"Head back and fetch half of the men up here. Beau," Mannen ordered and, for all the lethargic way in which he was speaking, the words were a command rather than a request to a social equal. "Hold them just below the rim. Have Sergeant Dale keep the rest ready to fetch up the spare rifles if they're needed."
"Aye aye!" Rassendyll replied, giving the traditional seafarer's response to an order with an alacrity which he would not have shown five minutes earlier.
"Hey there!" yelled an unmistakably Anglo-Saxon voice, which had the tones of a poorly educated Southron's drawl in it. "This here's Sammy Cope 'n' I'm fetching in some fellers."
"That's young Sammy for sure," the sentry declared quietly. "And he don't sound like he's got a knife shoved again' his back to make him say it."
"It doesn't," Mannen conceded, although he also realized that—^while competent to handle their duty—neither of the pickets to which the man in question belonged could be
termed the most intelligent and discerning members of Company "C." They were, in fact, probably the two most likely to be duped by an enemy. So he went on, in what could only be described as a languid commanding hiss, "Challenge them!"
"You-all stay put a-whiles!" called the sentry, which might fall short of a formal "Halt, who goes there?" but proved adequate for the situation. "Who've you got with you, Sammy?"
"They're a bunch of fellers—" the original speaker commenced, still sounding unperturbed, as he and whoever was with him came to a halt while still beyond the trio on the rim's range of vision.
"I'm Major von Lowenbrau, with a patrol of the Red River Volunteer Dragoons!" interrupted a harder and more decisive voice, which—although speaking English fluently—held just a trace of a German accent. "We're coming to speak with your officers!"
"They're all right!" Rassendyll breathed, having guessed at the cause of the redhead's perturbation and sounding relieved.
"Sure," Mannen replied. "You could say they're on our side. Go fetch those fellers up here."
"But—" Rassendyll began, then remembered what the redhead had told him about one aspect of the current situation in Texas.
"Figure on them being a guard of honor to show our respect for such an important visitor," Mannen suggested, before the supercargo could comment upon the matter, his somnolent tones charged with grim urgency. "Only get them up here pronto, but quietly and have them keep out of sight below the rim."
"Very good!" Rassendyll assented and turned to hurry away.
"Damn it, man, what's wrong with you?" the Germanic voice of von Lowenbrau barked irritably. "Can we advance?"
"Tell them to come ahead real slow and easy," Mannen ordered sotto voce, as the man by his side looked to him for guidance. "And make them think I'm just helping you stand guard."
"Yo!" responded the sentry, showing no surprise at his superior's behavior.
One of the better informed members of Company "C," the enlisted man was aware of certain conditions which were prevailing. So he understood why Mannen was taking precautions which seemed more suitable for dealing with enemies than greeting men who were serving on the same side in the Texians' struggle for independence.
Among the many problems with which Major General Samuel Houston was having to contend was the way that a few senior officers in the Republic of Texas's Army were refusing to accept orders and abusing their positions of authority. Instead of conforming to the sound tactics he was advocating—^which consisted of withdrawing to the east until the time, place and conditions were suitable for making a stand —two in particular were taking advantage of the lack of an effective disciplinary system and insisted upon conducting their own private campaigns.
Having declared that he had no intention of retreating and would hold the town of Goliad under his control. Colonel James W. Fannin was retaining his force of four hundred of the army's best-equipped soldiers who would have been infinitely more useful serving under Houston's direct command.*
Another of the dissidents. Colonel Frank Johnson, was making preparations for—as he grandiloquently put it—car-
* The tmgic consequences of Colonel James W. Fannin's decision are told in GET URREA.
rying the war to the enemy by invading Mexico along the coast road. Using the prospect of the loot which was waiting to be collected, he was gathering supporters for the venture. Nor did he care from where they came, or how they might affect the overall campaign. In fact, Ole Devil and Mannen had been responsible for the disruption of an attempt by one of his officers to persuade members of the regiments loyal to Houston that they would be better off in his service.
The Red River Volunteer Dragoons were a regiment— although, like most of the others in the Republic of Texas's newly formed and privately recruited army, its strength was not much over one hundred and fifty officers and men—^who were prominent as adherents to Johnson's force. So the sentry could appreciate his superior's disinclination to trust its members.
"Come ahead, gents," the enlisted man requested. "Only do it real slow 'n' easy. We've had trouble with renegades and aim to make sure of who you are before you get too close."
"Good thinking!" Mannen praised, knowing that such a precaution would be understandable when taken for the reason which had been given.
"I hope Sammy's got enough sense not to give you away when he sees you're with me," the sentry replied. "I wouldn't think him and his amigo know how things stand 'tween General Sam and Johnson, so they've probably already told that major about the rifles."
That was a point which Mannen had also anticipated. While loyal enough, Cope and the man who was with him had never struck the redhead as being the kind to take an interest in something as remote as their superiors' policies beyond how they would be involved personally. Having no wish to emphasized the dissension among the senior officers, Ole Devil had advised Mannen and his non-coms to avoid referring to Johnson's plans. Some of the shrewder of the
other ranks might have heard of it, but he doubted whether that would apply to the pair in question. So, seeing no harm in it and proud that their Company had been selected to handle such an important assignment, they would not be likely to speak other than the truth if asked by von Lowen-brau —as they were certain to have been—why they were on picket duty so far from the area in which the Texas Light Cavalry should be serving.
"Damn it, man!" bellowed the Dragoon major, but without setting his horse into motion. "I've told you who I am!"
"So did them renegades, 'cepting they wasn't who they claimed and I'm not about to take no chances," the sentry answered, once again supplying an understandable explanation for his behavior and went on to give a further demonstration of his intelligence. "I'd be a heap happier happen I knowed you'd let Sammy go back to his amigo on picket duty."
"Aw hell, Smithie—" Cope began, identifying the sentry's voice and seeing his chance of rejoining his companions by the bay.
"Get going!" von Lowenbrau interrupted, with anything but good grace.
"But—" Cope commenced.
"Do as you're told, blast you!" the major thundered, furious that his plans were suffering such a disruption.
"Call out when you're well on your way, Sammy-boy!" the sentry advised.
"You'll have rank as corporal comes Cousin Devil getting back," Mannen promised, nodding his approval.
"Gracias, " the enlisted man replied and, as they heard a horse moving away, he went on, "I hope he doesn't yell too soon. Once he has, I can't keep on stalling them."
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 wonde
red what Rassendyll, the most likely culprit, was doing. Clearly he had lit one of those newfangled friction matches* which were starting to replace the "Instantaneous Light Box"t 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 Lowen-brau 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 super-
* The first practicable friction matches were marketed in 1827 by, among others, John Walker of Stockton-on-Tees, England, who called his product the "100 Sulphurata Hyperoxegenta Frict" match.
f "Instantaneous Light Box": consisting of a bottle containing sulphuric acid which was used to ignite wooden slivers — known as "splints"—tipped with a potassium chlorate, sugar and gum arable compound. In the United States of America, a box with fifty "splints" retailed for two dollars, or four cents a light.
cargo'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
J. T. EDSON
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. Qearly 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 Lowen-brau 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."
J. T. EDSON
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 Lowen-brau'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.
I WANT HIM ALIVE AND TALKING
Clearly Madeline de Moreau had been even more intelligent in her plann
ing 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.
Ole Devil and the caplocks Page 10