Ole Devil and the Caplocks (7 page)

Having saved Ole Devil
from the knife of the first brave and dealt with the man whom he
had calculated was posing the most immediate threat to himself,
Tommy had realized that the affair was far from at an end. The rest
of the Indians clearly intended to attack him and there was also
the Mexican to be taken into consideration. So, thinking fast, he
had decided how he could best deal with the situation. Having
reached his conclusions, he did not waste time in putting them into
practice. Going to meet the trio without holding a weapon was part
of his plan, designed to lull them into a sense of false
security.

Although they were trained
warriors, the three Hopis had never come into contact with a man
like Tommy. So they attached no greater thought to his apparently
foolhardy behavior than to consider that it would make him an easy
victim for whichever of them reached him first.

In their individual
eagerness to be the one who counted coup, each brave was running at
his best speed. Before they had covered half of the distance, they
had attained a rough arrowhead formation with the youngest of them
at its point. Waving his tomahawk over his head and whooping his
delight, he charged onward. Still the strange looking little
foreigner was showing no sign of arming himself. Nor was he
slackening his pace. To the brave, it seemed that he intended to do
neither but meant to come to grips with his bare hands. Having
drawn his conclusion, the Hopi made ready to strike without
bothering to guard himself against possible reprisals.

For all the seeming
disregard of danger which Tommy was showing, he was calculating the
distance between himself and the leading brave with great care and
studying the relative positions of the other two. When he estimated
that the time was right, he made his moves and they proved to be
devastatingly effective.

One of the martial
subjects in which the little Oriental had acquired considerable
proficiency was
laijitsu,
fast sword drawing. Although he no longer carried
his
daisho
in the
manner of his forefathers,
^xxx
he could still produce either of the weapons with remarkable
speed.

Darting across in a
flickering blur of motion. Tommy’s right hand closed around the
hilt of the
tachi
just above the three and three-eighths of an inch diameter
circular
tsuba,
hand guard. Even as he was whipping the thirty-inch-long,
reverse-Wharncliffe point
^xxxi
blade from its bamboo sheath, he weaved to his left. Nor did
he act a moment too soon.

Launching a swing with
sufficient power to sink the tomahawk deep into the top of its
recipient’s skull, the young brave was taken completely unawares by
Tommy’s change of direction. With a sensation of horror, he saw
that his blow was going to miss. Then, just a fraction of a second
too late, he realized that he was in terrible danger. However,
there was neither the time nor the opportunity for him to take any
evasive action.

“
Kiai!”
Tommy shouted, giving the
traditional cry of self-assertion, as the sword came clear of the
sheath and, making a glistening arc, continued to sweep around to
the right.

Such was the little
Oriental’s skill at
laijitsu
that the
tachi
reached its destination before the brave’s
tomahawk-filled right hand had descended far enough to impede
it.

The steel from which
the
tachi
had
been forged was as fine as could be found anywhere in the world.
Produced by a master swordsmith with generations of experience
behind him and involving techniques unknown outside of
Japan,
^xxxii
its cutting edge had been ground and honed until it was as
sharp as a barber’s razor, but it was more pliant and far stronger.
Nor had Tommy ever neglected it for it was still in the same
excellent condition as it had been on the day it was presented to
him by his father. So, in his hands, it was a weapon of
terrifyingly lethal efficiency.

Just how lethal and
efficient was soon evident.

Reaching the brave, even
as his shocked mind was beginning to register the full horror of
his predicament, the hardened cutting edge of the
tachi’s
blade performed
one of the functions for which it had been designed. Slitting into
the unprotected region below the rib cage, it passed through as if
the living tissues were incapable of offering any resistance.
Having disemboweled him, it emerged and rose until its point was
directed away from the little Oriental. Releasing the tomahawk, the
stricken brave’s hands went to the wound in an unavailing attempt
to close it. He blundered past his would-be victim on buckling
legs, falling first to his knees and then face downward.

Having avoided being
struck by his leading assailant. Tommy was confronting the
remaining pair of braves. As he advanced so as to pass between
them, his right fist rotated until its knuckles were pointing at
the ground and the left hand went to the handle of the sword.
Taking hold above its mate, it acted as a pivot for the other’s
leverage. Driving to the left with a similar deadly speed to that
of the first blow, the blade met the side of the second brave’s
neck and sliced onward. The Hopi’s head parted company with his
shoulders, toppling to the ground as nervous reactions caused his
decapitated body to continue its forward movement.

On the point of making an
attack with his tomahawk, the last of the braves saw what was
happening to his companion. The sheer horror of the sight,
intensified by the fact that the havoc had been created by such a
small man as Tommy, caused him to hesitate. Nor was he permitted to
regain his wits.

Taking away his left hand
and ignoring the headless Hopi, Tommy curled the
tachi
around in a
half-circular motion. His right knuckles swiveled until they were
upward and the weapon swept at its next target in a whip-like
motion which no other type of sword could duplicate. Although only
the last three inches of the blade made contact, they were
sufficient. Passing under the brave’s chin, the steel laid his
throat open to the bone and he crumpled dying to the
ground.

With the unsheathed
epee-de-combat in his right hand, Villena was staring across the
clearing. Although reluctant to believe his eyes, he accepted that
they were not playing him false. When he saw the third of the
braves being struck down, he realized that there was nobody left
between himself and the strange, yet deadly, little foreigner. For
all that, the Mexican believed he had one advantage over his
subordinates. They had rushed recklessly into the attack on the
assumption that the newcomer would be easy meat. Having seen how
fatally wrong such deductions were, he had no intention of
duplicating their mistakes. A skilled fencer, used to fighting
against a man armed with a sword—which none of the Hopis had
been—he was confident that he could more than hold his
own.

Another thought struck
Villena as he was reaching his conclusions regarding Tommy. From
his actions, if not his attire and armament, it seemed likely that
the small man was another member of the Texas Light Cavalry. It was
possible that there were more of them close by and they could
arrive before he was able to dispatch the little swordsman. In
which case, he would be advised to withdraw if he wanted to stay
alive and avoid capture.

However, Villena’s every
instinct told him that the uncommunicative Texian prisoner was more
than a mere enlisted man and could be engaged upon a mission of
importance. If that should be so, duty demanded that he must be
prevented from carrying it out.

There was only one way to
ensure that the Texian did not continue with whatever duty had
brought him to the east of his regiment’s reported position.
Killing him would not only deprive the rebels of a capable fighting
man, but would satisfy Villena’s sadistic pleasure in inflicting
pain.

“I’ll make sure of
you!”

Shouting the words, the
Mexican sprang forward with the intention of killing his
prisoner.

Hearing the words yelled
by Major Abrahan Phillipe Gonzales de Villena y Danvila, Ole Devil
Hardin’s attention was drawn from the brief fight that had taken
place at the side of the clearing. Instantly he realized that his
life was still in as great a danger as it had been prior to Tommy
Okasi’s fortunate arrival. With a good forty yards to cover, there
was no hope of the little Oriental being able to reach them quickly
enough to save him.

Having drawn a similar
conclusion, the Mexican did not anticipate any difficulty in
dispatching his prisoner. Seated on the ground, with his hands
bound behind his back, and ankles lashed together, he was in no
position to defend himself. So Villena went into a lunge, aiming
the point of his epee-de-combat at the Texian’s left
breast.

Watching the needle-sharp
point of the Toledo steel blade darting in his direction, Ole Devil
was grateful for one thing. The conversation he had had with
Villena had allowed him to clear his head. While he had not thrown
off all the effects of being knocked unconscious when the Hopi
Indian had dragged him from his saddle, his condition was much
improved.

Thinking fast and taking
into consideration that Tommy was already running toward them, Ole
Devil decided that there was something he could do about his
predicament. While it would be risky in the extreme, it offered him
his only slender hope of salvation.

Waiting until Villena’s
sword was within inches of him, Ole Devil threw himself backward.
So accurately had he timed the evasion that the weapon passed above
him—but only just. Instead of piercing his heart, the point brushed
the lobe of his left ear as it went by. While his shoulders were
descending, he raised and bent his legs until his knees were above
his chest.

The Mexican was expecting
to meet with some resistance as his blade sank into flesh. When it
did not, his momentum carried him onward and his torso was inclined
forward. Up thrust the Texian’s feet, taking him in the center of
his chest. While Ole Devil was unable to exert his full power, he
had no reason to despise the result of his efforts.

Shoved backward, Villena
staggered and, in his determination to retain his balance, lost his
hold on the sword. As soon as he felt the hilt leaving his grasp,
he appreciated just how badly his situation had changed. He was
unarmed against an assailant who was carrying an effective and
deadly weapon. So he took the only course that was left to him.
Putting aside any notion of trying to retrieve his epee-de-combat,
or collecting one of the Texian’s arms, he managed to turn and run
to where the frightened-looking
mozo
was holding his palomino
gelding.

Snatching the reins and
knocking the youngster aside, Villena vaulted astride the palomino.
A pair of pistols were hanging in holsters from his saddle horn,
loaded and ready for use. However, even as he was reaching for one
with his right hand, he glanced in the direction from which he had
fled. What he saw caused him to change his mind about drawing the
weapon.

Being a shrewd fighting
man, Tommy was aware that the loss of the epee-de-combat did not
mean the Mexican was completely unarmed or defenseless. In fact, he
had seen the pair of pistols carried by the gelding and realized
that they could be a potent factor in the continuation of the
fight. So he did not offer to go any closer to Villena.

Instead, Tommy swerved to
where Ole Devil’s weapons were lying. He noticed that there was a
magazine attached to the Browning Slide Repeating rifle and decided
it would be most suitable for his needs. Dropping the
tachi
, he bent to scoop
it up.

Cursing himself for having
made the rifle ready for firing, Villena could appreciate how it
changed the situation. While he did not know how skilled the little
foreigner might be in the use of firearms, he was disinclined to
taking the chance of finding out. A fair pistol shot, but not
exceptional, he was sitting on a horse already made restless by his
hurried and far from gentle arrival astride its back. So its
movements were not making a steady base from which to take aim,
particularly when he would be opposed by a man holding a weapon
which had a greater potential so far as accuracy was concerned.
Putting discretion before valor, the Mexican clapped his spurs
against the gelding’s flanks and set it into motion.

“Don’t let him get away.
Tommy!” Ole Devil commanded, but he was not acting out of a desire
for revenge against his captor. “He knows too much!”

Swinging the butt of the
rifle to his shoulder without acknowledging the order, the little
Oriental took aim. His right forefinger drew down the under hammer
to fully cocked and returned to the trigger. It tightened as the
sights were aligned on the fleeing Mexican’s back.

Although the hammer rose,
nothing else happened! Surprised, for the weapon had previously
never misfired. Tommy stared at it.