Ole Devil and the Mule Train (An Ole Devil Western Book 3)

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Otis answered, showing as little hesitation in giving the honorific to the red head as he had to the captain.

  Not for the first time, Ole Devil blessed his good fortune in having such an excellent second-in-command. Mannen had done exactly the right thing by putting their own men to work before dealing with the Dragoons and in letting Otis be responsible for the way in which the latter carried it out. The division of labor and the choice of personnel for the grave-digging detail had also been as expertly handled as the captain could have wished it. While he had no idea why the Dragoon was rubbing his shoulder, he felt sure that his cousin had had a sound reason for making that selection. Certainly the behavior of the other three had been bad enough to warrant the punishment. What was more, putting Otis in direct charge of them was an equally shrewd move. Smarting with humiliation, he was likely to pay greater attention than he had done previously in performing his duties and keeping them hard at work.

  Despite his satisfaction with Mannen’s handling of the situation and his belief that he could rely upon Otis, Ole Devil decided to stay on the rim. By reminding them that retribution was close at hand, his presence would tend to act as a calming influence on any recalcitrant spirits.

  ‘I’ve let Di take my horse and ride down to see Doc Kimberley so that she can tell her grandpappy she’s all right, sir,’ Sergeant Dale reported, striding up at that moment. Being just as good a judge of the situation as Mannen, he delivered a very smart salute. ‘Looks like you’ve quietened them down for a spell.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ole Devil agreed. ‘For a spell.’

  ‘You reckon they’ll be loco enough to get to fussing again, cap’n?’ Dale inquired.

  ‘There’s always that danger once it’s been started,’ Ole Devil warned. ‘So we’ll have to—’

  At that moment, Corporal Smith appeared from the hollow. A big, blond haired man in his early thirties, he moved with an erect carriage which suggested that he had had military training. Glancing around, he seemed both pleased and relieved with what he saw. Then he strode forward, but halted a short distance away from where his three superiors were standing.

  ‘Yes, corporal?’ Ole Devil asked.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get here before, sir,’ Smith answered, after he had advanced and saluted. ‘By the time I’d heard the ruckus and started up, you must have come back and stopped it.’

  ‘That’s all right, I don’t blame you,’ Ole Devil replied. ‘How’re things down in the hollow.’

  ‘Major von Lowenbrau’s recovered, but won’t be in any shape to ride today. Doc Kimberley says, sir,’ Smith replied. ‘Mr. Rassendyll’s as well as can be expected and none of the others are too serious. Two of them’ll need to ride a travois and the Tejas’ll be making one apiece for them as soon as they can.’

  ‘Bueno,’ Ole Devil praised, feeling sure that the arrangements had been made at Smith’s instigation and liking the corporal all the more for not having mentioned the fact. ‘Take rank of sergeant in Sergeant Maxime’s place.’

  ‘Gracias, Captain,’ Smith said, showing his pleasure at the promotion. ‘Thing is though, sir, Doc asked me to tell you he’d like to get Ewart Brindley and the other two to Washington-on-the-Brazos as quickly as possible, so he can get them attended to properly. Like he says, he hasn’t the gear to do it himself.’

  ‘It’ll be noon at least before we’ll be ready to pull out,’ Mannen put in thoughtfully.

  ‘If then,’ Ole Devil went on, then looked to where Stepin and Alvin were on their feet and scowling at each other. ‘Mr. Blaze, give Sergeant Otis my compliments and tell him that I intend to hold the burial services on our dead in ninety minutes so the graves had better be ready by then.’

  ‘Yo!’ the red head answered, and turned to deliver the message without waiting to find out why there was such urgency.

  Chapter Three – Von Lowenbrau’s Up To Something

  Prays Loudly, Sometimes, the Tejas Indian mule packer, had been in old Ewart Brindley’s employment for close to ten years. During that time, he had become competent in his work and could be trusted to carry out every part of it without needing to be supervised. So, but for one very important detail, he might have taken grave exception to having somebody—particularly a person who knew little or nothing about the finer points of his specialized trade—standing close by watching him. What was more, in spite of the low regard which many Texians and Chicanos had for members of his nation as warriors, he was tough enough and possessed sufficient weapon savvy to back up any protests that he cared to make.

  However, bearing in mind various recent events, Prays Loudly, Sometimes felt that the man in question had earned the right to carry out an unchallenged scrutiny. In fact, guessing the reason for it, he even experienced a sense of pride that he had been selected from all his fellow workers to be watched. It was most flattering that a war chief of Diablo Viejo’s well deserved reputation should consider that he, of all the mule train’s experienced and accomplished packers, was the one most worthy of being watched and learned from.

  As the late February weather tended to be chilly and damp, particularly so soon after dawn, Ole Devil Hardin had his black cloak-coat—its front open and sleeves empty—draped across his squared shoulders. However, despite the inclement conditions, his black hat was still hanging on his back.

  Possessing an active and inquiring mind, Ole Devil invariably took an interest in anything he believed might one day be of service to him. He had neither the desire nor the intention of going into active business competition with Ewart Brindley, but he did consider that the time might come when having a knowledge of mule packing could prove advantageous. So, having made all his own arrangements, he was grabbing the opportunity to watch some of the preparations which were being carried out for the most important aspect of the return journey. He was hoping that he would not be interrupted before he had satisfied his curiosity, as had happened the day before while they had been getting ready to leave Santa Cristóbal Bay.

  Nothing had happened so far and Ole Devil was waiting with eager anticipation to see what would be done. As on the previous morning, before the arrival of the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment had ended it, the seemingly confused activity taking place before him was nothing of the kind. It was being carried out by the pick of the cream of the mule packing profession. So the men concerned went about their work with a speed and purpose which told of years of practical experience.

  Although Major General Samuel Houston had requested that Brindley sent the majority of his stock to Washington-on-the-Brazos, to help with the evacuation of what was regarded as the Republic of Texas’s capital city xxi and, more important, to lessen the chance of them falling into the hands of the enemy, he had retained the best of his men and mules to collect and deliver the consignment.

  The train consisted of fifty pack and fourteen riding mules plus the indispensable bell-mare. From Ole Devil’s examination of the pack animals, he could tell that all were of excellent quality and had been specially selected—in fact were bred—for their respective duties.

  Each of the pack mules was just over fourteen hands in height, xxii with a well-muscled back that was straight, or had a slight roach, xxiii from the withers to the croup; being broad and level at the top, but having only sufficient length for it to carry its burden without injury to the point of the hip. Wide chested, with a good breadth at the shoulders, it had the well developed and powerful quarters so vitally important when traversing hilly terrain whilst fully loaded. Shortish, clean and straight at the front, although some tended to be a trifle cow-hocked at the rear xxiv —which was no disadvantage as the limbs were free from disease—the legs appeared to be slender when compared with those of a horse. They were between six and eighteen years of age, fully trained and in the peak of physical condition.

  Standing at least a hand taller, longer backed and with a somewhat lower shoulder to give a better reach when walking, the packers’ riding mules were equally well conditioned
animals.

  Every packer was in charge of five mules, not counting his personal mount. The cook and Joe Galton, who acted as farrier as well as cargador, had an animal apiece assigned to them to carry their respective equipment. On the trail, working with a portable outfit and a selection of ready-made shoes, the farrier had to ensure that the stock was kept well shod at all times. The cook’s implements—a sheet iron stove, several camp kettles packed one inside another, a Dutch oven, a coffee-mill, a bread pan, a couple of skillets, butcher’s knives and a sharpening steel—were transported in two mess boxes of a suitable size and shape to be attached to a pack saddle.

  When deciding to watch one of the packers in action, Ole Devil had asked Diamond-Hitch Brindley—who because of her grandfather’s indisposition was in the position of pack master—whom she would suggest. Having been directed to Prays Loudly, Sometimes, he had wondered how the brave would regard being under observation. From what the captain could see, he concluded that the other was pleased to have been selected.

  Highly skilled at his duties, Prays Loudly, Sometimes was working fast and making the task seem a lot easier than it really was. Taking one of the ready-made cloth blindfolds which were fastened around his arms, he used it to cover the mule’s eyes. Doing so ensured that the animal would stand still through the saddling and attaching of its load. It would also be re-applied if there should be any need to adjust the rig and burden during the day’s travel. Like most of its kind, while well trained and experienced in its work, the mule was inclined to be highly strung and quick tempered. Any sudden, unexpected sound or movement could cause it to shy and might end with it kicking and plunging in a dangerous fashion if it was able to see what it was doing; when its eyes were covered it was inclined to be more passive.

  Having taken the precaution, the packer set the sheepskin pad marked with the mule’s number—the cook’s and farrier’s animals were identified by the letters C and F—and known as a corona in position on its back. Next, he took the folded blanket which had formed part of his bedding the previous night and laid it carefully upon the corona. This was followed by the aparejo type of packsaddle. Specifically designed for the transporting of heavy, or awkwardly shaped loads which could not be carried on a conventional pack saddle, it consisted of a pad about twenty-eight inches wide by thirty-six inches long and stuffed with dry, coarse grass to a thickness of three inches. Attached to it was a wide girth and an exceptionally broad—twelve inches in this case—breeching strap which fitted under the animal’s tail like a crupper. Adjusted to the appropriate length for that particular beast, being laced to the aparejo and padded where it came into contact with the tail, the latter’s purpose was to prevent the load from slipping forward over its wearer’s shoulders when going downhill. So important was the correct fit and positioning of the aparejo that the line of the mule’s back was marked by stitching exactly along its center.

  With the breeching in place and the girth drawn tight, Prays Loudly, Sometimes affixed the sobre-jalma xxv on the aparejo and coupled them together with the thongs at the ends of the latter’s center line. Made of sturdy tarpaulin, cut to cover the aparejo exactly and completely, it was faced at the sides and ends with leather. The ends were protected from wrinkling or gathering by having twenty inches long sticks—known as ‘shoes’—held in place by leather ‘caps’, across the bottoms.

  Finally, all was tied together with a strong bellyband and a latigo strap. All that remained for Prays Loudly, Sometimes to have done was to have the load—two sets of twelve caplock rifles and their bayonets, which had been taken from their shipping boxes and wrapped in sailcloth supplied by the vessel that had delivered them, on being brought ashore—placed upon the assembly. These would then be wrapped in a pack cover and lashed by having a forty to fifty foot length of rope ‘throwed’ around, drawn tight each time and lashed in the diamond-hitch fastening from which the girl had received her nickname.

  But once again, it seemed that fate was about to decree against Ole Devil seeing the final preparations of a packer.

  Leaving her place by the dead embers of the previous night’s fire—it had been put out before daybreak to prevent smoke rising and attracting unwanted attention—Diamond-Hitch Brindley was strolling towards the young captain in what some people might have considered a casual fashion. Having come to know her very well during the time that they had been acquainted, he knew differently. Unless he missed his guess, she was approaching him on a matter of some importance.

  About five foot seven inches in height and in her late teens, Di was possessed of a shapely body which was blossoming into full womanhood, a fact the snug fit of her buckskin shirt and trousers, under an open black wolfskin jacket, did little to conceal. She had rawhide moccasins on her feet. There was a pistol thrust through the right side of her waist belt and a knife hung in an Indian sheath at its left. Somehow, neither they, nor the powder horn and bullet bag swinging from her left shoulder, seemed incongruous in spite of her obvious femininity. Fiery, fairly short and curly red hair framed a pretty, freckled face. Nor did having a swollen top lip, a blackened right eye and a piece of sticking plaster attached to the lobe of her left ear—gained in the course of two fights, the first barehanded and the second using firearms, against Madeline de Moreau—detract from its charm. Normally her features showed a merry zest for life and a quick, although not bad, temper. Now they held a sober, worried and annoyed expression.

  ‘What’s up, Di?’ Ole Devil inquired.

  ‘That high-toned ’n’ fancy von Lowenbrau jasper’s got all his fellers together,’ the girl answered, throwing a malevolent glare towards the man she had mentioned. ‘And, was I asked—which I don’t expect to be—I wouldn’t count on it being just to tell ’em how his li’l pumpkin head’s still hurting.’

  Glancing in the direction indicated by the girl, Ole Devil stiffened slightly. He had been so engrossed in watching the packer’s preparations that he had paid no attention to anything else that was happening. So he had failed to notice that Major Ludwig von Lowenbrau had gathered the men of the Red River Volunteer Dragoons some distance away and was talking to them. Remembering the decision he had reached and implemented the previous afternoon, the captain wondered if the girl had cause for her alarm.

  Matching Ole Devil in height, von Lowenbrau was a few years older and slightly heavier in build. Although there was still a bandage around his close-cropped blond head, he appeared to have thrown off the effects of the injury he had sustained during the fighting. He had been fortunate in that the Hopi’s throwing stick had only caught him a glancing blow and stunned him. A direct hit from it would have been fatal.

  Despite being attired after the fashion of a successful Mississippi riverboat gambler, except that his footwear was more suited to riding than walking a deck and that he had a saber hanging from the slings of a well polished waistbelt, von Lowenbrau had an even more militaristic bearing than the young captain. Nor was his conception of discipline tempered by the other’s sense of humor. He was handsome in a harsh, Teutonic way, with his moustache’s tips waxed to sharp points. He also sported the small dueling scars on his cheeks which some students—particularly those who had attended Heidelberg’s University—allowed themselves to be marked by as a sign of belonging to a certain class of society.

  He had been an officer in his country’s Army before some unspecified trouble had caused him—like Ole Devil—to have ‘gone to Texas’. xxvi Although he had been two grades lower in rank than that to which he now laid claim, he was trained after the fashion of his race. Competent in military matters, skilled in the use of weapons, authoritative if unimaginative where formal tactics were concerned, his kind were men to be feared, obeyed, but were rarely liked by the soldiers under their command.

  That had certainly been the case with von Lowenbrau. He had soon found that his Prussian inspired notions of what soldiering should be had availed him little when tried upon the kind of men who were enlisting in the Red River Volunteer Drago
ons. It said much for his prowess as a tough and ruthless hard case that he had attained the rank of major. In fact, that had been one of his arguments when he had offered to transfer his services from Colonel Frank Johnson to the Texas Light Cavalry. To have joined his superior under the stigma of having failed to confiscate the consignment would have given his rivals the lever they needed to bring about his demotion.

  Although the Prussian had appeared sincere enough when making the proposal, Ole Devil had soon had cause for misgivings. While he had been making his arrangements for meeting yesterday’s attack, von Lowenbrau had acted in a manner which might have been construed as trying to undermine the captain’s authority over the Dragoons. Or he could have been—as he had claimed after he had recovered and was congratulating Ole Devil on the successful outcome—merely concerned for the welfare of the men under his command who had been placed in the forefront of the fighting. The declaration had been made in a loud voice, with most of his men close enough to hear it. For all that, nothing in his subsequent behavior had suggested he might be contemplating a further attempt to carry out the assignment which had brought him to Santa Cristóbal Bay.

  So, on the face of it, Ole Devil had only slight reasons for being suspicious. He had left von Lowenbrau in command of the Dragoons, having no authority to do otherwise. In return, the Prussian had placed himself under Ole Devil’s orders. Knowing that the captain wanted to set off without delay, he could be ensuring his men were ready. Yet there was something furtive in the way they were acting. Formed into three ragged ranks, they were displaying considerable interest in whatever it was their superior was telling them.

  Judging from the surreptitious glances being thrown in his direction, Ole Devil concluded that he could be the topic under discussion. If so, the situation might require delicate handling. There was nothing to be gained by allowing von Lowenbrau to guess that he was arousing suspicions.