Nor was the Mexican's exhortation needed by the remaining braves. The sight of their leader receiving a fatal wound gave them an added inducement to reach and deal with the man who had inflicted it. What was more, they felt sure that they could make contact with him before he was able to take out, nock, draw, and aim another arrow.
Obviously the newcomer shared the Hopi warriors' summation of the situation. He made no attempt to recharge his bow. Instead, he tossed it aside. Having done so, his left hand flashed upward at an angle. The quiver's shoulder strap was
joined together by a knot which disintegrated as he grasped and tugged sharply at one protruding end. Having released the quiver from restraint, he allowed it to fall behind him and out of his way. Then he bounded rapidly toward the advancing trio.
Despite the small man's display of competence up to that point, both in having reached his position without being detected and in the way he had handled the bow, his latest actions appeared to be a serious error in tactics. Although a pair of swords swung in sheaths from his waistbelt, he was darting forward with empty hands to meet three larger, heavier enemies—each of whom was already grasping a weapon ready for use.
Still seated, as he had been since the Indian had dragged him into that position by his hair, Ole Devil watched. He recognized his rescuer and was far from perturbed at seeing' what Villena and the braves regarded as a fatal mistake on the small newcomer's part. In fact, he had no doubt that it was the three Hopis who were going to suffer for their over-confidence and ignorance of the truth about the man they were rushing to attack.
The ignorance was understandable, Ole Devil realized. At that period, there were few people in the Western world who would have anticipated Tommy Okasi's potential as a highly skilled fighting man. The Chinese coolies and merchants— and their number was far from extensive—^with whom the majority of Occidentals came into contact were, in general, a passive race who rarely displayed any knowledge of armed, or unarmed, combat.
However, Tommy was not Chinese.
Some five years earlier, the merchant ship commanded by Ole Devil's father had come across a derelict Oriental vessel drifting in the China Sea. Half dead from hunger and thirst, Tommy had been the sole survivor. He had had no posses-
sions apart from the clothing on his back, his daisho, * a bow six foot in length and a quiver of arrows.
On recovering, it had been found that Tommy spoke a little English. When questioned, while he had described what had happened to the rest of the crew, he had not explained his reason for being aboard the stricken vessel. Nor had he evinced any desire to return to his as yet little known native land, Japan.t Instead, he had made a request to be allowed to stay on Captain Hardin's ship. When this had been granted, he had attached himself to his rescuer's son who had helped persuade Captain Hardin to keep the little Oriental.
Whatever had been the cause of Tommy's disinclination to go home, it had proved to be most beneficial as far as Ole 'Devil was concerned by providing him with a loyal and useful friend. Although Ole Devil did not acquire the proficiency of another—as yet unborn—member of the Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan,* he had learned a number of useful unarmed fighting tricks from the little Oriental. However, while highly adept in his nation's very effective martial arts, Tommy had insisted upon serving in the capacity of Ole Devil's valet.
In spite of his passive occupation, the little Oriental had never hesitated to participate in any hazardous activity upon which his employer had become engaged. Not only had he played an important part in Ole Devil's escape from jail in Crown Bayou, he had willingly joined in the missions carried out by his companions since their arrival in Texas. Tommy had helped Ole Devil to deal with the renegades who had
* Daisho: a matched pair of swords, comprising of a tachi with a thirty-inch-long blade and a wakizashi, the blade of which was eighteen inches in length.
f Until the visits in 1853-54 of a flotilla commanded by Commodore Perry, U.S.N., there was little contact between the Western World and Japan.
* How Dustine Edward Marsden "Dusty" Fog made use of the tutelage which he received from Tommy Okasi is told in the author's "Civil War" arui "Floating Outfit" stories.
tried to prevent them reaching Santa Cristobal Bay and had also done much to ensure that, having left, the Mexican warship which had been there would be unable to return.
So, all in all. Tommy Okasi was well able to take care of himself.
Nor was the little Oriental acting in as reckless a manner as it appeared to Villena and the Hopis.
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 devastat-ingly 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,* 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-Whamcliffe pointf 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-
* Traditionally, the daisho was carried through the girdle. However, as he had had to spend long periods on horseback since arriving in the United States, Tommy Okasi had found it was more convenient to equip the sheaths with slings which could be attached to his waist belt, f Reverse-Whamcliffe point: where the cutting edge joins the back of the blade in a convex arc. The normal Whamcliffe, also called a "beak, "point — said to have been developed by the Earl of Whamcliffe in the sixteenth century, although variations of it had been in use since Roman times — is mainly used on pocketknives and has the back of the blade making a convex arc to the cutting edge.
J. T. EDSON
assertion, as the sword cam
e 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,* 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
* After the blade had been shaped by fusing together numerous layers of steel, it was ready to be tempered. A claylike material, for which every master swordsmith had his own secret recipe, was applied to the whole of the blade apart from an inch or so at the tip and the entire cutting edge. After heating the blade to the correct temperature—traditionally this was commenced in the half light of the early morning—it was plunged into a tub of cold water. The exposed metal cooled instantly and became very hard. Being encased in the clay sheath, the rest of the blade lost its heat gradually and, remaining comparatively soft, was given a greater pliancy. To prove that the finished article was capable of carrying out the work for which it was intended, the smith beat it against a sheet of iron and hacked to pieces the body of a dead criminal before handing it over to its owner This is, of course, only a simplified description of the process.
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 whiplike 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, Vil-lena 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.
IF HE COMES, HE WON'T BE ALONE
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 underhammer to fully cocked and returned to the trigger. It tightened as the sights were aligned on the fleeing Mexican's back.
Ole Devil and the caplocks Page 5