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

by J. T. Edson

  Being aware of the need to travel fast, Ole Devil and the little Oriental had made careful preparations. To conserve their personal mounts, all of which had been worked very hard over the past few days, they had selected the best two of the dead Mexican officers’ horses to ride during the earlier stages of the journey. The animals’ burdens had been reduced to the bare necessities; a telescope, arms and a small supply of ammunition, cloak-coats, but neither a change of clothing nor blankets, some jerky and pemmican—easily transported and nutritious—for food. Superbly mounted and excellent riders, they were capable of covering at least fifty miles a day. However, once they were drawing near to their destination, they would be compelled to take precautions which would require a reduction of their speed. So they intended to make the best possible time before they were required to go more slowly.

  For all the urgency of their mission and in spite of believing they would be unlikely to come into contact with any of the enemy before the following day at the earliest, the Texian and his companion were too experienced campaigners to take any unnecessary chances. Instead of sticking to the trail which they had traversed with the mule train, they had made their way out of sight and parallel to it. However, on reaching the area of thick woodland, they had accepted that they would have to make use of the same ford at which they had crossed the small river. According to the flanking parties, this was the only point at which they could go over without considerable effort and difficulty.

  As he and Tommy were approaching the ford, Ole Devil thought that he detected something moving among the undergrowth on the other side. Although he had received only a very brief glimpse and it was not repeated, they had come to a halt while still in at least partial concealment. There was close to fifty yards of completely open ground on either side of the river and they wanted to make sure they could cross it in safety.

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ the little Oriental answered, having completed his scrutiny. ‘But there are many places for anybody who wants to be able to hide.’

  ‘That’s for sure,’ Ole Devil declared and began to unfasten the reins of his reserve mount from the saddlehorn of the horse he was sitting. ‘So it looks as if we’ll have to find out the hard way. I’ll go first.’

  ‘Let me get ready, just in case,’ Tommy requested, swinging to the ground.

  While he had been alert and watchful, the little Oriental was not holding his bow. As its length would have made it too unwieldy to be used with any great effect in the woodland, he had preferred to leave his hands free for manipulating his sword. So the bow was hanging unstrung on the loops of his saddle’s skirts and the quiver of arrows was suspended from the horn instead of across his shoulders. However, the circumstances might have changed and, if he needed to support his employer, archery would provide him with the best means of doing so.

  ‘Very old and wise Louisiana saying, which I’ve just made up,’ Ole Devil drawled, delighted at having an opportunity to do so. ‘A man should always be ready, then he wouldn’t have to get ready.’

  Unlike his companion, who looked pained at the comment, the young Texian was already armed in a suitable manner to cope with whatever emergency should arise. With an overall length of fifty-eight and seven-eighths inches, the weapon resting across the crook of his left elbow had a similar general appearance to that of a so-called ‘Kentucky’ xxxvii rifle. A closer examination would have disclosed that it was a far more sophisticated device. It was, in fact, an invention of the Mormon gunsmith, Jonathan Browning, designed to meet the requirement for a firearm which could discharge several shots in succession and without the need for each to be loaded individually. xxxviii So the Browning Slide Repeating rifle xxxix possessed qualities which Ole Devil had considered more than compensated for the inconvenience of carrying it by hand, as opposed to in the leather ‘boot’—an innovation of a young saddler, Joe Gaylin, who would in later years attain considerable acclaim as a maker of superlative gunbelts—attached to the left side of his saddle, while traveling through such difficult terrain.

  ‘If you’re going to start making up ancient and wise sayings.,’ Tommy declared, as he tied the reins of his borrowed horse to a bush and, lifting free the quiver, slung it across his shoulder. ‘I think I’ll face the Shogun’s wrath and go home.’

  The bow stave which the little Oriental drew from its loops on the skirt of his saddle was constructed in the classical Japanese fashion. It was built of three strips of bamboo, sheathed on two sides by mulberry wood, forming a core which was encased by two further lengths of bamboo and pasted with fish glue, the whole being painted with lacquer. By laminating the bamboo and the softer, more pliable, mulberry wood, a greater strength and flexibility was achieved than if a ‘self’ bow was manufactured from either material.

  Taking the bow’s coiled tsuru hemp string from a pocket of his tunic, Tommy shook it straight. Then he slipped the appropriate loop into the urahazu upper nock groove of the stave. Holding the lower end of the tsuru between his teeth, he wedged the top of the bow under a branch of the nearest tree and supported the bottom with his right hand against the top of his slightly bent left leg. Grasping the nigiri handle with his left hand and pushing at it, he flexed the bow. Removing the tsuru from his teeth with his right thumb and forefinger, he gave it the traditional three outwards twists before applying the second loop to the motohazu bottom nock. xl Although he did not bother to check, as the bow was properly strung, the distance between the handle and the nakishikake nocking binding of the tsuru could have been spanned by his fist with its thumb extended and was approximately the same width as that between his cheekbones.

  Having completed his preparations, Tommy removed the top of the bow from beneath the branch and took two arrows from the quiver with his right hand. Although he had made them since his arrival in Texas, he had used the methods learned in his homeland. xli Holding one by its head, so that the shaft was pointing to his rear, he nocked the other to the nakashikake. Then, adopting a position of readiness which was somewhat different to that of an Occidental archer, he gave a low, sibilant hiss which drew Ole Devil’s attention from the other side of the river, then he gave a nod.

  While the little Oriental had been making ready to cover him if the need should arise, the Texian had tried without avail to locate any sign of danger. Having failed to do so, he allowed his dun’s split-ended reins to fall free thus ground hitching it. Easing down the rifle’s under-hammer to full cock, he set the Mexican’s bay between his legs moving at a walk. On leaving the shelter of the trees, he continued to keep the terrain ahead under constant observation.

  Still without seeing anything to disturb him, the Texian guided his mount into the river. As it advanced, he removed his feet from the stirrups and raised his legs to avoid the water which was soon lapping at the horse’s belly. If there had been the slightest suggestion that enemies were lurking in concealment, he would not have acted in such a manner. Believing that there was no cause for alarm and knowing he had neither the time nor the means to dry his footwear, he wanted to save it from getting wet.

  ‘Look out down there!’ yelled a voice from among the foliage of a large silver maple tree, as Ole Devil was about three-quarters of the way across and contemplating returning his feet to the stirrups. ‘Indians!’

  Even as the warning was given, a young Hopi brave lunged out of the undergrowth some thirty yards to the right of the speaker. Leaping forward, he raised and propelled his curved throwing stick through the air. What was more, it had left his hand before the words could affect his aim.

  Just after the weapon had left the brave’s hand, three somewhat older warriors followed him into the open ground. One held a short wooden ‘self’ bow with an arrow nocked to its string but not yet drawn. The second grasped a flintlock rifle and the last was carrying a lance. While his companions followed the first of their number to appear, the man with the firearm turned towards the tree from which the warning had originated. For all that it had been in English, he gu
essed its meaning and knew it must have been uttered by an enemy. Peering at the thick canopy of leaves that covered the branches as he advanced, he came to a halt before he had taken half a dozen steps. Snapping the rifle’s butt to his shoulder, he lined the barrel upwards.

  Watching the missile as it was approaching, Ole Devil could tell that it was flying straight towards him and not so as to pass by him. Nor did he underestimate the danger it presented. In fact, he realized that it could prove even more effective than an arrow or a bullet under the circumstances. xlii Spinning towards him at chest height and parallel to the ground, the three foot long throwing stick—made from a carefully selected and shaped branch of a Gambel’s oak tree (Quercus Gambelii)—stood far less chance of missing than either of the comparatively narrow missiles and was capable of striking even harder.

  Although neither he nor Tommy had come into contact with throwing sticks before their meeting with the Hopis, Ole Devil was all too aware of his peril. Having an affinity for primitive weapons, the little Oriental had been able to assess the device’s potential. What was more, while waiting for the mule train to move out of Santa Cristóbal Bay, they had taken an opportunity to experiment and confirm his summations.

  In spite of Ole Devil’s left hand shaking his mount’s one piece Mexican pattern reins from between his second and third fingers, so that they fell on to the saddlehorn, he knew that trying to raise the rifle and shoot would avail him nothing. He might kill the young brave, but the weapon had already been thrown at him. Nor, from what he had seen and Tommy had told him, would trying to deflect the missile serve his purpose any better. On coming into contact with the Browning’s barrel, even if no other damage was inflicted, the stick would not be halted. It would either knock the rifle from his grasp or, failing that, spin around the barrel and retain sufficient impetus to reach and strike him with considerable force.

  Accepting that there was only one course left open to him, the Texian took it. Grasping the rifle firmly with both hands, he quit the horse’s back. There was no time for him to try and throw a leg forward and jump clear in the hope of landing on his feet. Instead, he toppled sideways to the left out of the saddle. Even as he was going down, he heard the hissing of the throwing stick as it twirled rapidly by not a foot above him. Then, as he plunged into the river, he thrust up the rifle in an attempt to prevent it from accompanying him below the surface.

  Annoyance filled the young Hopi as he saw that he had missed his target. The missile was an old favorite which could be counted upon always to fly in the same fashion when thrown correctly and he might not be able to find it in the woods across the river. However, he derived consolation from the thought that he could obtain some even more satisfactory and modern weapons from the Texian. As the first to count coup, xliii he would be entitled to the pick of the dismounted victim’s property. So, snatching the knife from its sheath on his belt, he continued to run towards the water’s edge.

  Having seen Ole Devil evade the throwing stick, Tommy returned his attention to the Indians. Commencing his draw, he knew that he must decide—and very quickly—which of the braves to aim at.

  What was more, the answer must be correct!

  For all his comparatively modern weapon, Tommy concluded that the man with the rifle could be ignored. He was concentrating upon whoever had called the warning from among the foliage of the silver maple.

  Being closest, the youngest brave was posing the most immediate threat. With that in mind, Tommy selected and started to take aim at him.

  The action was not completed!

  Slower than the lance carrier, who still ran on, the fourth warrior skidded to a halt. Raising his bow, he began to pull back on the string and sight the arrow. When it was released, it would fly much faster than either of his companions were capable of moving. So, no matter who counted the first coup, the honor of killing the paleface would be his.

  As soon as he struck the river’s bed, Ole Devil twisted himself upwards until he was sitting slightly less than chest deep in the water. Seeing the young brave approaching, with the lance carrier following about fifteen feet to the rear, he snapped the Browning’s butt to his shoulder. Noticing the man with the bow preparing to shoot at him, he guessed at what Tommy was doing and knew that he must handle his nearest attackers himself. So he squinted along the forty and five-sixteenths of an inch octagonal barrel rather than the V-shaped notch of the rear right.

  Although the young Hopi saw he was being covered, he was not especially perturbed. He had never used a firearm, but knew enough about the shortcomings of those owned by other members of his nation to feel he was in no danger. What he failed to appreciate was that he did not face a flintlock, the powder in the priming pan of which would almost certainly have been ruined when its owner’s fell into the river.

  The Browning rifle was not impervious to water, but it was less susceptible to its effects than the older type of mechanism. For all that, Ole Devil knew a misfire would put him in a desperate situation. Squeezing the trigger, he felt the hammer being liberated and start to snap upwards.

  Even as Tommy was altering the alignment of his weapon, a shot crashed from the other side of the river. It was the sharp detonation of a fairly light caliber handgun, probably a dueling pistol, and not the deeper roar of a shoulder arm. Back jerked the head of the brave with the rifle. A blue-rimmed hole appeared in the center of his brow and the base of his skull burst open as the bullet emerged. Toppling over, he fired his weapon harmlessly into the air and it fell from his grasp.

  Refusing to let himself be distracted by the shooting, Tommy made sure of his aim and loosed the arrow. It flashed across the intervening space, but not quite to the mark at which it had been directed. Going past the youngest brave as he was being struck in the left breast by Ole Devil’s bullet, it hit and sliced through the upper limb of the warrior’s bow. For all that, the effect of the shot served the little Oriental’s purpose. It snatched the ruined weapon from the Hopi’s hands before he could release his own shaft. Letting out a startled yelp, he staggered backwards.

  Sharing the younger brave’s summation of the situation, the lance-carrier was surprised when Ole Devil’s rifle went off. To his annoyance, he saw his stricken companion spin around and, dropping the knife, blunder into his path. Swerving around the falling youngster, he hardly noticed that the bay was startled by the shot and beginning to lope away. He found the behavior of the paleface of greater interest. Not only was he still sitting down, but he made no attempt to take the rifle from his shoulder and yet its single barrel must now be empty.

  Not for the first time, Ole Devil’s life was depending upon the reliability of Jonathan Browning’s inventive genius and skilled craftsmanship. Thrusting down the lever with his thumb, he watched the magazine creeping slowly through the aperture. Nearer rushed the Hopi, his lance held ready for use and savage determination etched in the lines of his face.

  Chapter Nine – They’re Closer Than We Expected

  Even as the Browning Slide Repeating rifle’s magazine halted and was cammed into position against the barrel’s bore, Ole Devil Hardin’s right forefinger reached around the front of the trigger guard to cock the under-hammer. Although he had been watching the slide to make sure that it was operating correctly, the sound of water splashing warned him that his assailant was drawing ever closer. Looking up, he found that the Hopi brave was already lifting back the lance ready to strike.

  On the eastern bank, Tommy Okasi had lowered his right hand and was allowing the second arrow to slide through it until he could take hold of the nock. He was such a highly skilled archer that he had no need to look down and made the movements instinctively. Affixing the slot of the nock on the nakashikake, he rested the shaft in the shallow V formed by his left thumb and the bow’s handle. While doing so, he continued to keep the other side of the river under observation. In spite of knowing the rifle’s potential, he saw enough to warn him that his employer was still in deadly peril. What was more, there mi
ght not be sufficient time for him to draw and aim the arrow with the accuracy that was needed if he was to help.

  With the hammer at full cock, Ole Devil returned his finger to the Browning’s trigger. There was no need for him to bother about making sure of his aim. Dashing onwards recklessly, the Hopi was so near that it would be practically impossible to miss. Nor was he showing the slightest alarm over having the rifle directed at him. Clearly he believed it was empty and that he had nothing to fear.

  Pressure on the Browning’s trigger set the firing cycle into motion. Much to Ole Devil’s relief, he heard the slight pop as the hammer ignited the percussion cap. Even as flame and white powder smoke was erupting from the barrel in the wake of the .45 caliber round soft lead ball, with the lance driving straight at him and almost level with the rifle’s muzzle, he tipped himself to the left.

  Shock mingled with the agony that came to the Hopi’s face as the bullet plowed into the base of his throat and broke his neck. Although he was mortally wounded, his momentum carried him onwards and the lance was still grasped firmly enough in his hand for it to have achieved his purpose.

  Ole Devil’s hat had slipped sideways when he fell from his horse, being arrested on his right shoulder by its barbiquejo chinstrap. The tip of the lance brushed its brim in passing and, tripping over him, the dying brave plunged face forward into the river.