Bitter rage surged through the woman as she realized that the objects of her hatred had not only survived her wrath, but had once again got the better of her. The emotion was so intense that, at first, she took no notice of the sound of a horse approaching rapidly from her rear. Becoming aware of it, she looked back expecting to find one of the Hopis was following. Dangerous as that might have been under the circumstances, she learned she was wrong in her assumption; but the pursuer posed an even greater threat.
Perhaps an Indian would have been more interested in escaping than repaying her for what she had helped to bring about, but that did not apply to Diamond-Hitch Brindley.
The pistol in the girl's right hand was grim evidence of her intentions!
Letting out a shriek of combined fury and fright, the woman turned her gaze to the front and slammed her heels savagely against the flanks of her mount. Jabbed by her spurs' sharp rowels, it bounded forward with a force which almost caused her to drop the single-barreled pistol she had drawn at the start of the charge and had not yet replaced in its saddle holster. However, she contrived to retain her grip on the butt and started to urge her horse to go even faster. Having set off in the general direction taken by Madeline, ignoring the hand-to-hand fighting by the men, Di had soon caught sight of her. Excellently mounted on a horse which was comparatively fresh, the girl had not doubted that she could overtake the woman. However, in case there might be shooting at other than close quarters, she had decided against depending upon the weapon she had borrowed from Beauregard Rassendyll. Taking advantage of a refinement he had had applied, she hung it on her saddle horn by the rawhide loop which was threaded through a ring on the butt. Then she had drawn a pistol from the brace which were bolstered on her rig. With the heavy caliber flintlock in her
hand, she felt that she could deal with any situation that might arise.
Oblivious of everything except one another, guiding their mounts almost instinctively through fairly open bush speckled country, the girl and the woman galloped in a southwesterly direction. The latter was fleeing with the fear of death as her goad and the former rode just as recklessly, spurred on by a desire to kill.
Almost a mile fell behind the pursued and the pursuer!
Slowly, but inexorably, Di's big grulla was closing the gap between them!
Having noticed this, in rapid glances taken to her rear whenever the opportunity had arisen, Madeline tried desperately to improve the situation. Gallantly as her flagging and lathered mount responded to the punishment she was inflicting with her spurs, it failed to draw away.
Driving the horse up a gentle slope, with slightly less than a hundred yards separating it and the grulla, the woman felt it reeling. Just as it reached the top, it stumbled and almost threw her. This time, she lost her hold on the pistol and, as it flew from her fingers, the exhausted animal started to collapse. Sobbing in alarm, she flung herself from the saddle. Not until her momentum had carried her several steps forward did she realize that she had left the weapon's mate in its holster on her saddle. Nor did she feel that the "Pepperbox" would serve her needs under the circumstances.
Turning around, Madeline almost hurled herself toward the stricken animal. She could see Di charging through the bushes and the sight gave her an inducement for extra speed. Snatching out the pistol, she prepared to fight for her life. Cocking and sighting it, she squeezed the trigger. With a crack, it vomited out its load. Although the bullet failed to contact the girl, it drove into the grulla 's chest. A superb rider, Di felt the lead's impact and her mount
going down. She knew what she must do. Liberating her feet from the stirrup irons, she kicked her right leg forward and over the grulla's head. Jumping clear, she alighted without being trapped by the falling animal. Unfortunately, she landed upon a piece of uneven ground. While it threw her off balance, she neither fell nor lost her pistol. However, before she had recovered her equilibrium, she saw that her troubles were far from over.
Hurling the empty pistol aside, the woman looked for its mate. She discovered that it had buried the tip of its barrel into the ground. So there was a chance that the muzzle was plugged and it would not be usable. Instead of wasting time in checking, she snatched the "Pepperbox" from her waistband. It was one of the best models available, percussion fired and double action in operation. While its mechanism did not allow for such rapid shooting as would later and better designed revolvers,* it still permitted a rate of fire far in excess of any contemporary handgun.
"That's another I owe you, de Moreau!" Di shrieked, glancing at the dying grulla.
Spitting out obscenities in French and English, Madeline brought up the "Pepperbox" with both hands. However, she knew its limitations and started to move closer. For all her knowledge, she could not refrain from chancing a shot when she saw the girl was drawing a bead on her. Not surprisingly, considering her weapon's rudimentary sights, she missed. At first, rage caused her to overlook her peril. Even as the realization struck her, she could tell—although they were still
* The fastest recorded rate of fire for a manually operated double action mechanism occurred on January 23, 1834, at the Company '% " 163rd Infantry's Armory, Lewiston, Montana. Using a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson Model 1899 revolver, No. 640792, Ed. McGivem fired five shots into a playmg card at eighteen feet in two-fifths of a second; not, of course, starting with it holstered.
too far apart to make out the actual movements—that Di was squeezing the pistol's trigger.
Confident that she was holding true on the center of the woman's breast, the giri sensed rather than noticed that the flintlock's hammer was pivoting toward the frizzen plate. It struck, striking sparks that fell into the pan as the plate hinged back under the impact.
There was no other result!
In her eagerness to settle accounts with Madeline, Di had fallen into the error which Colonel Alarcon had hoped would afflict her companions. Either that, or the roughness of her landing when quitting the falling horse had jolted the priming powder from the pan. Whichever it might be, she was in dire and deadly peril.
Again the woman's weapon cracked, its comparatively light powder charge ejecting a .34 caliber ball which stirred the girl's red locks in passing. Continuing her advance, Madeline drew back the trigger, which turned the next barrel into the battery and cocked the hammer. Despite being taken on the move, the third shot came even closer to achieving her purpose.
Di saw the puff of white smoke well from the uppermost muzzle of her assailant's weapon, then felt as if a red-hot iron had been pressed lightly against her left shoulder. Pain slammed her into a fuller awareness of her predicament. She had heard of "Pepperboxes" and guessed that the woman must be using something of the kind.
What was more, de Moreau did not intend to miss, or merely score a flesh wound, next time!
Coming to a halt, the woman took a more careful aim than would be possible—even employing both hands—while on the move. After the first three attempts, Di had developed a very healthy respect for her marksmanship.
Accepting that there was only one hope for her, the girl
spun around and ran toward her horse. With each step, she expected to feel lead driving into or flying past her.
Sighting at the middle of the girl's back, Madeline was confident that she could send the bullet into it. Set free by the rearward movement of the sear, the hammer descended—
And produced no better result than Di had achieved with the flintlock!
But for a different reason!
Madeline had fallen foul of the deadly flaw to which Ole Devil Hardin had known percussion-fired "Pepperboxes" were prone. Unlike the revolvers that would soon succeed and eventually replace them, which had the caps situated horizontally at the rear of the cylinder, the formation of the barrels caused the cap-nipples to be placed on top and vertically. So, unless seated very firmly, when a barrel was at the lowest point of the axis around which it revolved the cap frequently fell off.
To give the woman cre
dit, she realized what had caused the misfire and understood how to correct it. Unfortunately, neither realization nor understanding came quite quickly enough. Even as she started to press at the trigger, she saw the girl diving over the horse.
Although Di was wondering what had prevented Madeline from shooting, she made no attempt to find out before she had rearmed herself. Remembering what had happened with its mate, she ignored her second pistol. Instead, she jerked free Rassendyll's weapon. The Mob Pistol had started its life as a flintlock, but he had had it altered to handle percussion caps by a master gunsmith in Louisiana.
Praying that the artisan had carried out the modification satisfactorily, although she did not put it into those exact words, the girl drew back the single hammer which served the quadruple barrels. Even as she noticed the brass cap
sitting so comfortingly on its nipple, she heard footsteps drawing rapidly closer to the horse behind which she was crouching. Obviously the woman was gambling upon her second pistol producing no better result than its mate and was approaching for the kill.
"Have you got a surprise—" Di began, but the thought was cut off when she came very near to death.
Once again, Madeline was firing on the move. However, her bullet did no more than nick the lobe of the giri's ear; which was only a matter of pure chance. She had aimed with all possible care, but her heavy breathing had spoiled what should have been a fatal shot.
Thrusting herself into a kneeling posture, Di swung around the Mob Pistol in both her hands. Even so, Madeline was already squeezing at the "Pepperbox's" trigger and looming at such a proximity that she would not be likely to miss again.
There was no time for the giri to take a careful aim, but the weapon she held had been designed to remove the need for that. Slanting it in the woman's general direction, she cut loose.
Touched off by the impact of the hammer, the percussion cap ignited the priming charge in the chamber which was connected to all four barrels. There was a sullen roar louder than any other pistol or rifle could produce and a quartet of .45 caliber balls spread fanlike through the air from their respective muzzles. Madeline was so close that she took three of them in a line across her bosom. Shock and agony slammed her backward, with the "Pepperbox" flying from her grasp as she went down.
Hooves thundered from behind the giri. With a cold sensation of apprehension, she realized that she did not have a firearm with which to defend herself if the riders—she knew that there must be at least two—were enemies. Swinging
around and driving herself erect, she dropped the Mob Pistol which had saved her life and sent her right hand flying to the knife sheathed upon her belt. The gesture proved to be unnecessary. A sigh of relief broke from her as she recognized the three men who were bearing down so rapidly upon her.
"See you got her, Di," Mannen Blaze remarked, in his invariable languid manner.
"That's what I come out here for," the girl answered, throwing a glance at the lifeless body of the woman who had caused them so much trouble and danger. Then she turned her gaze to Ole Devil and Tommy Okasi, both of whom were displaying—if only a good friend could have seen it—satisfaction and pleasure at finding her alive. "I'd say you boys've handed them Hopis their needings."
"We have," Ole Devil Hardin confirmed. "So now perhaps we can get the caplocks on their way to General Houston."*
* How the caplocks were delivered and the use to which they were put is told in OLE DEVIL AT SAN JACINTO.
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