Ole Devil at San Jacinto (Old Devil Hardin Western Book 4) (16 page)

In spite of carrying a firearm
on his person, Corporal Moreno elected to fight with his knife. He
knew that he could bring it into action with greater speed than the
cumbersome handgun allowed. So he swept the spear pointed
^xxxii
blade free and made Ole Devil his
objective. Although he discovered that the Texian was turning and
starting to arm himself, the burly non-com was not unduly perturbed
on seeing which weapon was being chosen. He felt confident that his
knife was much faster than any pistol.

Undeterred by considerations of
the numerical odds being against him, Tommy once more displayed how
effectively he could perform
laijitsu
and wield the
tachi
when it was drawn. There was one major difference
from his demonstration to the two New Orleans’ Wildcats in the
hollow at San Felipe.

Now the little Oriental was in deadly
earnest!

Tommy was thinking and
responding like that most deadly of fighting men, a Japanese
samurai
!

During the brief period in which
he was advancing to striking distance, the small warrior watched
the quartet registering their amazement at the speed with which
his
tachi
was leaping from its bamboo sheath. He did not intend to
allow them to recover from their consternation.

Acting almost too swiftly for
the eye to follow, Tommy brought the
tachi
around as he was coming to a halt in front of the
two center
vaqueros.
Apart from their lethal purpose, his movements had almost
the symmetrical elegance of a classical ballet dancer. For all
that, in passing, the razor sharp blade disemboweled Orlando. Then,
before the intestines which had gushed from the stricken man’s
wound had reached the ground, the weapon reached the scar-faced
man. It laid open his throat and came close to taking off his
head.

To give the Mexican on the right credit, he
recovered from his shock with commendable speed. While he was too
slow to prevent his companions from being killed, he was determined
to avenge them. Giving a snarl of rage, he lunged and thrust his
lance in the little Oriental’s direction. Somewhat slower, the last
of the quartet managed to liberate his pistol and began to draw
back its hammer.

Accepting that there was no longer any hope
of tricking the Mexicans into allowing his party to continue the
journey unescorted, Ole Devil was just as ready for action as Tommy
and equally capable of defending himself. Nor did he hesitate about
the choice of weapon with which to do it. They were going to cross
the river a good three miles north of the point at which Santa
Anna’s force had gone over. According to Moreno, there were no
other patrols in the vicinity. So he could use the pistol without
the shot attracting unwanted attention. Provided, of course, that
he could bring it into operation quickly enough.

For all his original rage,
Dimmock did not allow it to blind him to the rest of what was going
on. Remembering that his victim was only one of six enemies, he
knew that the affair was far from ended. Seeing Tommy rushing
to
meet the
four
vaqueros,
he realized where his help was most needed. Nor did the way
in which the little Oriental dealt with Orlando and the man with
the scar cause him to revise his opinion. Going by Antonio without
a second glance, the lieutenant tried to decide which of the
remaining pair required his attention most urgently. From the look
of them, each was posing a threat to Tommy’s life.

While the corporal was drawing
the knife, Ole Devil’s right hand turned palm outwards and closed
around the butt of the Manton pistol. Being aware that the handgun
was primarily a close quarters defensive weapon which could be kept
readily available, he had devoted considerable thought to how he
might best exploit such qualities. Employing a sequence of motions
similar to those by which gun fighters in later years would perform
the ‘high cavalry twist’ draw,
^xxxiii
he extracted the barrel from its
broad retaining strap on his belt.

Moving forward with the knife held ready for
a gut ripping slash, Moreno saw the muzzle of the Texian’s pistol
twisting in his direction in a way he had never envisaged as
possible. The unconventional method of handling the weapon did not
end there. Instead of operating the hammer in the accepted fashion,
the heel of Ole Devil’s left hand flashed across to meet and push
it to the fully cocked position. Nor did he raise the pistol to eye
level and sight at arm’s length along the barrel, but thrust it
ahead of him only slightly higher than his waist.

Even as a realization of his peril was
assailing the corporal, Ole Devil’s right forefinger squeezed the
pistol’s trigger. So excellent was the manufacturer’s craftsmanship
that the hammer fell without disturbing his instinctive alignment.
The shot crashed out and, above its smoke, he saw Moreno’s head
snapping back under the impact of a .54 caliber ball between the
eyes. While the Mexican’s legs continued to advance, the knife flew
from his grasp and his shoulders tilted rearwards.

Without knowing it, Tommy was
solving Dimmock’s dilemma. While he was striking down the two men,
he did not forget their companions. A rapid glance in each
direction warned him from whence he faced the greater and more
urgent danger. Seeing the man on his left driving the
lance at him, he
flipped himself sideways and down. Nor did he move any too soon.
The weapon’s diamond section head almost touched his neck as it
passed above him.

Deftly breaking the fall with
his left hand, Tommy was already turning the
tachi
upon his assailant. Such a sinuous,
almost whip like motion was made possible by the pliancy of the
magnificently tempered steel from which it had been
manufactured.
^xxxiv
While he was doing so, having
assessed the situation, he allowed the hilt to rotate until the
blade was parallel to the ground. Instead of attempting to cut, he
sent it out in an equally effective lunge.

Passing between the Mexican’s
ribs, the
—what European cutlers might refer to as a
‘reverse-Wharncliffe’
^xxxv
—point of the blade pierced his
heart. His momentum, combined with the strength and sharpness of
the steel, caused it to pass onwards until the circular
tsuba
hand guard met his
chest. Knowing he could not retrieve the
tachi
in a hurry, Tommy released it. Dropping
the lance and dying as he blundered onwards, the
vaquero
collapsed across
Orlando’s crumpled body.

Showing none of Ole Devil’s speed and
dexterity, the remaining Mexican nevertheless now had drawn his
pistol. However, he was fumbling in his attempt to cock it. The
fact that he had seen three of his companions killed by the little
‘Indian’ while one of the Texians had shot Moreno and the other was
rushing at him carrying Antonio’s lance, was not conducive to
steady nerves. He tried desperately to swing the weapon in
Dimmock’s direction, but caught a movement from the corner of his
eye. Looking around, he discovered there was a further menace
threatening him.

Temporarily deprived of
the
tachi,
Tommy was anything but defenseless. Rolling on to his back,
he flipped himself erect and whipped the shorter, but only slightly
less effective,
wakizashi
from its sheath. There was, however, no need for him to use
it.

Allowing himself to become
distracted ruined any slight chance the last of the quartet might
have had to take one of
his assailants with him. Handling the lance almost
like a pitchfork, Dimmock plunged it home. There was a brief shock
of agony for the Mexican as the point pierced his chest and went
through to burst out at the rear. Stumbling backwards, he dragged
the shaft from its wielder’s hands and sprawled lifeless to the
ground.

Hurt though he was, anger put motion into
Antonio’s limbs. Starting to rise, he saw Ole Devil swiveling to
face him and snatched out his knife. There was no hesitation in the
way the Texian responded, nor was he inclined to harbor thoughts of
mercy under the circumstances. Not only had the youngster been a
willing participant in the plot to murder his party, the very
nature of his assignment precluded the taking of a prisoner.

Dropping the empty pistol, Ole Devil sent
his right hand across to the concave ivory hilt of the James Black
bowie knife. As the weapon emerged, he hurled himself at the
youngster. A muffled scream burst from Antonio as the massive blade
swept his own knife aside and buried into his heart.

Drawing the knife free as his
victim fell backwards once more, Ole Devil looked to make sure his
companions had come to no harm and did not need his assistance.
Tommy was obviously uninjured and stood retrieving the
tachi
from the
vaquero’s
torso. Although
Dimmock also appeared to have come through the fracas unscathed,
there was a worried expression on his face as he walked
forward.

‘
I’m
sorry, Captain
Hardin,’ the lieutenant said. ‘I could have ruined everything,
letting myself be goaded like that.’

‘
We’d have had to fight them anyway,’
Ole Devil replied consolingly. ‘They meant to kill us and the way
you acted gave us an edge.’

‘
Perhaps
—’ Dimmock began, still showing more perturbation
than relief at learning his superior did not blame him for his
actions.

‘
Forget it, Paul,’ Ole Devil ordered.
‘Now they’re dead, we can go ahead with letting Santa Anna find out
what’s in store for him.’

‘
So that’s what the
great
el Presidente
looks like!’ Lieutenant
Paul Dimmock said with quiet
vehemence, as he lay between
Ole Devil Hardin and Tommy Okasi peering
cautiously over the top of a ridge. ‘Well I’ve always heard that he
was a fancy dressing son-of-a-bitch and it’s true.’

Having disposed of the
six
vaqueros’
bodies, weapons, and
such of their belongings as had not been required
by sinking them in a deep backwater on the Colorado River, the
Texians and the little Oriental had made preparations to continue
the assignment. Selecting the three best of the dead men’s horses
so that they could conserve the energies of their own mounts, they
had unsaddled and liberated the rest. On their home range, the
animals would have returned to the
hacienda
causing concern over the whereabouts of
their absent riders. Being in a strange area, particularly
when going home
would entail swimming across a river, they
were unlikely to go in search of the
Zacatecas Lancers’
remuda.
So, at least until their companions returned from the
abortive search for the ranch, the escort would not be
missed.

With the majority of the traces
of the fighting obliterated, Ole Devil had led his party eastwards.
Although the afternoon was well advanced before contact was made,
locating their quarry had presented no great difficulty. Dimmock’s
local knowledge had supplied a clue when he remembered there was a
reasonable trail to the south. All that had been necessary was for
them to take precautions against another unwanted meeting. On two
occasions, they had seen small bands of Mexicans in time to avoid
detection. Wearing
sombreros
and
serapes
which had belonged to their victims as a minor disguise in
case they should be noticed from a distance, they had finally
attained a position from which they could carry out an unobtrusive
surveillance.

‘
That’s him all
right,
’ Ole Devil agreed, in no louder tones, conceding that his
subordinate’s second remark was justified. ‘And he’s still up to
his old trick of leading the parade.’

‘
He’s not taking as much care as the
last time we saw him,’ Tommy remarked, referring to a
reconnaissance mission carried out by Ole Devil, Lieutenant Mannen
Blaze and himself earlier in the year. ‘Nor are the soldiers around
him. We’d never have got so close that earlier time.’

‘
That we wouldn’t,’ Ole Devil
confirmed, studying the trail something under half a mile
away.

Riding well in the lead of his
command,
Presidente
Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna was surrounded by his thirty
strong bodyguard of Popocatepetl Dragoons, resplendent in their
shining helmets and breastplates. They were followed by his ornate
carriage and the two big wagons carrying the luxuries with which he
invariably kept himself supplied.

On his own behalf, as became one
who was pleased to regard himself as ‘the Napoleon of the
West’,
el
Presidente
cut a fine figure mounted on his high stepping thoroughbred
white stallion, its saddle and bridle glistening with
embellishments of precious metals. Middle-aged, clean shaven and
not unhandsome in a Latin fashion, he had a well-knit figure which
was improved by artificial aids. His attire that day was based upon
the uniform of the Marshal of France
circa
1804. The black bicorn hat had more than a
sufficiency of heavy gold lace edging, was decorated by a plume of
ostrich feathers imported at considerable expense, and bore a
massive golden Mexican eagle insignia. Heavily embroidered with
gold wire in the shape of oak leaves, his dark blue coatee also
sported enormous epaulettes of the same material. White breeches,
now stained by the day’s travel, were tucked into black Hessian
boots. A gold cloth sash and a well polished black weapon belt
supporting a sword reputedly worth seven thousand U.S. dollars
completed his far from modest ensemble.