by J. T. Edson
For several seconds, the girl did not reply. Instead, she first stared long and hard at the satanic features she had come to know so well. She had the same high regard for Ole Devil as she had for her grandfather and Joe Galton, but acceding to his request did not come easily. With a long and heartfelt sigh, she swung her gaze to the approaching mule train. As before, the cavalrymen were bringing up the rear. From the beginning, they had treated her with an easy-going respect that neither ignored nor played upon her sex. Leaving them to fight and, almost certainly, die was not a thing she could contemplate lightly.
Although Ole Devil did not speak again after making the request, Di knew she must not delay with her reply. The mule train would have reached them in three more minutes and there was little enough time to spare for all the work that must be carried out. What was more, unpalatable as the thought might be, she had to admit he was making good sense when he mentioned the value of the mules and their packers. Nor could she see any alternative action he might take to safeguard even a portion of the consignment.
‘All right,’ Di said, her voice just a trifle hoarse. Then she made a not entirely unsuccessful attempt to resume the kind of banter she usually employed with the Texian. ‘There’s only one thing, Ole Devil Hardin. Happen you go and get killed for being so cussed, I’ll never speak to you again.’
‘I don’t suppose you will,’ Ole Devil answered, also speaking more lightly than throughout the conversation. ‘Because, where I’ll be going, they’ll never let you in.’
Chapter Fourteen – This Time There Won’t Be Any Mistakes
‘And that’s how it stands, gentlemen,’ Ole Devil Hardin warned, looking at the tanned faces of the remaining members of the Company under his command. Young, middle-aged and old, he knew every one of them and was all too aware of the enormity of the thing he would be asking them to do. ‘I want volunteers to stay with me.’
Beyond the group of men who had been gathered around their commanding officer by Sergeant Smith, the bottom of the U-shaped basin formed by a curve in the Brazos River was alive with feverish, yet organized and purposeful activity. Working as quickly as they could under Joe Galton’s supervision, Diamond-Hitch Brindley’s Tejas Indian mule packers were unloading their charges and stacking the caplock rifles separately from the boxes of ready-made paper cartridges and percussion caps. However, having explained to the cargador very briefly what needed to be done, the girl was leaving him to attend to it so that she could watch how the soldiers responded to their superior’s request.
Having told Smith to leave the remaining Tejas scout to keep watch from the rim and assemble the remnants of Company C at the foot of the slope, Ole Devil had seen to his line-backed dun gelding. Then, without attempting to belittle the danger, or raising false hopes of the possibility of survival, he had told them how he was planning to deal with their desperate predicament. He had pointed out the importance of inflicting the greatest possible number of casualties on the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment; not only to enhance the chances of safety for the caplocks and mule train, but to lessen their effectiveness as a fighting unit which could be thrown against the Republic of Texas’s already greatly outnumbered Army. He had also pointed out that, in order to make sure no more loot than was absolutely necessary fell into their attackers’ clutches, he would be sending all the Company’s horses across the river with the mules, and restrict the defenders’ arms to, at the most, four extra rifles each from the consignment. And having told them all this, he waited to discover how they would respond to the call he was making upon them.
Standing a few feet away, Di clenched her hands until the knuckles showed white. She waited with bated breath to see how many of the men would do as Ole Devil asked.
Would any of them be willing to sacrifice themselves?
There was a scuffling of feet and an interplay of exchanged glances, but for several seconds—which seemed to drag on far longer to the watching girl—none of the soldiers spoke or moved from their positions. It seemed that, faced with making a decision, every one of them was waiting for somebody else to take the initiative.
Never had Di experienced such a sensation of suspense. It was all she could do to hold back from screaming a demand that some, any, response must be made.
At last, there was a movement!
‘Well now, Cap’n,’ drawled a white haired and leathery featured old timer, whose military service had commenced by fighting the British at the—as was subsequently proved unnecessary—Battle of New Orleans. lxviii He advanced a pace. ‘One thing I promised meself when I left the good ole U.S. of A. was that I’d only volunteer just one more time in my wicked ’n’ ornery life. Which same, I done it when I joined the Texas Light Cavalry.’
‘Go on, Jube,’ Ole Devil prompted, wondering what was coming next.
‘It be this way with me, Cap’n,’ the old timer obliged, neither his expression nor the timbre of his voice supplying the slightest clue as to his sentiments. ‘I’m knowed’s a man of me word, ’mongst other things. So, I can’t speak for none of the others mind, but the only way I’ll stay—or go, comes to that—is it’s you-all up ’n’ orders me to do it.’
‘What Jube means, Cap’n Hardin,’ Smith elaborated, stepping with military precision to the old timer’s side, ‘is, happen you want us along, we’ll tick here, root, hawg, or die.’
‘Shucks, I can’t see’s there’s all that much for us to worry about,’ Sammy Cope went on cheerfully, aligning himself with the two previous speakers. ‘There might be a fair slew of ’em coming, but they ain’t but greasers ’n’ house-Injuns.’ lxix
‘Damn it, yes,’ another of the enlisted men continued. Was they Comanch’ it’d be some different, dangerous even. But this bunch—well, blast it, we’ve close to got ’em outnumbered.’
‘Bad luck, Cap’n,’ Smith said with a grin. ‘It looks like you haven’t got rid of this worthless bunch. So, happen you tell me what you want done, I’ll set ’em to doing it for you.’
‘Gracias, gentlemen,’ Ole Devil stated, his voice husky as he fought to keep from showing his emotions.
‘Danged if I can ever ree-member being called that afore,’ grinned Jube. ‘And I don’t conclude’s how I’ll ever get called it ag’in.’
‘You’ll get called something more apt happen you keep butting in when the Cap’n’s trying to tell us something,’ Smith warned the old timer.
Utilizing the brief respite gained by the two men’s comments to regain his composure, Ole Devil stiffened as well as his tired condition would allow. They had won a few hours grace by the destruction of the ferry at Hickert’s Landing. So it must be utilized to the best possible advantage. Forcing his weary brain to function, he began to formulate the arrangements which would allow the defenders to inflict the greatest damage on their assailants before the inevitable conclusion. Having done so, he made a change in his intentions with regard to the consignment. While Houston had powder and lead to make balls for the caplocks, the percussion caps were not a commodity readily available in Texas. So, as they were less susceptible to damage by water than the paper cartridges would be, he asked Di to try to take them with her.
‘I’ll tend to it,’ the girl promised and turned her gaze to the sergeant. ‘Hey, Smithie, do you ever get the feeling’s how you could get along just fine once you’ve been told what to do and don’t need somebody looking over your shoulder.’
‘I’ve had it now and again,’ the non-com replied, guessing what Di had in mind. ‘Do you need Cap’n Hardin anymore?’
‘Me?’ the girl ejaculated. ‘The hell I do. I’ve got more’n enough worthless and shiftless loafers on my hands now without taking another’s looks like he’s fixing to fall asleep on his feet.’
‘All right. All right,’’ Ole Devil sighed, but darting a look of gratitude at the two speakers. ‘Let it never be said that I can’t take a hint. Have a couple of pickets posted on the rim, ser—’
‘With respect, sir,’ Smith interrupted politely
. ‘I reckon if I didn’t have enough sense to think some things out for myself, you’d never have made me a sergeant.’
‘You could be right at that,’ Ole Devil conceded. ‘So you can take command while I have some rest.’
‘Yo!’ Smith responded. ‘And, again respectfully, sir, don’t tell me to wake you if anything happens.’
‘Very well, sergeant,’ Ole Devil promised with a wry grin. ‘I won’t. But, if you need me, I’ll be over there with Tommy.’
Collecting his blankets, the young Texian went to where the little Oriental was already deep in the arms of Morpheus. lxx After a final and quick look around, deciding that he could count on Smith to do everything necessary without further assistance on his part, he wrapped himself in his blankets and lay alongside his employee. Within seconds of his head touching the saddle—which had already been taken from his dun by Galton’s Indian assistant farrier—having covered his face with his hat, he had fallen into a deep, badly needed and well earned sleep. Nor did the work that was being carried on not too far away disturb his or Tommy’s slumbers.
Leaving Smith to attend to the military side of their affairs, Di supervised the work being carried out by her men. Realizing just how much work had to be done, the non-com decided to use his initiative in regard to the posting of pickets. While explaining his strategy, Ole Devil had said that—as before the battle at Santa Cristóbal Bay—the Hopis’ scouts could be allowed to see the arrangements being made for their Regiment’s reception. So Smith let the Tejas keep watch and retain the services of two extra pairs of hands.
With the mules unloaded, the business of getting them to the eastern bank of the Brazos was commenced. This was a vastly different proposition to the crossing of the ford in the woodland. There, the distance had not been anywhere near as great and the water was much shallower. So the mules, being unable to see the opposite shore, would be far more reluctant to enter even with the inducement of following the bell-mare. On top of that, there was the matter of transporting over the rifles and boxes of percussion caps.
Bearing in mind all the experience she had gathered in the years she had spent at the business of mule packing, Di knew that, while difficult, the latter task was not insurmountable. The mules could not swim with the bulky loads, but would be able to carry five of the rifles on each side of their aparejo; the whole being covered by tarpaulin and roped into position. She had brought along fifty mules, excluding the animals assigned to carry the cook’s and farrier’s equipment, which meant she had sufficient for her needs. However, the supply of grain would have to be left behind and she ordered that it was to be placed with the ammunition. Not only would it help to convey the impression that the full consignment had been abandoned, but the subsequent explosion would ensure that it was lost to the Hopis as well as herself.
Sharing his superior’s summation about the unsuitability of the ground for digging adequate rifle pits, Smith assigned only half of his men to that job. The rest were to help break down the bundles of caplocks, or stack the ammunition and sacks of grain behind the defensive positions.
About half an hour later, the Tejas scout on the rim attracted Di’s attention. Joining him, accompanied by Smith, she found that three Hopis had come into view. However, they were still a good half a mile away and keeping at that distance. Nor was there sufficient cover for them to ride closer. Telling her man to continue keeping them under observation, she and the non-com returned to the bottom of the basin.
Shortly after nightfall, the crossing commenced. Going over in daylight would have been easier, but there were practical and tactical objections to this. Not the least was the discovery that, while his three companions were holding the attention of the Tejas lookout, a fourth Hopi scout had slipped around and was studying the basin from the top of the sheer cliff on the upstream side. Instead of having him dislodged, Smith allowed him to carry out his scrutiny undisturbed.
There was a sound reason for the non-com’s decision. The pastoral Hopis did not have the raiding tradition as highly developed as the more warlike nomadic Indian nations, but he believed a desire to gather booty rather than patriotic fervor had brought them to Texas. If they learned that the mule train and remuda had gone, they might insist on following instead of trying to capture the consignment. Nor could the evacuation of the animals be left until dawn, as this was the time their attack was most likely to be launched.
At Di’s suggestion, the remuda was sent over first. Then the bell-mare was led into the cold and uninviting water by Galton, who had removed and was carrying her bell’s harness. As he swam, supported by holding his horse’s saddle with one hand, he used the other to shake the bell and increase the volume of its sound. The mules set off after her and some followed without needing urging. However, in the urgency of the situation, no stubborn refusals could be tolerated. Any animal trying to balk was roped around the neck and hauled in until it was compelled to swim. Once started in this fashion, the dissidents followed their more compliant companions.
On reaching the eastern bank, the remuda and the mules were kept moving to a hollow about half a mile away. It had been found earlier by Prays Loudly, Sometimes. In the absence of the regular scouts, he had been sent over to select a location in which they could bed down for the night and would be hidden from their enemies. Such was the high standard of the packers that, in spite of the darkness, when the halt was called each found and unloaded his five-strong string. However, there was still work to be done. Several of the remuda were still saddled and these had to be sought out and attended to. In addition, a further crossing of the river was required to bring back the dismantled equipment of the carrier and cook. Lastly, some of the driftwood that had accumulated on the banks—none of which had been suitable for making rafts—was collected. A couple of fires were lit in the hollow, allowing Di and her men to dry their clothing and warm themselves. When all that was done, they settled down to await the coming of the fateful dawn.
~*~
Returning from their scouting mission, having located the camp of the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment, Tom Wolf and his three companions heard the sound of horses coming towards them. Stopping their own mounts, the fact that whoever was riding their way did not duplicate their actions suggested their presence had not been detected. A low hiss of annoyance left the chief’s lips. The riders were not heading straight at them, but would pass some distance off to the right. There was no cover of any consequence in that direction and it would be impossible to go any closer on horseback—unlike the packers, he and his men did not use mules—without being located.
Tall, well made, exuding an aura of quiet dignity and strength, Tom Wolf was an impressive figure. In spite of wearing a white man’s style of buckskins and a round topped black hat with an eagle’s feather in its band, he had all the majesty of a war leader belonging to one of the free-ranging Plains Indians’ nations. Dressed in a similar fashion, his scouts also looked what they were; tough and hardy braves, competent at their duties and ready to give their best in battle.
Many colonists had small regards for the Tejas Indians as warriors. Nor, in general, did members of the nation deserve it. That did not apply to Ewart Brindley’s employees. They belonged to a band which had never been subdued by the Mexicans, or suffered exposure to the ‘civilizing’ influence of the Spanish missions. What was more, the old man had shielded them from the more corrosive aspects of contact with much of the Anglo-Saxon population. So, instead of being dissolute and dissipated—the fate of most others of their tribe—they retained the best qualities of the Indian people.
Following their chief’s example, the braves slipped from their horses and allowed the reins to dangle free. Easing back the hammer of the caplock rifle presented to him by Ole Devil Hardin for his services at the battle of Santa Cristóbal Bay, he listened to the clicks which told him his men were taking the same precaution. However, there was nothing to suggest the other riders in the darkness had heard the sounds.
Leaving
their horses ground hitched by the dangling reins, the Tejas’ party advanced. They crouched low, feeling out the ground ahead with their feet and doing all they could to avoid making any noise. Before long, they could make out the shapes of the riders. The nearest, as they rode in single file, was about forty yards away.
‘Four!’ Wolf counted silently and started to raise his rifle, knowing there was no hope of going closer than they now were without being seen.
There was, the chief realized as he aimed at the second rider, no way he could warn his companions of his intentions. However, they were all experienced warriors and would select the correct victims. So he must rely upon Jimmy-Whoop at his right to take the leading Hopi—which the quartet undoubtedly were, no doubt a scouting party who were returning from a similar mission to their own—while Eats Grasshoppers and Bad Breath respectively dealt with the third and fourth in line.
Making sure of his aim, Wolf squeezed the caplock’s trigger. Even as the hammer began to descend, he was conscious of the brief flicker of sparks as the flint struck and pushed aside the frizzen of Jimmy-Whoop’s rifle so they could fall into the pan. lxxi There was a ‘whoosh’ and glow of flame as the priming powder ignited, mingling with the slight pop of the exploding percussion cap and deeper crack from the main charge in the breech of the caplock as it was detonated. Almost simultaneously, a similar reaction on the other side of the chief informed him that the men there had touched off their flintlocks.
Although Eats Grasshoppers’ and Bad Breath’s rifles vomited out their loads like echoes to Wolf’s shot, Jimmy-Whoop’s weapon misfired. Except for the flash in the pan, there was no discharge from it.
With that exception, the Tejas’ impromptu volley was successful. Dazzled by the glare of the muzzle blasts from their firearms, none of them was able to see Wolf’s and Eats Grasshoppers’ victims struck and knocked from the horses. Letting out a screech of pain as Bad Breath’s bullet tore into him, the fourth rider was in no condition to cope with the behavior of his startled mount. As it made a bounding plunge and bolted, he was pitched from its back.