened the buckle and pulled on his boots, asking savagely, ‘Haven’t the damned fools been told what General Houston’s going to do?’

  ‘Only that we’re crossing the Brazos and moving east,’ Mannen replied, gesturing angrily with his cousin’s Manton pistol—which he had taken away and cleaned—looking almost tiny in his huge right hand.

  ‘Of course,’ Ole Devil said quietly, slipping the bowie knife into its sheath. ‘He can’t let it be known what he’s intending. There’s still time for word of it to get to Santa Anna and spoil every chance of it working.’

  ‘It’s a pity he couldn’t let folks know, though,’ the redhead stated, handing over the pistol. ‘What started the fuss is that some Mexican sneaked up close enough to the camp so that he could shout that el Presidente knows we’re skulking in the bushes up here and, after he’s whipped our “land thieves’ Government” out of the country, he’ll be coming to smoke us out for the cowardly rats we are.’

  ‘So they want to go down there and call his bluff?’ Ole Devil guessed, accepting and thrusting his pistol into its carrier on the belt.

  ‘They reckon that, seeing they’ve got those new caplocks, they should use them for shooting,’ Mannen elaborated, ‘not as extra ballast while they’re running away.’

  ‘God damned fools!’ Ole Devil growled. ‘Can’t they see that Santa Anna sent his man up here to try to make us go there? He’ll have left enough men at Thompson’s to take care of us and, if we go there, we’ll be playing into his hands.’ lv

  ‘It’s likely never occurred to them,’ the redhead answered, having drawn a similar conclusion. ‘Somebody ought to tell them.’

  ‘Where’s General Houston?’ Ole Devil demanded.

  ‘He took all the senior officers across the river in the Yellow Stone,’ Mannen replied. ‘That’s when those stupid sons-of-bitches started stirring the others up.’

  ‘They’ve got to be stopped before they do it,’ Ole Devil declared, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. He raised it to go on, ‘And, by god! I’m going to.’ His next words were more of a statement than a question, ‘Is the Company formed up, Mr. Blaze?’

  ‘Armed and waiting, sir,’ Mannen reported, showing no resentment at the use of the honorific ‘mister’. He had anticipated his cousin’s response and made all the necessary arrangements. ‘As soon as you’re ready, sir, we can move out.’

  While the conversation was taking place, Tommy had risen and armed himself with his daisho. Deciding that the bow would not be required, he left it on the ground and held out his employer’s hat. Taking it, Ole Devil did not put it on his head. Instead, he allowed it to dangle over his back by the barbiquejo chinstrap.

  As their commanding officer stepped from the tent, Sergeant Smith called the two ranks of Company ‘C’ to attention. Studying the expectancy and resolution on the tanned faces of his men, Ole Devil knew he could rely upon them to back him to the hilt. Returning the salute which Smith delivered, he gave the order to turn right and led the way to where a certain amount of noise indicated the meeting was taking place.

  Studying the crowd which had gathered on an area of open ground at the fringes of the camp, Ole Devil found it to be comprised exactly as he had expected. Mostly they were just ordinary enlisted men, not over intelligent and unable to appreciate the true nature of the situation. There we
re also a few malcontents with real or fancied grievances and an assortment of the kind who would go along anywhere that something was happening, regardless of what it might be. As Mannen had said, the main causes of the dissension were the sprinkling of men who were opposed to General Houston and wanted to discredit him.

  However, although the meeting had been going on for several minutes, it was clear to Ole Devil that no decision had been reached. Either no leader had arisen with sufficient strength of personality to dominate the group, or no member of the anti-Houston faction was willing to accept the responsibility personally.

  All eyes turned towards Company ‘C’ as they approached and the rumble of conversation died away. There was not a man present who was unacquainted with Ole Devil, although he could not recognize any who he could claim as friends or associates. One thing he did know, they were all aware that his sympathies were definitely pro-Houston and they could probably guess why he had come.

  When some fifty yards separated them from the crowd, Sergeant Smith gave an order, and, displaying a military precision only rarely seen in the Republic of Texas’s Army, the two files of Company ‘C’ fanned out. They halted in a double file, so positioned that the men in front were not in line of fire of those at the rear, behind the human triangle formed by Tommy Okasi, Ole Devil and Mannen Blaze.

  ‘Well, gentlemen?’ Ole Devil said, standing ramrod straight in front of his Company and sweeping the crowd with a cold gaze. ‘What’s all this about?’

  ‘Us fellers’re quick sick of running,’ answered the burly man in the forefront of the gathering, looking distinctly uneasy at finding himself apparently being singled out to act as their spokesman. ‘So we, all of us, conclude it’s time we did something else.’

  ‘Don’t you think General Houston’s doing it?’ Ole Devil challenged.

  ‘Sure he is,’ scoffed a speaker who was careful to keep himself concealed among the crowd, when the burly man did not reply—nor anybody else—for several seconds. ‘He-all’s aiming to do the same’s he’s been doing all along. Keep running away!’

  Listening to the muted, so far anything but unanimous mutter of agreement, Ole Devil was hard put to control his temper. Yet he knew to lose it would be ruinous. Unless he handled the situation correctly, he would ruin all his mission had achieved and Paul Dimmock’s self sacrifice would have been made in vain.

  The latter consideration, even more than Ole Devil’s sense of duty—which would have compelled him to intervene at the meeting anyway—made him determined to prevent the crowd from carrying out their intentions. If they did, it was almost certain that the majority of the Army—already furious and eager to avenge the slaughter of the Alamo Mission’s defenders and the massacre at Goliad—would insist upon accompanying them.

  So, although Dimmock’s death was a great inducement to succeed, Ole Devil knew that it must not be allowed to cloud his judgment and lead him into a rashness which would have disastrous consequences.

  The situation was, Ole Devil realized, very similar to the one he had faced on leaving the hollow at San Felipe after the duel.

  There was, however, one vitally important difference.

  This time, Ole Devil could not count upon the assistance of friends who appreciated the situation and were mingling with the opposition so as to help him. Lacking such an asset, he would have to rely upon his own knowledge of human nature and—although he had never heard of the word—crowd, or mob, psychology.

  Studying the attitudes and expressions of the crowd, the young captain forced himself to control his growing anger. Instead, he drew his conclusions in the deliberate and calculating fashion which made him such a deadly efficient fighting man and an extremely capable leader.

  While the group might have congregated, as yet they were far from being united in their purpose. Nor, which was even more important, had any one of them displayed the cool and forceful kind of personality that was needed to direct their efforts. Unless one did, backed as he was by his grim-faced, loyal and resolute Company, Ole Devil believed that he could disperse them.

  ‘And what do you say should be done?’ the young captain demanded, still addressing the person he had apparently decided was the leader of the crowd.

  ‘Me?’ came the indignant and not unexpected reply. ‘I just aim to do what the rest of these fellers want to do.’

  ‘And we aims to have us a fight is what!’ declared the second speaker, still without allowing himself to be identified.

  ‘That’s what General Houston intends to give you,’ Ole Devil pointed out. ‘But it will be when he, and not Santa Anna, wants it.’

  ‘When’ll that be?’ demanded the voice from somewhere in the center of the crowd. ‘After Santa Anna’s growed too old to fight back?’

  ‘Go and draw a line between us, Tommy,’ Ole Devil said quietly, then spoke louder. ‘It will be soon and, when it comes, we’ll have the best chance of licking Santa Anna that anybody could want.’

  Silence fell after the captain had made the statement and every eye followed the little Oriental’s movements. Advancing until he was half way between the two groups, he employed laijitsu to whip out the tachu. Without as much as a glance at the puzzled onlookers, he obeyed his employer’s instructions. Having done so, he replaced the sword just as quickly and returned to his position in front of Company ‘C’.

  ‘All right!’ Ole Devil went on, his savage scrutiny raking the faces of the crowd. ‘Are you willing to let General Houston pick the time and place for us to tackle Santa Anna?’

  ‘Like hell we are!’ yelled the man from the midst of the gathering. Although there was little obvious support for his sentiments, he went on, ‘We aim to have us a fight right now and that’s what we’re going to do.’

  ‘Very well!’ Ole Devil barked, pointing at the groove carved by Tommy Okasi’s sword. ‘If all you want is to fight for the sake of it, hot damn, we’ll oblige you! Anybody who’s so inclined, walk over that line—but be ready to start shooting as soon as you’re across.’

  A good two hundred strong, as opposed to at the most forty-five men behind their challenger, the dissidents still stood indecisive and exchanged glances. They all knew the members of the Texas Light Cavalry’s hard-riding, harder-fighting Company ‘C’ would not hesitate to carry out any command given by the Satanic-faced young captain. Nor would they be influenced by the fact that they were confronting fellow Texians.

  So every dissident was waiting for somebody else to guide him!

  Each knew that whoever crossed the line would have a fight to the death on his hands!

  There was a sudden, concerted sucking in of breath as a man stepped forward!

  Watching the tall, long haired, unkempt and buckskin clad figure approaching, not a sign of apprehension showed on Ole Devil’s Mephistophelian features. For all that, he was consumed by anxiety. It seemed that his challenge was being accepted.

  Once the man reached the line, others were sure to follow him!

  When that happened, a situation could erupt which was going to end the Republic of Texas’s small Army as a fighting force.

  With a bitter and sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, Ole Devil told himself that his gamble was not producing the desired results. Behind him, the men of Company ‘C’ stood like statues. Yet nobody who looked at them could fail to appreciate their readiness to take whatever kind of action might become necessary. Their very stillness, caused by the instructions he had given as they were marching to the meeting, was impressive and the crowd had taken notice of it. So he had felt sure that, confronted by such a disciplined body of grimly determined and well armed men, nobody in the gathering would be willing to take the initiative against them.

  That one should have, could be disastrous.

  However, there was one slight consolation for the young Texian.

  As yet, nobody else was moving forward!

  Clearly the rest of the crowd was waiting to find out what happened when the man crossed the line!
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  There was, Ole Devil decided, only one chance of averting a full scale clash.

  If the buckskin clad man could be killed swiftly, unexpectedly, and without any suggestion of hesitation the moment he crossed the line, his companions might have second thoughts about following.

  Using the techniques for drawing and firing the Manton pistol which he had developed, Ole Devil was confident that he could do it.

  However, the young Texian also appreciated the dangers of such an act.

  There was a possibility that the crowd would feel called upon to avenge their self appointed leader.

  Yet to yield and let the man cross would weld the onlookers into a united band against which no kind of verbal argument would prevail.

  It was, Ole Devil knew, always best to take a positive action in such conditions.

  Even if to do so meant taking the life of a brave, if misguided man!

  From his position to the right and rear, Mannen Blaze could not see his cousin’s face. For all that, he could guess at the way Ole Devil was thinking. Remembering what was at stake and, also, how Paul Dimmock had willingly given his life to bring it about, Ole Devil was in the state of mind when he was at his most ruthless and dangerous.

  In the redhead’s opinion, the life expectancy of the advancing man was no longer than it would take for him to walk four more paces. The moment his foot passed over the line drawn by Tommy, in the hope that the suddenness of his death would dissuade the others, Ole Devil would kill him in his tracks.

  There was no other way to deal with the situation!

  Not with the future of the Republic of Texas in the balance!

  Nor after Paul Dimmock had allowed himself to be killed to bring about the state of affairs that the crowd’s wish to march south was threatening.

  In the next few seconds, the fate of all they had been striving for would be resolved!

  One way or the other!

  ‘I’m coming over there, Cap’n Hardin, sir,’ the potential leader announced in carrying tones which, despite having a somewhat different timbre, reminded Ole Devil of the unknown agitator’s voice. ‘And I ain’t like some’s’s a-scared to show themselves when they talking big about wanting to