Ole Devil and the Caplocks (14 page)

Looking over his shoulder,
Mannen blessed his good fortune in having subordinates who were
capable of intelligent thought. Clearly Sergeant Dale appreciated
the situation without the need for lengthy explanations. He was
personally leading the men up the slope and they were holding the
noise of their ascent to the minimum.

From the bottom of the
slope came a sudden, tiny red glow accompanied by a shower of
minute sparks and barely audible—at that distance—popping sounds. A
low curse burst from Mannen and he wondered what Rassendyll, the
most likely culprit, was doing. Clearly he had lit one of those
newfangled friction matches
^xxxviii
which were starting to replace the “Instantaneous Light
Box”
^xxxix
and similar devices as a means of producing a fire. The
matches were as yet not readily available in Texas, but could be
obtained in the more civilized parts of the United
States.

“Seems like Sammy’s
smarter’n we figured, Mister Blaze,” remarked the sentry, whose
name was Smith even before he had arrived in Texas, bringing the
redhead’s attention from the bottom of the valley. “He’s not yelled
and those fellers aren’t moving in yet either.”

By the time Cope declared
that he had taken his departure without hindrance and, somewhat
sarcastically, von Lowenbrau had requested permission to approach,
Sergeant Dale had brought his men to positions just below the rim.
Whatever had caused Rassendyll to strike a match still was not
apparent to Mannen, but he could see the supercargo coming from the
bottom of the valley at a swift but quiet run.

However, the redhead had
things other than the supercargo’s behavior to demand his
attention. In a few seconds, as they began to come into sight, he
was able to confirm what he had already suspected. Major von
Lowenbrau’s party was around thirty strong. While there were fifty
non-coms and men in Company “C,” half had been assigned to protect
the halted mule train and were too far away to hear shooting at the
bay. Putting out the seven two-man pickets had been a sensible
precaution, but it had seriously depleted the numbers of the guard
on the consignment. Even though Dale had exceeded the half which he
had been ordered to bring, that still only put eight men—including
Dale, but not counting Rassendyll and Mannen—on the upper reaches
of the slope. However, every one was carrying three loaded Caplock
rifles as well as his personal weapons.

“
Hold it
there until you’re identified ’n’ Cap’n Hardin says you can come
on!” Smith ordered, without the need for prompting, when the
foremost of the riders was about thirty feet away, and he
emphasized his words by cocking his rifle.

“Halt—!” snorted von
Lowenbrau, although his military training secretly approved of the
precaution and he wished that the men under his command would
display an equal efficiency when carrying out their
duties.

“Come on up here, you
fellers!” called Mannen, adopting a coarse tone more suitable to an
enlisted man than an officer, when the command did not meet with
instant obedience. “They ain’t doing it!”

Immediately, Dale’s detail
advanced into view and the redhead discovered why Rassendyll had
struck the match. What was more, he heartily approved of what he
had previously regarded as an inexplicable and possibly ill-advised
action.

A beam of light stabbed
from the bull’s-eye lantern, which had been part of the
supercargo’s luggage along with the Mob Pistol that he was still
holding, as his left hand shook open its front shield. While it did
not have the brilliance of later electric battery powered
flashlights, it was still sufficient to illuminate the man who was
leading the newcomers and, if his annoyed reaction proved anything,
it at least partly dazzled him.

Tall, well built, sitting
a fine-looking horse with a stiff-backed military carriage. Major
Ludwig won Lowenbrau wore clothes more suitable to a professional
gambler from a Mississippi riverboat than a former officer—if of
two grades lower rank than he now laid claim to—in the Prussian
Army. However, his close-cropped blond hair, mustache drawn to
spikes and held there by wax, and the dueling scars on his cheeks
were indications of his background to those who knew the
signs.

No matter why he had “gone
to Texas,” von Lowenbrau— who had once borne an even more
distinguished name preceded by the honorific “Freiherr,” Baron—was
far from being a reckless fool. Sent by his colonel, for whom he
had little respect as an officer or a man, to take possession of
the consignment of Caplock rifles which a spy on Houston’s staff
had reported would be arriving at Santa Cristobal Bay, he was aware
of what he would be up against. Even without the support of Ewart
Brindley’s
Tejas
Indian mule packers, who had a reputation for salty toughness
and the ability to protect any property under their care. Company
“C” of the Texas Light Cavalry outnumbered the small force which
had grudgingly been given to him.

Having met Ole Devil
Hardin in the early days of the conflict, von Lowenbrau regarded
him as being a potentially capable and efficient officer. Nor had
anything he had seen so far caused him to revise the opinion.
Traveling through the darkness in the hope of reaching his
destination and moving in shortly before the escort woke up in the
morning, he had been intercepted by the picket. Although he had
satisfied its members that he was an ally, neither had told him of
their exact reason for being so far away from their regiment. They
had been equally uncommunicative about the other details which he
had hoped to learn. Clearly they had been ordered to keep their
mission a secret, even from other members of the Republic of
Texas’s Army, and they had insisted that their officers would
answer all the questions. He had been too wise to force the issue.
Nor had he been able to dissuade Cope from accompanying his party,
to “show them the best way.” The soldier’s presence had ruined any
chance of taking the rest of the escort unawares. From what he
could see, they were alert and ready to take any action which might
be necessary.

“Whose command is this?”
the major asked, halting his horse and signaling for his men to
stop as he realized that the light from the lantern would make him
an easy target.

“Captain Hardin’s Company
‘C,’ Texas Light Cavalry,” Mannen replied, although he suspected
that the information was unnecessary. “He’s taken a detail to
change the pickets.”

“
Can we
make camp with you for the night?” von Lowenbrau
inquired.

“If you’re so minded,”
Mannen answered. “But we’ve got six men down there with what could
be yellow fever, so we’d be obliged if you’d stand watch up here
for us.”

“Yellow fever!” several
voices repeated from the major’s rear, showing alarm.

“Quiet!” von Lowenbrau
roared, checking the undisciplined chatter instinctively, but he
knew the damage was done. Fear of the dreaded disease would make
his men reluctant to enter the hollow. “Are you sure of
it?”

“We’ve a man who knows
enough about medical matters to know it when he sees it,” Mannen
declared, which was true as far as it went. “So you could help us
plenty if you’d stand guard up here. We drove those renegades off,
but they might be back.”

For a moment, von
Lowenbrau stood in silence. Having made Mannen’s acquaintance also,
he had formed a less favorable impression than that which Ole Devil
had made upon him. So he did not believe that the redhead would
have sufficient intelligence to make up such a story, nor to
command that kind of disciplined obedience from the men of their
company. What was more, the sentry had implied that Hardin was
close at hand.

Another thought came to
the major. A man as shrewd as young Hardin would know of Johnson’s
activities and about the Red River Volunteer Dragoons’ support for
them. So he would be wary of its members. In which case, he might
have made up the story about the yellow fever to keep von
Lowenbrau’s party away from the consignment. Trying to ignore the
request to stand guard could be very dangerous in that
case.

“Of course we’ll do as you
ask. Mister Blaze,” the major declared.

Although Mannen had hoped
to bring about such a result, he knew that the trouble was far from
over. Once the sun came up, von Lowenbrau would know how few men he
had at his disposal to protect the consignment.

Clearly Madeline de Moreau
had been even more intelligent in her planning than Ole Devil
Hardin had imagined. Not only had she selected a way to delay the
mule train while she gained additional reinforcements to capture
it, she had anticipated how he would react to the situation.
Guessing that he would try to obtain a replacement for the dead
bell mare from the nearest source, she must have sent some of her
men to intercept whoever came. Possibly, being aware of the town’s
unsavory reputation, she had even deduced that he would take the
risks involved by coming himself. If so, hating him for having
killed her husband, she could have made arrangements to ensure her
vengeance.

Having drawn his
conclusions, Ole Devil diverted his full attention to solving the
problems which he envisaged would arise from them. Much as he would
have liked to do so, there was no safe way in which he could warn
Diamond-Hitch Brindley and Tommy Okasi of the latest developments.
Nor, with the brims of their hats drawn down to hide their
features, could he tell if they realized the danger. To have
spoken, as might have seemed the most obvious way, would
have

informed the three men
that their purpose had been suspected and might have made them
launch their attack immediately instead of waiting until they were
nearer. The trouble with that was they were still well beyond the
distance where the little Oriental could hope to protect himself
with his swords. So, in addition to lulling them into a sense of
false security, allowing them to come closer would increase Tommy’s
chances of survival. It would also make dealing with them much
easier—but only if the Texian’s companions were alerted to the
situation.

Taking one factor into
consideration as he watched the three men without allowing his
scrutiny to become obvious, Ole Devil decided that he could delay
warning his companions for a little while longer. The renegade who
had been prevented from drawing his pistol was following the girl.
From what he knew of her, the Texian was confident that she was
capable of taking care of herself for at least sufficient length of
time to let him render his assailant hors-de-combat and go to her
aid.

Apparently the trio did
not intend to take any action until the empty-handed man was within
reaching distance of his victim. Ole Devil decided that must have
been what the final, brief, discussion with Dodd was about. Having
been denied an opportunity to draw his pistol, the renegade would
not want the attack to be launched before he was close enough to
avoid being shot. No matter why they had elected to deal with the
situation in such a manner, the Texian felt that it was improving
his friends’ chances of survival.

Provided, of course, that
Di and Tommy were aware of what was happening!

Ole Devil wished that he
could tell whether they were or not.

However, the Texian
realized that the question would very soon be answered.

Having advanced at a
faster pace than their intended victims, the renegades were only
about three paces behind the girl and the little Oriental. Although
a number of the customers were able to see the pistols held by the
center and left-hand men, it was typical of the type of people who
came to San Phillipe that nobody gave a warning. For all that, the
interest which some of the crowd were displaying served to notify
the Texian that something was amiss, even if he had not already
been aware of it.

In one respect, the
attitudes of the onlookers raised another problem for Ole Devil.
Were any of them in cahoots with the renegades?

The Texian was inclined to
think that they were not. As Dodds’s party had been alone at the
table and, apparently, had only been there for a short time, they
might have come in for a meal. In all probability, they had not
expected him and his companions to arrive and were merely trying to
take advantage of the situation.

At which point, Ole Devil
was compelled to turn his attention from such speculations. As
there was still nothing to inform him of Di’s and Tommy’s state of
readiness, he tensed and prepared to warn them. Even as he was
reaching the decision, the little Oriental’s right hand rose as if
to thrust back his hat.

Before Ole Devil could
speak, Tommy demonstrated that he—for one—appreciated the situation
and had made plans to deal with it. Raising his right hand had been
a ploy to distract attention from his other actions. Closing his
left fingers and thumb around the hilt of the
tachi,
he pulled forward and up
until the blade was clear of the scabbard. At the same time,
instead of continuing to walk forward, he stepped to the
rear.

“
Kiai!”
the little Oriental yelled,
bringing down his left arm with the same rapidity that it had
risen.