by J. T. Edson
‘All right, Sergeant Otis,’ Ole Devil said, before any of the startled men could recover their wits, as he allowed the smoking pistol to dangle downwards at his side, ‘the matter’s settled and the consignment is going to General Houston. Have the major buried and be ready to move out as soon as the mules are loaded.’
For all the calm and apparently assured manner in which he was speaking, the Texian was studying the Dragoons’ reactions with well concealed anxiety. Like von Lowenbrau, he believed that the enlisted men were content to allow their officers to settle the matter of who was in command between themselves, and would go along with the winner. If he was wrong, the threat to the consignment was still far from ended and the danger to his own life was even greater than when he had confronted the Prussian. Not only had he lost the element of surprise, but he was holding an empty pistol and, if his instructions had been carried out by Di and Tommy, his friends were in no position to come to his aid quickly enough to save him.
Listening to the crisply delivered and seemingly confident orders, the Dragoons’ attention ceased to center around the Texian and his victim. Up to that point, as Ole Devil had hoped, they had been too engrossed in him and the Prussian to watch what the other occupants of the hollow were doing. Although the latter were all looking towards them, none were making any attempt to approach or even draw weapons. In fact, with three exceptions, they began to carry on with their work as if satisfied that the situation was under control.
Even the exceptions were neither displaying concern nor offering to arm themselves. The girl was standing with her hands on her hips, but had moved until she was at the center of the packers’ activities. Although Tommy had collected his bow in passing and had joined Sergeant Smith at the Texas Light Cavalry’s horse lines, there was no arrow nocked to its string. Instead, he and the non-com’s attitudes conveyed the impression that they considered the trouble was over and that no action on their part would be required.
Bringing back his gaze to Ole Devil, Sergeant Otis sucked in a deep breath. Of all his party, he was the most perturbed by the way the situation had developed. Once again he had been singled out and put into a position of responsibility. He did not like the sensation any more than he had on the previous occasion.
Although Otis felt no personal loyalty towards Colonel Johnson, he could see the advantages of carrying out the orders which had caused von Lowenbrau’s death. Not only would taking part in the invasion be less dangerous than joining the main body of the Army, but it was certain to be a much more lucrative proposition. Considering the latter point, he knew that promotion would come his way if he delivered the caplocks, and he felt sure the officers would receive the pick of the loot.
With the major dead, Otis knew that the rest of the Dragoons would follow his lead. So, if he was to make a bid for control of the consignment, the numerical odds were still in his favor. In addition, his companions had weapons more readily available than those of the cavalrymen. All he had to do was give the order—
And contend with Captain Hardin’s opposition to accepting it.
That, the burly non-com warned himself, was the main snag in attempting to take over von Lowenbrau’s assignment. He remembered all too well how the young captain had circumvented other schemes to acquire the caplocks.
Despite Hardin clearly having suspected treachery, the cavalrymen and the Tejas packers were not making any preparations to defend the consignment. He would not have overlooked such a basic precaution unless he had organized some other means of protecting it.
What if, having mistrusted the Prussian’s offer to accompany him, Hardin had only pretended to send half of his men away?
Was the absent party waiting on the rim, ready to take action if the need arose?
Or had Hardin something else in mind?
Watching the sergeant’s surly face, which was more expressive than von Lowenbrau’s had been, Ole Devil could read his indecision. In spite of it, the Texian’s gamble was far from being won. Guessing that the Prussian would have tried to stir up rivalry between the Dragoons and his own men, he had told Di and Tommy to prevent the latter from making anything which might be interpreted as a hostile gesture. Concentrating upon Otis, he could not look around and find out if he had kept the conversation with von Lowenbrau going for long enough to let them pass on his instructions. However, if the Dragoons’ lack of activity was any guide, the girl and the little Oriental had succeeded. Which meant his men were not holding weapons, whereas the Dragoons had rifles in their hands.
Everything depended upon Otis. If he accepted Ole Devil’s orders, his companions would do the same.
A good thirty seconds went by in silence and, although nothing showed on his features, Ole Devil appreciated the problem which was confronting him. The longer the delay, the greater the risk that the sergeant would conclude he had too much in his favor to yield. Yet to try and force the issue before Otis had reached a decision might make him fight out of stubbornness.
‘We don’t have all day, sergeant!’ Ole Devil stated, knowing that a continued hesitation on his part could be construed as a sign of weakness. ‘I’d be obliged if you’ll put your men to work.’
While speaking, the Texian was alert for Otis’s first warning flicker of expression. He was ready to drop the empty pistol and draw the bowie knife as swiftly as possible, but hoped the need to do so would not arise. If it did, the affair was likely—in fact, would almost certainly—erupt into a clash between the two factions.
There was an interruption before Otis could make his choice.
‘Riders coming down, Cap’n Hardin!’ Sergeant Smith called.
With a sensation of relief, Otis watched the coldly Satanic features—which had been holding his eyes like iron filings drawn to a magnet—turn away. Looking in the direction indicated by Smith, he let out a startled exclamation. The three men who were approaching along the path from the rim were acquaintances and showed signs of having pushed their horses very hard. One of them was his predecessor as sergeant who had been driven away by Ole Devil during von Lowenbrau’s first abortive attempt to take possession of the consignment. It was unlikely that he would have dared to return unless confident that it was safe for him to do so.
‘What do you make of them, Sergeant Otis?’ Ole Devil inquired, having matched the other’s identification and summation.
‘They belong to our outfit—sir,’ the non-com answered, continuing to study the trio as they came closer, and drawing a conclusion from their attitudes which suggested he might be advised to use the honorific.
‘Hey, fellers!’ yelled the former sergeant, before any more could be said. ‘The Mexican Army’s jumped Colonel Johnson down at San Patricio. They’ve wiped him ’n’ all his men out!’
Chapter Five – Hell, We Can Do Without You
‘It’s this way, Cap’n,’ Sergeant Otis said hesitantly, throwing a glance over his shoulder as if to ensure that the rest of the Red River Volunteer Dragoons’ contingent was still standing behind him. ‘Most of these fellers’ve got homes down San Patricio way and they’re worried about their families.’
‘That’s to be expected,’ Ole Devil Hardin replied in a noncommittal tone.
Knowing the request he was going to make, and having learned the nature of the man to whom it would be addressed, the burly non-com sought for some indication of how his words were being received. He met with little success. Standing ramrod straight, legs apart and hands behind his back, the young officer’s Satanic features revealed nothing of his thoughts.
For all his impassive exterior, Ole Devil had a very good idea of what was coming. Over the past few minutes, despite having been occupied in another matter, he had noticed certain things which had helped him to draw his conclusions.
Although the news which was received too late to save Major Ludwig von Lowenbrau from death had removed the most immediate threat to Ole Devil’s mission, he would have preferred it to have been delivered in a more discreet fashion. Not unexpect
edly, learning of their companions’ misfortunes had had a disturbing and demoralizing effect upon the Dragoons and he had appreciated that, far from removing the problems with which he was faced, the tiding had added to them.
Passing on the information to Diamond-Hitch Brindley, Tommy Okasi and Sergeant Smith, Ole Devil had sent them to continue with the preparations for moving out. Then he had given his attention to the newcomers. The presence of a second Mexican column north of the Rio Grande, particularly as it was coming from an unanticipated quarter, could pose a very serious threat to Major General Samuel Houston’s policy of withdrawal. So Ole Devil wanted to have a better understanding of the situation before he took any action.
Unfortunately, in spite of having subjected the two Dragoons to a lengthy questioning, Ole Devil had not improved his knowledge of what had happened at San Patricio to any great extent. It had soon become apparent that the pair had thought only of saving their own skins. Neither had been able to say which, or even how many, Mexican regiments had been employed to defeat Colonel Frank Johnson’s command. Even the number of attackers they had claimed to be involved had struck him as being wildly exaggerated. What was more, unless he was mistaken, their arrival at Santa Cristóbal Bay had come about more through a chance meeting with Otis’s predecessor than from a desire to do their duty by delivering a warning. About the only positive information they could give was that, to the best of their knowledge, they had not been pursued in their flight.
Throughout the interrogation, Ole Devil had been aware that the other Dragoons were not making ready to leave. Instead, they had gathered around Otis and his predecessor, talking volubly and quietly with many glances at him. Nor had he been surprised when, having dismissed the survivors, the non-com had approached him displaying a somewhat apprehensive demeanor.
‘Then you’ll likely see’s how we don’t feel it’d be right for us to go heading off away from ’em when they’re going to be in danger,’ Otis went on, wishing that the other’s cold black eyes would look away from him. ‘It’s—Well—We—They’re—!’
‘Get to the point, sergeant,’ Ole Devil requested, giving no indication that he knew what it would be. ‘There’s still plenty to be done before we can pull out.’
‘Th—that’s what I want to talk to you about, sir,’ Otis replied, shuffling his feet and dropping his gaze to the ground. ‘Us fellers—Well, we’re all of a mind to go back and take care of our families. All of us feel tolerable strong about it—sir. So, happen it’s all right with you—?’
‘Very well, sergeant,’ Ole Devil drawled, when the non-com’s words trailed to a halt. Apparently paying no attention to the group of Dragoons who hovered with sullenly menacing attitudes in the background, he continued, ‘You can go!’
‘It’s not that we wan—!’ Otis began, before an understanding of how his request had been treated sank in. ‘Huh?’
‘I said that you can go back, instead of coming with us,’ Ole Devil explained. ‘There’s only one thing I’d like you to do for me. Wait until after we’ve gone, bury Major von Lowenbrau and make sure that we haven’t left anything down here that would tell the Mexicans what we’ve been doing.’
‘Sure thing, Cap’n!’ Otis replied, so relieved at having received permission to leave the escort duty that he gave the agreement without hesitation. A quicker thinker might have wondered why the request had been made. The boxes in which the caplocks were delivered had been burned and the Mexicans already knew they had arrived. ‘We’ll tend to everything here for you. I’m right sorry to be leaving you shorthanded this ways, but—’
‘Don’t let that bother you, sergeant,’ Ole Devil interrupted. ‘I told Mr. Blaze to come back as soon as they’d seen the wounded safely across the San Bernard River. They’ll be meeting us before we’ve gone much more than a mile.’
‘I’m right pleased to hear it, Cap’n,’ Otis declared, having suspected that such an arrangement had been made and believing the second party of the Texas Light Cavalry were even closer so as to help deal with any treachery his late superior had been contemplating. ‘Looks like you won’t have any trouble getting them caplocks to General Houston even with us gone.’
‘You can count on it that we won’t, sergeant,’ Ole Devil stated, with an air of grimly determined finality. ‘And I hope that you all find your families safe when you reach San Patricio.’
With that, the young officer strode past the Dragoons. For all the notice he took of them, they might not have existed. Showing relief, mingled with puzzlement, Otis swung around and watched him go.
‘What’d he say?’ demanded the former sergeant, as his replacement walked up.
‘We can go,’ Otis replied.
‘I told you he wouldn’t dare try to stop us,’ scoffed the former non-com.
‘I wouldn’t want to count on it,’ Otis warned. ‘He wants us to stay on, bury von Lowenbrau and clean up after the mule train’s pulled out and I said’s we would.’
‘Why should we?’ protested one of the Dragoons.
‘Because that’s what he wants and I don’t figure to rile him by saying “no”,’ Otis answered, scowling at his companions. ‘Like I warned you, the rest of his Company’s close enough by to take cards real fast should they be needed. So we’re staying down here until after they’ve gone well out of sight and won’t find out which way we’re really heading.’
‘Aw hell!’ objected Wilkie, fingering the hilt of his knife sulkily. ‘This don’t set right with me. We ain’t doing nothing to pay them greasers back for what happened to the rest of our boys.’
‘It might not set right to some, but it makes right good sense to me,’ growled the taller of the survivors. ‘I know what happened down to San Patricio. Them greasers who wiped out our fellers’ll be headed up here foot, hoss ’n’ artillery. ’Twixt them and Santa Anna, we don’t stand a snowball in hell’s chance. The only way out’s to head for the good ole U.S. of A. afore we gets caught in the middle.’
‘Thing being,’ put in another of the original Dragoons’ Company, ‘I’m like you ’n’ most of the others, Wilkie, got folks up along the Red. So I aims to see ’em safe instead of trying to get evens for somebody’s already dead, ’specially when there ain’t enough of us to do nothing should we try.’
‘All right then,’ Otis put in, after a rumble of agreement had died down. ‘We’re headed north. Only, seeing’s how we’ve got Hardin fooled, let’s keep him that way by doing what he’s asked. Hell, we can rest up until noon at least and still be on our way afore there’s any chance of the greasers catching up with us.’
Sharing the non-com’s opinion of how dangerous the Mephistophelian-faced young officer could be when roused or crossed, the rest of the Dragoons were willing to accept his suggestions. They all felt that their flight would be much easier to accomplish now they had tricked Ole Devil Hardin over their true purpose for leaving the mule train.
If the Dragoons had overheard the conversation which took place between the Texian when he had joined Di Brindley and Tommy Okasi, they would have discovered that they had been far from successful in their deception.
Crossing to where Di was talking to Tommy, Ole Devil noticed with satisfaction that the various preparations for departure were progressing. His men and the mule packers had been interested in the newcomers, but Sergeant Smith and Joe Galton had not let them be diverted from their respective tasks.
For her part, the girl had watched the interview between Ole Devil and Otis. She also noticed that, although it had ended, the latter and his men were still standing in a group. However, her main attention was upon the young Texian. During the time they had been together and shared a number of dangers, she had learned a lot about him. Sufficient for her to wonder why he was allowing the Dragoons to behave in such a manner instead of insisting that they got on with their work.
‘Likely it’s none of my never-mind,’ Di remarked, as Ole Devil joined her. ‘But happen those butt-trailing yahoos don’t right soon start to
saddling up, they’ll not be ready to move out with us.’
‘It doesn’t matter if they aren’t,’ the Texian answered, with no more emotion than he had shown while talking to Otis. ‘We’re leaving them here.’
‘Huh!’ the girl snorted, and the glance she directed at the Dragoons showed anything but faith in their abilities. ‘I can’t say’s it makes me feel a whole heap safer knowing it’s them’s’ll be ’tween us and any Mexicans’s’re coming.’
‘I wouldn’t let that worry you,’ Ole Devil replied. ‘They won’t be. Sergeant Otis told me that they’re all so worried about the folks they’ve left behind that they’re heading down to San Patricio to effect a rescue. So I wished them the best of luck with it and said they could go.’
‘You believed them?’ Di yelped.
‘If you must know,’ Ole Devil said calmly, ‘I didn’t.’
‘Then why in hell—?’ the girl spluttered.
‘Because, with the mood they’re in, they’d desert en masse if I’d said they couldn’t go,’ Ole Devil explained, seeming to grow calmer as Di’s indignation increased. ‘And I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to stop them, even if it could be done. The frame of mind they’re in, we couldn’t count on them to stand by us if the Mexicans catch up with the train.’
‘You could be right at that,’ the girl conceded, considering the alarm being shown by the Dragoons. Then she glared at Tommy, who was clearly about to speak, warning, ‘And I don’t want any of them son-of-a-bitching wise old whatever they are sayings that you’ve just made up from you.’
‘Humble self was only going to point out how, when danger threatens, it is wiser to depend upon a few warriors who are steadfast than to have many who will run at the sight of the enemy,’ the little Oriental commented, exuding patience and forbearance. ‘Fear is like a contagious sickness. It goes from one who has it to those who have not and infects them.’