Ole Devil and the Caplocks (20 page)

Ole Devil’s yearning for a
repeating—or multi-shot—firearm was not activated by bloodlust, but
he refused to be influenced by the knowledge that some of the men
before him were going to die without a chance to defend themselves.
Not one of them would have hesitated to murder him if they were
presented with an opportunity. In fact, some of them had already
tried during the fighting at the cabin and they had been waiting in
ambush with similar intentions. What was more, some of their number
had shot her grandfather, Joe Galton, and the bell-mare while the
rest were creating the diversion which had made it possible for
them—in part, at least—to achieve their purpose. He knew that they
had not even the excuse of patriotism to condone their actions.
They were cold-blooded opportunists, traitors to their own kind who
were serving a tyrannical dictator for what they could get out of
it.

However, revenge was not
Ole Devil’s primary consideration. First and foremost in his
thoughts was the fact that he was up against renegades who were a
serious threat to the security of the Republic of Texas. So, he was
prepared to be as ruthless as necessary while contending with
whoever, or whatever, might be menacing it.

With the latter thought in
mind, Ole Devil decided to hold off the attack for a couple or so
more yards.

For all that, everything
appeared to be going in his party’s favor, with the renegades
failing to grow alarmed when Ole Devil’s party did not answer the
shouted greetings. But Ole Devil was perturbed by the woman’s
absence and silence. Such behavior seemed most unlike her and he
wondered where she might be.

Even as the thought came,
it was answered in no uncertain manner!

At the first sound of
Madeline’s voice, which solved the mystery of her whereabouts to
the Texian’s satisfaction if not relief, he knew that he could not
delay the attack any longer. “Yeeagh!” Ole Devil roared before
Madeline had finished speaking, releasing the rein from his left
hand and jabbing his heels against his horse’s flanks.

“
Banzai!”
Tommy bellowed at almost
the same instant, having duplicated his employer’s summation of the
situation and giving his mount a similar indication of his
wishes.

Unfortunately for Madeline
and her companions, the warning she was shrieking—like her
realization that the ambush was to be a failure—came just a little
too late. Nor did she achieve her intentions by raising the alarm
in such a manner. Startled exclamations began to burst from the
renegades, but they were not to be granted an opportunity to
recover their wits and act upon her advice.

Well trained and knowing
what was expected of them, on receiving the awaited signals the two
horses lunged forward willingly. The sudden change in the pace of
the big dun gelding, to which the Texian had transferred before
setting out from Santa Cristobal Bay, saved its master’s
life.

Lining her pistol, the
woman had completed the pressure on its trigger and the hammer was
beginning to fall when the horse obeyed its master’s command. Even
as the percussion cap was crushed and, in turn, ignited the main
charge, she saw her target was passing from in front of the barrel.
Nor was there anything she could do to correct the mishap. Being
momentarily dazzled by the flames which gushed from the muzzle, she
did not see the result of her shot. However, her efforts had not
been entirely wasted. She might have missed her intended mark, but
the bullet ended its flight in the chest of the man who had
betrayed the ambush.

Even as Ole Devil felt the
powerful thrust with which the bay responded to his instructions,
the sound of the woman’s pistol reached his ears to be followed an
instant later by the eerie “splat!” which told him that a bullet
had passed very close behind him. It was succeeded by the
unmistakable soggy thud of lead driving into human
flesh.

A quick glance to his left
satisfied the Texian that the little Oriental was not the woman’s
victim. He also felt sure that the same applied to Charlie
Slow-Down. Judging from the angle the bullets had come, there was
only one other alternative, but he did not bother to investigate
it. Nothing he had seen of Pudsey caused him to have even the
remotest interest in the renegade’s well-being.

Not that Ole Devil had the
time to ponder extensively upon the identity of whoever it was who
had been shot. Almost as soon as he had turned his gaze to the
front after checking that Tommy was not the victim, the dun was
about to carry him between the foremost of his enemies.

Remembering the advice he
had been given by the
maitre des
armes
who had taught him to wield a saber,
Ole Devil did not attempt to slash. Instead, he drove out his
weapon with a thrusting motion. Its point entered the mouth of the
man on the right, turning his yell of alarm into a strangled
gurgle. A moment later, seeming to have responded of its own
volition, the Manton pistol boomed awesomely and propelled its ball
into the face of the left-hand renegade. The muzzle-blast
illuminated Ole Devil’s features and its fiery glow made them
appear even more Mephistophelian than usual.

Keeping level with his
employer. Tommy launched his attack almost simultaneously. Using
the point of his
tachi
, he aimed badly and did no more than cut open a man’s right
shoulder in passing. However, the pistol was more successful and
avenged Ewart Brindley by sending its ball into the throat of the
man who had shot him.

Pudsey gave a screech of
pain as Madeline’s bullet found him and he went sideways from the
horse. Startled by the commotion, it gave a leap which helped to
unseat him and he went crashing to the ground. Nor were his
troubles at an end. Alert for the first suggestion that his
companions were commencing the attack, Charlie Slow-Down let out a
Caddo war whoop which caused his mount to run. Its hooves struck
the injured man as he sprawled helplessly in front of
it.

Pandemonium and chaos was
reigning unchecked on the trail.

Seeing the pair of riders
bearing down upon them, the remaining members of the woman’s band
made no attempt to draw weapons and defend themselves. Instead, as
Ole Devil had anticipated when making his plans for breaking the
ambush, they began to scatter so as to avoid their assailants. Not
all of them succeeded.

Spinning around, the man
who had erroneously reported the return of Dodd’s party tried to
retire in the direction from which he had come. It proved to be a
disastrous choice. Coming up behind him, Ole Devil elevated and
brought down the saber in a “cut when chasing” blow which split
open his skull and tumbled him lifeless on the trail.

Another renegade might
have counted himself more fortunate in that he had been on the left
flank of the ambush while waiting for their would-be victims to put
in an appearance. Turning and darting toward where his horse was
tethered, he went in a direction which kept him clear of the little
Oriental’s
tachi
.
Satisfied that he had escaped death or injury, he continued to flee
as fast as his legs could carry him. Two more of the band were less
lucky. Passed by Ole Devil and Tommy, they became the targets for
the Caddo Indian’s right-hand blunderbuss. One caught the majority
of the sprayed-out lead and the other received a couple of the
surplus buckshot balls. Although the latter was injured, he managed
to run away. His companion went down, as dead as Dodd had been
under similar circumstances.

Within a minute from
starting out to greet what they had imagined to be friends carrying
liquid refreshment, Madeline de Moreau’s band of renegades had
ceased to exist as such. Shouting curses, or going in silence and
saving their breath, all who could rushed away from the trail with
only one aim in mind. To collect a mount and put as much distance
between themselves and their assailants as swiftly as
possible.

Not that the woman was
giving any thought to the disastrous fate into which she had led
her male companions. The moment she had realized that Ole Devil
Hardin had escaped unscathed from her bullet, she had also known
that the time had come to quit their company. Without even waiting
to discover how the men might be faring, she lowered the empty
pistol and, pivoting on her heels, ran away from the
trail.

Reaching her horse,
Madeline snatched its reins free from the bush to which it was
tied. An excellent rider, she contrived to swing astride the
restless animal without relinquishing her hold of the pistol and
despite the encumbrance of the cloak-coat. Having done so, she
urged it into motion.

From the various sounds to
her rear, the woman could tell that her men were not fighting back.
So there was no hope that, in some miraculous way, they might turn
the tables on their attackers. Any remote chance that they would
rally and, possibly, succeed in the purpose of the ambush was
dashed by yells of encouragement and the drumming of several
horses’ hooves originating from the north. Riders coming from that
point of the compass were almost certain to be the Texian’s
friends, particularly as one voice was feminine in timbre and she
felt sure she recognized it. Anybody who was accompanying
Diamond-Hitch Brindley would only add to the renegades’
troubles.

Accepting the inevitable,
although she was in a searing rage, the woman guided her horse
through the trees at a very fast pace. Furious as she was, she did
not ride blindly. Rather the violence of her emotions seemed to
increase her perceptions and equestrian skill so that she was
traveling much more swiftly than she would have done if she had
been in a calmer frame of mind.

Madeline had two
objectives as she was allowing her horse to gallop through the
woodland.

Firstly, there was the
very urgent necessity to get far beyond the reach of the proposed
victims of the abortive ambush.

During the time the woman
had spent in Di Brindley’s and Ole Devil Hardin’s company, she had
formed a shrewd assessment of their characters. Neither had showed
hesitation in risking their lives to ensure the safety of the
Caplock rifles. So neither would be inclined to show compassion to
anybody who had done as much as she to prevent the delivery of the
weapons to Major General Samuel Houston and the Republic of Texas’s
Army. While the Texian might be held back from taking extreme
measures out of considerations for her sex, the girl most assuredly
would not; particularly since the shooting of her grandfather and
the pack train’s
cargador
.

Secondly and of equal
importance, Madeline had no wish to come into further contact with
the men she was deserting. After the perilous situation into which
she had led them, her fate at their hands would be as bad—probably
even worse in some respects—than if the two young people she had
been hoping to kill were to capture her. At least, no matter how
the girl might wish to act, the Texian would ensure that her end
would be quick.

So, while she was riding,
Madeline tried to hear if she was being followed. Her instincts
warned her that if she was, her pursuers were most likely to be
members of her band who were also fleeing from the wrath which had
descended upon them. That would not make them any less a menace to
her safety. Let them catch up with her and they might shoot her in
their rage over their narrow escape from death. However, the noise
made by her passage through the woodland prevented her from gaining
any information and she had no intention of stopping to
listen.

After covering something
over a mile in the same reckless fashion, common sense dictated
that Madeline should slow down. There was, she realized, a danger
that she might ride the horse into the ground if she continued her
flight in such a manner. If that happened, she was all too aware of
how slim her chances of survival would be.

Taking the sensible line
of action, the woman caused her lathered mount to reduce its pace.
Struggling to control her own breathing, for riding at a gallop was
hard work especially under such demanding conditions, she brought
the animal to a halt. She could not hear anything to suggest that
the men she had deserted were fighting with their assailants, nor
had she expected it. If she knew them, all who were able would
already be making good their escape.

Necessity rather than any
sense of kindness or responsibility had caused Madeline to become
proficient in horse management. So she dismounted and, loosening
the girth of her eastern rig, she moved the saddle backward and
forward to help cool the animal’s back. Having done so, she decided
against reloading the pistol—which she had contrived to return to
the holster on mounting, leaving her hands free to hold the
reins—and resumed her journey on foot.

Violent emotions churned
through the woman as, leading the horse by its reins, she walked in
a southwesterly direction. She was obsessed by the realization of
how close she had been to death, if nothing worse, that night.
Instead of admitting that she had brought all her misfortunes on
herself, she laid the blame for her past and present predicaments
upon the young Texian who had thwarted her and killed the only man
she had ever loved.

“Damn Hardin!” Madeline
hissed. “I’ll never rest until he’s dead!”