Young Ole Devil (3 page)

‘
Hey
there, gentlemen!’ Duke called, seeing the anger which came to the
brothers’ faces as the barb went home. Hearing him, they looked in
his direction and he hoped that they would take a hint from his
intervention. ‘Let’s have no unpleasantness.’

‘
There
won’t be any,’ the young dandy replied, but destroyed the relief
which Duke had started to feel by continuing, ‘Just so long as
these two yahoos stop hogging the bar and let me
through.’

‘
Here,
sir,’ Duke put in hurriedly, speaking before either of the brothers
could do more than stare at the newcomer. Oozing an amiable
bonhomie which he was far from feeling, he stepped forward and
waved a hand to the gap he had left at the counter. ‘You can have
my place.’

‘
Thank
you for the offer, sir,’ the dandy drawled, without moving or
taking his attention from the brothers. ‘But I want
them
to make way for me.
Damn it, I’m fighting for the likes of them!

‘
Fighting for—!’ Cyril began, slamming his glass down so
that it shattered on the floor.

Hold it!
’ Cord bellowed, snatching up
and cocking the bell-mouthed blunderbuss which he kept on a shelf
under the counter. ‘She’s loaded with rock-salt and I’ll use her
should I have to.’

‘
Are
you siding with him?’ Cyril demanded, spitting the words over his
shoulder. However, having heard the menacing clicking as the
weapon’s hammer was drawn back, he stood still instead of leaping
at the newcomer.

‘
I’m
not siding with anybody,’ Cord corrected. ‘Just protecting my
property is all. If you feller’s got things to settle, go outside
and do it.’

Although Cord had acted
instinctively in the first place, his training as the owner of
a
cantina
having taught him the advisability of trying to prevent
trouble on his premises, he had seen how he might turn the present
situation to good use. If the men went outside to fight, the
majority—if not all—of the other customers would follow to watch.
That would put a temporary stop to the agitator’s speech making and
allow Cord to send his son with a warning of what was happening to
General Houston’s headquarters.

‘
Surely there’s no need for that, gentlemen,’ Duke protested
in a placatory manner, duplicating Cord’s thoughts on how the crowd
would react. He moved closer, looking at the brothers rather than
their challenger. ‘At a time like this, we can’t have fighting
amongst ourselves.’

‘
I
shouldn’t reckon they’d want to do any fighting with anybody,’ the
dandy scoffed.

‘
Easy,
Brother Cyril!’ Basil said urgently, having taken notice of their
leaders’ obvious disapproval. While just as much a bully as his
sibling, he was somewhat more intelligent. Being aware of how
vindictive Duke could behave when crossed, Basil had no wish to
antagonize him. There was, he decided, a way out which would avoid
any suggestion of them having backed down. ‘He’s got a knife ’n’
pistol and neither of us
is
armed.’

Realizing what the
younger
Winglow had in mind, Duke nodded approvingly. Nobody could
blame the brothers for refusing to take on an armed man when
neither was carrying weapons. Nor was it likely that the arrogant
young dandy would be willing to consider fighting with this bare
hands against a heavier opponent.

It was a good try, but failed to produce the
desired result.

‘
Shucks, I’d hate the gents here to think I’d need weapons
to deal with the likes of you,’ the young man remarked, sliding the
knife from its sheath with his left hand while the right pulled the
pistol clear of the loop. ‘If somebody will hold these for
me—’

‘
Here,
mister,’ offered the burly sergeant of Travis’s regiment, who was
sitting at a table near to the dandy. He came to his feet and held
out his hands, ‘I’ll take them for you.’

‘
Gracias,’
the young man drawled, relinquishing the weapons without
hesitation. Then he swung his sardonic gaze to Cyril and went on.
‘Now it’s entirely up to you, loud mouth.
I’m
ready, but
you
might not have the stomach for it.’

‘
I’ll
show you whether I have, or—!’ Cyril roared furiously, ignoring
Duke’s prohibitive headshake and making as if to lunge at his
tormentor.

‘
Not
in here, you won’t!’ Cord interrupted firmly, tapping the muzzle of
his blunderbuss on the counter to give emphasis to his words. ‘If
you’re set on fighting, go outside where my furniture won’t get
broken.’

‘
That
suits me fine,’ the young man announced as, taking heed of the
owner’s words and action, Cyril restrained his impulse to attack.
‘I’ll be waiting out there, loud mouth. You do what you
want.’

With that, the dandy swung on his heel and
swaggered towards the door. He presented his back contemptuously to
the brothers and did not so much as glance over his shoulder as he
left the building.

‘
Damn
it to hell, Major Duke!’ Cyril protested, turning to the agitator
and, in his desire to exculpate himself, ignoring the fact that
they were not supposed to know each other. ‘The son-of-a-bitch
ain’t giving me no choice.’

An almost uncontrollable rage
filled Duke as he watched Cyril removing his hat and coat, but the
incautious words had not caused it. Probably nobody else had
attached any significance to them. All around the room, men were
finishing their drinks and shoving back their chairs.
Duke
’s anger
was rising as he saw that what he had feared was
happening.

‘
Hey!’
whooped a soldier excitedly, as Cyril passed the garments to Basil
and set off across the room. ‘Come on. Let’s go see what
happens.’

Watching the mass movement to
go outside, Duke knew that he could neither do nor say anything to
prevent the disruption of his work. Stimulated by the drinks which
he had bought for them, the crowd clearly considered that watching
a fight would
be more interesting and entertaining than listening to him.
Duke silently cursed the brothers for not having remembered why
they were in San Antonio and refusing to make room for the newcomer
at the bar. One glance at him ought to have warned them that their
response would make such a proud, arrogant young hothead determined
to enforce his demand.

‘
By
cracky, mister,’ enthused a leathery, buckskin-clad old timer who
was standing at Duke’s side, breaking in on his train of thought.
‘That feller’s going to get taught a lesson. It don’t pay to rile
up young Cap’n Hardin that ways.’

‘
Who?’
the agitator inquired, realizing that the other did not consider
the ‘lesson’ would be given by Cyril Winglow.

‘
Cap’n
Jackson Baines Hardin of tie Texas Light Cavalry,’ the leathery man
elaborated. ‘He’s a lil ole devil in a fight.’

Standing in
the centre of the street,
Jackson Baines Hardin watched the crowd streaming out of the Little
Sisters
Cantina.
They spread each way along the sidewalk, talking excitedly,
making bets and jostling each other for the best positions from
which to see what happened. If he was perturbed by what he had done
inside, his Mephistophelian features—which, in part, accounted for
his generally, used nickname ‘Ole Devil’
^v
—showed no evidence of it. Rather, if
his expression was anything to go by, he regarded the prospect of
fighting with a heavier man as an enjoyable relaxation from the
serious and dangerous business of scouting against the Mexican
army.

There was a hush as the Winglow
brothers emerged, with Basil carrying Cyril
’s hat and jacket. While the young
man’s comments had been directed at both of them, they had realized
that the crowd would not allow them to make a combined attack upon
him. Nor, if it came to a point, did either believe that it would
be necessary to do so. Each of them was heavier than the slim dandy
and they had both acquired considerable ability at roughhouse
brawling.

‘
Sorry
you ain’t going to get a chance to whip him, Brother Basil,’ Cyril
announced as he lumbered from the sidewalk.

‘
That’s all right,’ Basil answered, halting at the edge
alongside the sergeant who had taken charge of Hardin’s property.
‘You go do it good, Brother Cyril.’

Even as the younger brother
gave his magnanimous blessing, Hardin showed a reluctance to wait
for Cyril to come to him. Instead, he darted forward. Doubting that
the young man intended to meet him toe-to-toe, Cyril lunged forward
and
spread
open his arms. By doing so, he intended to circumvent the other’s
attempt to swerve by at the last moment. He discovered too late
that such had never been Hardin’s plan.

Gauging the distance which was
separating them, Hardin bounded into the air as he had been taught
by a master of
savate—
the French style of foot and fist fighting—in New Orleans.
Drawing up his knees towards his chest, he caused his body to tilt
backwards. Then, straightening his legs, he propelled the soles of
his Hessian boots into the centre of Cyril’s chest. All the air was
driven from the burly man’s lungs and he was flung backwards by the
powerful, unexpected attack. To the accompaniment of laughter and
startled comments from the onlookers, he collided with the left
side hitching rail. That alone prevented him from falling on to the
sidewalk.

Rebounding from the leaping
high kick, Hardin landed on his feet with an almost cat-like
agility. He clearly had every intention of following up his
advantage before his opponent could recover. Gliding forward, he
smashed his left fist into Cyril
’s belly. As the man gasped and started to
fold at the waist, Hardin’s clenched right hand rose to meet the
bristle-covered chin. Lifted erect and held that way by the stout
bar of the hitching-rail, dazed and winded, Cyril was in serious
trouble. He was clearly unable to stop the continuation of the
attack.

Seeing his
brother
’s
predicament, Basil set about relieving it. Dropping Cyril’s coat
and hat, he sprang forward without waiting to remove his own.
Before Hardin realized that Basil had intervened, he felt a hand
grasping the back of his shirt collar and another catching his
right wrist to twist it into a hammerlock.

Having obtained his two holds,
Basil tried to use them as a means of pushing the young dandy away
from his brother. Allowing himself to go until he had regained his
equilibrium, Hardin came to a stop when sure of it. Setting his
weight on his left leg, he thrust his right diagonally until it was
alongside Basil
’s left foot. Doing so caused his body to swing to the
right and he crouched slightly, bending his left arm at the elbow.
Although he had not tried to jerk his right wrist from Basil’s
right hand, the turning motion had brought it from behind his back.
Giving the other no chance to return it to the hammerlock, he
snapped it upwards with his palm towards his attacker. Doing so
caused Basil to loosen his hold a little.

Instantly,
Hardin
’s
left knuckles ploughed into Basil’s
solar plexus.
Letting out a croak, Basil released
Hardin’s shirt and felt the wrist snatched away from his fingers.
Coming around, Hardin delivered a right cross to Basil’s jaw which
turned him in a half circle. Nor did he let it end there. Bringing
up his left boot, he rammed it hard against the seat of the younger
brother’s trousers and pushed hard. Unable to help himself, Basil
went staggering to fall on hands and knees half way across the
street.

Brief though the respite had
been, Cyril had recovered sufficient of his wits to take action.
Shoving away from the hitching rail, he swung a wide, looping
round-house punch which struck the side of the young
man
’s face.
Although the attack came just too late to save Basil and, due to
Cyril still being somewhat dazed, arrived with less than his full
strength behind it, the blow caught Hardin before his foot had
returned to the ground. Pitched sideways, he knew that he could not
prevent himself from falling. So he let himself go and concentrated
on landing as gently as possible. Lighting on the street, he rolled
on to his back.

Lumbering forward, while his
brother was rising, Cyril dropped with big hand driving forward to
clamp on to Hardin
’s throat. It was also his intention to ram his right knee
into the dandy’s body. Although Hardin could not escape the hands,
he managed to writhe so that the knees missed. That made his
position a little easier, but he knew that he was far from being
out of the woods. Kneeling at his side, Cyril raised his head with
the intention of banging it on the ground. At the same time, Basil
was running forward to help with the attack.