Get Urrea! (An Ole Devil Hardin Western Book 5) Page 7

  As the man continued to exercise a savagely constricting pressure and grind him against the trunk of the white ash, Ole Devil came up with what he hoped might be the answer. One thing was in his favor. While his feet were still off the ground, his arms were free. Bringing them swiftly up, he thrust his thumbs into the soft flesh behind the angles of his assailant’s jawbone. It inflicted considerable pain but was far less dangerous than gouging the eyes or clapping the cupped palms on the ears. The former could all too easily result in blindness and the latter might burst the recipient’s eardrums.

  Gurgling incoherently as the agony bit into him, the man slackened his hold a little and, without meaning to, lowered his captive. He intended to twist and fling his tormentor from him. Before he could do so, Ole Devil delivered a stamp to the top of his left foot. Letting out a screech that was testimony to how little protection his moccasin offered against the impact of a solid leather heel on a Hessian boot, the man snatched his hands free and took what was meant to be a single pace to the rear.

  Leaving the man’s neck, Ole Devil’s hands went to his chest and shoved hard. Coming while one foot was in the air, the push caused him to retreat farther than he had intended. Although he managed to avoid toppling over backwards, it proved to be anything but advantageous. Following him, the captain drove a left kick into the pit of his stomach and folded him over. Up flung Ole Devil’s right knee, meeting the man’s already bleeding nose and lifting him erect but helpless. Giving him no chance to recover, Ole Devil continued the attack. Shooting across his left fist with all the propulsive force of his slender, steel-wire-muscled frame behind it, he caught the side of the man’s jaw. Spinning around, the burly trouble-causer landed face down and unconscious at the feet of the spectators.

  Swaying a little, breathing heavily, oblivious of his bloody nose and torn shirt, Ole Devil swung his gaze so that it raked the crowd. Despite being disheveled, his black hair still retained the points at the sides which he had cultivated. They gave his features an even more Satanic aspect and made him look meaner than all hell.

  ‘All right!’ the young captain gritted, bringing his scrutiny to bear on the small knot of men whom he believed had been behind the comments that had made him fight with the burly trouble-causer. ‘If anybody else feels like taking it up, I’m willing to oblige him.’

  The grimly delivered words brought silence to the onlookers, and the group at whom they had been directed refused to meet the challenge of the speaker s cold black eyes. After the speed and apparent ease with which Ole Devil had escaped from the bear hug, and the rendering of the man who had applied it hors-de-combat, none of his supporters were inclined to try and avenge him. Nor did they want it to be made too obvious that they were backing down. So they stood in uneasy silence, each hoping another would supply a way out of the dilemma. Those of the spectators who had favored Ole Devil, tense and ready to back him if the need arose, were just as quiet. The remainder, who had merely come to watch and enjoy the fight with no great feelings either way, made just as little noise as they awaited developments.

  ‘What’s wrong, gentlemen?’ demanded a deep and authoritative voice, before there was time for any other response to the young captain’s challenge. ‘Haven’t you had enough fighting without needing to do it among yourselves?’

  There was some restless shuffling of feet, but no replies, as the members of the crowd turned their eyes to the speaker. Looking as impressive as a bull buffalo among a herd of pronghorn antelope, he walked forward. Such of the spectators who were in his way moved hurriedly aside. While there were many who exchanged sheepish glances with one another, nobody seemed to want to meet his chilling gaze as it swept from face to face.

  It was late afternoon on April 21, 1836, and Major General Samuel Houston could claim to be one prophet who definitely was with honor in his own country. Events had proved that his tactics and assessment of the situation had been correct from the beginning.

  Before noon on the previous day, the battle of San Jacinto had settled the future of the Republic of Texas in no uncertain manner. Helped by errors of judgment on the part of Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, the courage and superior weapons of the vastly outnumbered Texians had won such a decisive victory that they had escaped the bonds of Mexican domination. xxv At a cost of only two dead and twenty-three lesser casualties, Houston’s eight hundred men had killed six hundred and thirty of the enemy and taken seven hundred prisoners, including el Presidente himself, captured and identified by Ole Devil who had found him hiding and in disguise.

  Despite the resounding success and complete vindication of Houston’s strategy, there were still those who had no love for him. Seeking to detract from his now greatly enhanced status, some of them had seized upon the one thing on which they felt he could be criticized. The result had been the fight which had just taken place in a clearing of the woodland that fringed the Army’s camp at Buffalo Bayou.

  ‘Anyway,’ Houston continued. While you’re here, others are benefitting by it. The post sutlers have combined to supply free drinks with which to toast our victory.’

  Nothing else could have caused the crowd to disperse so quickly. The raisers of dissent had an excuse to retire without a loss of face. With them leaving, there was no reason for Ole Devil’s friends to remain. The disaffected onlookers were drawn away by the lure of free drinks and the knowledge that the situation had no further opportunities for enjoyment. On Houston’s orders three members of the unconscious man’s outfit carried him away with them. In less than a minute, only one of the crowd was left with the General, other than Ole Devil, Mannen and Tommy. He was ‘Deaf’ Smith, Houston’s oldest friend and very capable chief scout.

  ‘Well, captain,’ the General said, when the last of the onlookers were out of earshot. ‘How did you get into the fight this time?’

  ‘No excuse, sir,’ Ole Devil replied, removing the handkerchief with which he had been staunching the blood from his nostrils.

  ‘Well now,’ Smith drawled. ‘I wouldn’t ’zactly say that. No sir, General Sam, I wouldn’t at all.’

  ‘Maybe you’d like to tell me, then,’ Houston suggested, eyeing the leathery scout sardonically.

  ‘Some of them North Texas bunch was blowing off their mouths ’bout you being too soft on the prisoners we took yesterday,’ Smith explained. ‘Then that big jasper got to saying’s how we should give ’em a taste of what the boys at the Alamo and Fannin’s crowd got. Was more’n a few starting to listen. So young Ole Devil ups and makes out he thinks the feller was blaming him for fetching Santa Anna in alive. Next thing, the two of ’em’d come out here to settle things perlite like and the rest’d forgot all about going after the prisoners.’ He paused and a flinty grin came to his face. ‘Reckon I’ll sort of drift back for some of that free liquor now the fun’s over. Tell you, though, I’ve a notion’s anybody else who tries to make a fuss for the prisoners’s going to be took sick real sudden.’

  ‘Now what do you reckon “Deaf” could mean by that?’ Mannen Blaze inquired sleepily and of nobody in particular, watching the scout amble away.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to know,’ Houston declared drily, although he could have made an accurate guess. xxvi ‘How badly are you hurt, captain?’

  ‘Not too bad, sir,’ Ole Devil declared and he was not indulging in false modesty. ‘A few bruises, none too serious, is all.’

  ‘Do you feel up to taking a stroll with me?’ the General wanted to know.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ole Devil assented. ‘Let me have my gear, Cousin Mannen. I’ll see you and Tommy back at the camp.’

  ‘Yo!’ Mannen answered in a lackadaisical manner, making what was already the accepted cavalryman’s reply to a superior’s order.

  Accepting the bowie knife, Ole Devil slid its eleven-inch long, two and a quarter inch wide and three-eights of an inch thick clip point xxvii blade into its sheath. Then he thrust the barrel of the Manton pistol into the slanting, two inch broad leather loop attached to the
right side of his belt, so that the butt was turned forward and could be grasped by either hand. Although the oblong leather pouch was on the back of the belt, it was not holding the three Browning Slide Repeating rifle magazines for which it had been designed. Instead of donning his hat, Ole Devil held it in his left hand and returned the handkerchief to his nose with the right.

  ‘We’d better go to the stream along there and let you wash up,’ Houston suggested as he and Ole Devil parted company with Mannen and Tommy. Walking in that direction, he went on, ‘Do you know why I won’t allow reprisals to be taken?—And I don’t want any flattery.’

  ‘You’re not the kind of man who’d let that sort of thing happen, sir,’ Ole Devil declared, meeting the General’s gaze without flinching. ‘Which isn’t flattery, but a fact. On top of that, you know how some folks in the United States would react to any suggestion that you’d allowed unarmed prisoners to be killed.’

  ‘That’s about it,’ Houston agreed, showing no surprise that the younger man had made the correct deduction. ‘The only future for us lies in becoming a part of the United States, not in trying to exist as the Republic of Texas. There’s a lot of opposition to it from the liberal-radical and anti-slavery factions. They make a lot of capital out of so many fugitives from justice coming here. To hear them talk, every settler in Texas is a bloodthirsty criminal. To have it said that we killed prisoners in revenge would give them proof of the kind of people they think we are. Treating the Mexicans we captured in a civilized and honorable manner will prevent them from having a justified grievance against us.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ole Devil agreed. ‘Especially if our adherents point out what happened to our men who surrendered. But there’ll be some in Texas, particularly those who lost kin at the Alamo and Goliad, who won’t take kindly to the idea.’

  ‘Don’t I know it?’ Houston grunted, then his voice took on a gentler tone. ‘But that’s a cross I’ll have to bear.’

  As the two men reached the bank of the small stream, the conversation came to a halt. Nor was it resumed until Ole Devil had removed his shirt, washed his head and torso in the water and replaced the garment.

  ‘I can stand off my critics by pointing out that the Alamo wasn’t a massacre,’ the General remarked, without showing any sign of resuming the interrupted stroll. Instead, he looked around for several seconds as if he wanted to make sure that nobody else could hear what was being said. ‘Jim Bowie, “Buck” Travis, Davy Crockett and their men knew what they were letting themselves in for when they stayed on and they cost Santa Anna a whole heap more lives than they lost.’

  ‘That doesn’t apply to Fannin and his men, sir,’ Ole Devil pointed out quietly.

  ‘It doesn’t,’ Houston admitted bitterly, but in no louder tones. ‘Fannin’s indecision, stupidity, failure to obey orders, cowardice—put any name you want to it—was responsible for his men being taken. But people won’t think of that, or of how he refused to try to reinforce the Alamo. xxviii All they’ll remember is how he and his men were murdered in cold blood and they’ll want revenge.’

  ‘In which case, it’s lucky that Urrea wasn’t with Santa Anna on the San Jacinto, sir,’ Ole Devil commented, wondering where the conversation was leading. ‘So you won’t have to antagonize anybody by refusing to let them kill Urrea.’

  ‘It’s lucky in that respect,’ Houston conceded.

  ‘Why wasn’t he here, sir?’ Ole Devil asked. ‘Our information was that Santa Anna had passed the word for all his troops to join him.’

  ‘It seems that Urrea got word that the Yaqui had gone on the warpath in the south of Nuevo Leon and, seeing that a lot of his men came from that region, he took the Tamaulipa Brigade back to deal with them.’

  ‘Which means he’s over the Rio Bravo xxix and well into Mexico by now,’ Ole Devil drawled. ‘Even if we had a force large and strong enough to send after him, doing so would ruin our chances of being accepted as part of the United States. The soft-shells xxx would say that letting us in would condone our invasion of a foreign country and bring international repercussions.’

  ‘Sending a military force after him is the last thing I have in mind,’ Houston declared. ‘But, regardless of what he did to Fannin’s command, right now Urrea’s the biggest threat to the future of Texas.’

  ‘How, sir?’

  ‘Until Santa Anna took control, the Mexicans were too busy fighting amongst themselves to bother about what happened up here in Texas. After being licked this badly, it’ll be a few years before Santa Anna’ll get the restless elements tamed down and be strong enough to think of taking another stab at making us toe the line. But Urrea’s a horse of a different color. He’s one general who hasn’t been whipped and sent back home with his tail between his legs. That puts him in a mighty strong position for making a play at becoming the new Presidente.’

  ‘Do you think he’s got that in mind, sir?’

  ‘Santa Anna’s sure he has,’ Houston replied. ‘I’ve had a couple of long talks with him. He’s pot boiling mad. Lays all the blame for being licked yesterday on the Tamaulipa Brigade not having been here and claims that Urrea kept it away deliberately to make sure he’d lose.’

  ‘That could be because he doesn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he made a mistake chasing off after the Provisional Government instead of catching and dealing with the Army first,’ Ole Devil suggested, mentioning one of the errors in Santa Anna’s tactics which had helped to make the Texians’ victory possible.

  ‘There’s more to it than that,’ Houston contradicted. ‘Santa Anna’s no fool. He’s had spies on Urrea’s staff and they’ve told him enough to guess what he has in mind. He claims that Urrea wasn’t acting on his orders to kill the prisoners, but did it to turn folks in the United States against him.’

  ‘Do you believe that, sir?’

  ‘It could be the truth. He’s most likely heard of how high feelings are running over the Alamo up in the States. In which case, he’d not want to make things worse by having an even bigger massacre on his hands. Particularly one like that. It could stir up such a storm that Congress would have to take action.’

  ‘And if that happened, Santa Anna would wind up fighting the United States,’ Ole Devil supplemented, following the General’s line of reasoning. ‘No matter how it turned out, he’d be weakened and less able to keep a tight hold on things in Mexico. Anyway, sir, the trouble with Urrea ought to help us. It’ll keep them occupied—’

  ‘Not for long enough,’ Houston contradicted. ‘With at least the “Landero” Line Infantry Battalion and the Tamaulipa Lancers out of his Brigade backing him, Urrea’s got the best armed and equipped force in Mexico. Given that kind of support, he’ll draw more in. Maybe not enough to take over straight away, but a whole lot sooner than anybody else, Santa Anna included, can do it. And, don’t forget this, boy. Whoever gets in will have to come back up here and make another stab at whipping us. It’s a matter of national pride. The main thing where we’re concerned is, given time, we can become part of the United States. Without Urrea to take over and pull them together, we’ve won.’

  ‘Somebody ought to do something about that, sir,’ Ole Devil drawled.

  ‘I can’t send in an army,’ Houston began.

  ‘That wasn’t what I—or you—had in mind, sir,’ Ole Devil stated, in a flat and emotionless voice.

  ‘What do I have in mind?’ Houston demanded, watching the younger man’s Mephistophelian face with interest.

  ‘Send in a few men and see if they could find some way to get Urrea,’ Ole Devil answered. ‘It could be done.’

  ‘It could be certain death for whoever went,’ Houston warned.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ole Devil agreed. ‘But I’ve a few thoughts on how to handle it. Perhaps you can tell me if you think I’m right.’

  ‘You’ve a pretty shrewd idea,’ Houston conceded, after having heard the younger man’s summation and conclusions. ‘And I think it could work—But if it doesn’t—’

&n
bsp; ‘I’m trying not to think too much about that, sir,’ Ole Devil declared. ‘And I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that it does work.’

  Houston did not reply for several seconds. While he had sought out Ole Devil with the intention of obtaining just such a result, giving his approval did not come easily. The General had the greatest respect for the young captain and believed that he could become an influential force for the benefit of Texas in the future if he was given the opportunity. Sending him on the mission might, probably would, result in his death.

  On the other hand, Houston had to balance the danger of losing a few lives against the possibility of gaining a much needed breathing space. Time in which he could persuade the United States’ Congress to accept Texas into its domain. At stake was the goal towards which he had worked for so long and for which many men had already given their lives. Despite his personal feelings, he knew there could only be one reply.

  ‘All right, Captain Hardin,’ the commanding general of the Republic of Texas’s Army said, stiffening into a brace. ‘Get Urrea!’

  Chapter Seven – Cut His Heart Out

  Cautiously riding his dun gelding along the bottom of a valley about five miles from the northern bank of the Rio Grande, in the middle of the afternoon of April 24, 1836, Lieutenant Arsenio Serrano of the Northern Coahuila Militia Regiment told himself that there were at least three grains of consolation to be extracted from his present situation. He was still alive, at liberty and; unlike the majority of the men who had marched with Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna from San Antonio de Bexar to the San Jacinto River, he was not returning home completely empty handed.

  The only son of a wealthy haciendero, Serrano was in his mid-twenties, tall, slender and good-looking. Few Militia officers had worn a formal uniform and he was no exception. He had on a high crowned, well-made white sombrero, a brown waist-long, double-breasted shirt-jacket decorated with silver braiding and buttons, matching tight-legged, bell-bottomed trousers and high-heeled black boots adorned with large-roweled spurs. However, due to circumstances beyond his control, he was not wearing arms of any kind.