Young Ole Devil (15 page)

A black bear could attain a speed of around
twenty-five miles an hour when charging, but it needed time to
build up to its top pace. With its eyes fixed on the fleeing
youngster, it hurtled after him and ignored the departing horse.
Nor was it aware of Ole Devil dashing down the slope in its
direction.

Urging the borrowed horse to
its fastest gait, the young Texian gave thought to how he might
best deal with the situation. He had heard that some Indian braves
had so little fear of the black bear that they regarded it as being
unworthy of death by arrow, lance, tomahawk, firearm, or even a
knife. Instead, the warrior would beat the beast
’s brains out with a club and
apologize to its spirit for having done so. However, having done a
fair amount of bear hunting, Ole Devil had never believed the
story. He certainly was not inclined to try and duplicate the feat,
particularly under the prevailing conditions.

Nor, despite the fact that
the
Browning
rifle when loaded—which it was not at that moment due to the
difficulty of carrying it in a condition of readiness—would have
offered him the advantage of five consecutive shots without needing
recharging, did he regret that it was in the dun’s saddle boot. To
have drawn it and made it ready for firing would be a very
difficult, if not impossible, task when riding at full speed. What
was more, from his present position, all he could take aim at was
the bear’s rump. A hit there with the comparatively small caliber
rifle would not stop it quickly enough to save the youngster from a
mauling. Ole Devil would have to place a bullet in exactly the
right spot to achieve his purpose. Luckily, due to having
transferred his weapon carrier to the borrowed horse’s saddlehorn,
he would have two shots at his disposal instead of only one. For
all that, killing the bear would be far from a sinecure.

When in motion at speed, a
black bear
’s
rolling, loose-haired hide and the placement of its feet combine to
present ever-changing contours which made accurate aiming a
difficult proposition. Throughout its stride, its legs ‘scissored’
rapidly to add to the confusion. One moment the forepaws would be
under the rump and the back legs up close to the nose, bunching the
vital organs. Next the body appeared to become extended out of all
proportion, causing the target to change its position in relation
to the now elongated frame. The young Texian knew of only one area
where he could rely upon hitting and bringing down the animal
immediately.

There was, however, a major
objection to Ole Devil firing even a single shot. It might be heard
by the
vaquero
and his companions, causing them to come and
investigate.

For a moment, Ole Devil
contemplated trying to effect a rescue in the manner of a Comanche
brave going to a wounded or unhorsed companion
’s assistance. He had practiced
the method with other members of Company “C” and was proficient at
it. Doing so under the prevailing conditions would be difficult and
dangerous, yet it might be possible if the youngster co-operated.
The problem was how to acquaint him with what was being planned.
Calling out the information was not the answer. It was sure to
distract him and would cause him to slow down, or could even make
him stumble if he looked back to see who had spoken.

Then another factor arose to
lessen the already slender hope of scooping up the youngster and
carrying him to safety. A worried snort burst from the fast-moving
horse as its flaring nostrils picked up the bear
’s scent. Controlling its
desire to shy away from a natural enemy, Ole Devil managed to keep
it running in a straight line. Clearly the borrowed mount lacked
the stability of temperament for him to risk that kind of a rescue.
An unexpected swerve, a refusal to respond to his heels’
signals—his hands would be fully occupied with the pick up and
could not manipulate the reins—or a panic-induced stumble might see
them all on the ground and tangled with the enraged
bear.

While a black bear could not
equal the grizzly
’s armament, its teeth and claws were sufficiently
well-developed for Ole Devil to have the greatest reluctance to
feel them sink into his flesh.

Discarding the idea of making a
Comanche-style rescue, Ole Devil drew the Manton
pistol
—mate
to the one in his belt loop—from the holster on his weapon-carrier
and cocked its hammer. Already he was alongside the bear and the
horse’s speed was carrying them by. No sooner had they drawn ahead
than he saw the youngster trip and go sprawling.

There was no time to lose!

Tossing his left leg forward
and over the saddlehorn, the young Texian quit the horse at full
gallop. He landed with an almost cat-like agility which told of
long and arduous training. His momentum carried him onwards a few
strides, until he had almost reached the youngster who had managed
to break his fall and was attempting to rise. Coming to a stop, Ole
Devil swung around and brought the pistol up to
arm
’s length
and eye level. Once again, he adopted the double handed grip on the
butt that had served him so well in the
cantina.

Rushing closer, the bear made an
awe-inspiring sight. Its coat was bristling with rage until it
seemed far larger than its already not inconsiderable size.
Uttering savage, blood-chilling snarls, its open, slavering jaws
were filled with long and sharp teeth. Its slightly curved, almost
needle-pointed claws, tore grooves in the ground and sent dirt
flying as they helped to propel it towards its intended prey. All
in all, the furious three hundred pound beast was not a spectacle
to inspire confidence, or even peace of mind, when one was facing
it armed with nothing more than a pistol which held only a single
shot and could not be re-loaded quickly.

‘
Lord!’ Ole Devil breathed, in an attempt to control his
rising tension as he looked along the nine inch, octagonal barrel
at the approaching animal. ‘If you can’t help me, don’t help the
bear!’

While the young Texian found
himself repeating the line from the old Negro comic song,
‘The Preacher And
The Bear’, he was also aligning the ‘V’ notch of the rear—and blade
of the front—sights on the centre of the approaching animal’s head.
An area the size of the top of the bear’s skull would have been
comparatively easy to hit at such close range, on a stationary
paper target. However, even to a man of Ole Devil’s skill, it
seemed much smaller and vastly more difficult at that moment. He
knew that he would have time for only the one shot. So it had to
strike accurately or somebody, himself for sure and in all
probability the youngster he was attempting to save, was going to
be killed.

Forcing himself to remain calm
and to wait until certain of
his aim, Ole Devil made allowance for the bear’s
forward movement and squeezed the trigger. Forty grains of powder
were waiting to be ignited and turned into a mass of gas which
would thrust the half-ounce ball through the barrel’s rifling
grooves. It was a very heavy charge and would be capable of
inflicting considerable damage—providing a hit was made.

On the other hand, if the
pistol should hang fire for some reason
—as the youngster’s rifle had—Ole
Devil would be unlikely to survive. Even if he did, he would be too
badly injured to carry on with his assignment.

Never had
the hammer of the Manton pistol
seemed to be moving so slowly!

It fell, at long last, striking the brass
percussion cap!

Still moving to compensate for
the bear
’s
ever changing—and nearing—position, the pistol roared!

Converging with the approaching
beast, the .54
caliber bullet struck it between and slightly above the
eyes to plough through into the brain. Hit while its forelegs were
approaching the end of a rearwards thrust, the bear began to
crumple forward.

Even as smoke partially
obscured the bear and the pistol
’s barrel rose under the impulsion of the
recoil, without waiting to discover the effect of the shot, Old
Devil Hardin sprang to his right. Dropping the empty weapon, he
sent his right hand curling back and around the butt of the
pistol’s mate. Twisting it free from the retainer loop on his belt,
he was just starting to draw back the hammer with the heel of his
left palm when the bear emerged from the smoke. However, it was
turning a somersault and it crashed to the ground on its back. With
its jaws chomping in a hideous fashion and legs flailing their
death throes, it slid to a halt on the very spot Hardin had just
vacated.

It was, the young Texian decided, as narrow
an escape from a painful death as had ever come his way.

Suddenly, courageous as he was, Ole Devil
found that he was perspiring very freely and breathing as heavily
as if he had run a mile. What was more, his limbs were shaking from
the reaction to the highly unnerving few seconds that he had just
passed through.

Much of Ole
Devil
’s
reaction was, he realized, stemming from a belated understanding of
the possible effects of the risk he had taken. If he had been
killed or injured, the very important mission
upon
which he was engaged would have ended
in ignominious failure.

And all because of a stupid act by a boy who
might even be one of the party who were trying to prevent Old Devil
from completing the assignment.

‘
Thanks, mister. You surely saved my life.’

The
youngster
’s
voice came to Ole Devil’s ears as, starting to regain control of
his churning emotions, he looked from the bear’s body to where the
line-backed dun had been brought to a halt by its trailing reins
and was standing quietly. Something about the words, perhaps the
fact that they sounded so damned effeminate, brought the young
Texian’s temper to boiling point.

‘
Why
the hell did you have to pull such a god-damned stupid trick as
that?’ Ole Devil roared swinging around, fury making his features
as Mephistophelian as ‘Ole Nick’ forking sinners into the fiery
furnaces of Hades. ‘Your folks shouldn’t let you out alone
if—’

The angry tirade died away at
the sight which met the young Texian
’s gaze. And it wasn’t the sight of the
borrowed horse, carrying his saber on its saddle, still galloping
away that stopped him.

Having apparently contrived to wriggle
onwards for several feet after falling down and losing his hat, the
youngster had regained his feet. Returning the knife which he had
been drawing to its fringed, Indian-made sheath, he was walking
towards his rescuer. An expression of mingled relief and gratitude
was on his tanned and freckled face as he held out his right
hand.

The reason for the falsetto,
effeminate tones which had been one cause of Ole
Devil
’s
annoyance was explained. Describing the youngster as ‘he’, or ‘him’
was most inaccurate. Despite the masculine clothing, the person he
had rescued was a pretty and, although her garments did only a
little to emphasize it, shapely girl in her late ‘teens, with
shortish, fiery red, curly hair. Her reaction to his hostile words
and attitude suggested that the hair was matched by a hot and
explosive temper.

Coming to a halt, her features
lost their friendliness which was replaced by indignation. Like a
flash, she whipped up her extended right hand in a slap that met
Ole Devil
’s
right cheek hard enough to snap his head around and caused him to
jerk back a pace. Rocking to a stop and, in his surprise, dropping
the pistol he responded almost automatically to the blow. Before he
could stop himself, he was launching a backhand swing in
retaliation to the attack. Although he just managed to reduce the
power behind it, as a realization of what he was doing belatedly
came to him, his left knuckles came up against the side of her head
in a cuff of some force.

The girl had been retreating.
Her expressive features were registering a change to contrition, as
if she was already regretting her hasty and uncalled for
behavior towards
the man who had saved her life at some risk to his own. The blow
connected, knocking her off balance. Staggering back a few paces,
she flopped rump-foremost on the ground. A screech burst from her
as she landed and her face turned red with fury.

Like the girl, Ole Devil started to regret
what he had done. Meaning to apologize and help her to rise, he
began to move forward. Before he could achieve either intention,
she bounded to her feet. Ducking her head, she charged at him like
a bighorn ram going at a rival in the mating season.

Growling an imprecation which he would not
normally have used in the presence of a member of the opposite sex,
the young Texian tried to fend off the girl. Although he caught her
by the shoulders, the impetus of her charge drove him backwards.
Unable to stop himself, or the girl, he retreated until his legs
hit the now fortunately dead and motionless bear.

With the girl toppling after him, Ole Devil
sat on the corpse. Pure chance rather than a deliberate intention
caused him to guide the girl so that she landed face down across
his lap. Studying the situation, he decided that the opportunity
was too good to miss. Holding her in position by gripping the
scruff of her neck with his left hand, he applied the flat palm of
his right to the tightly stretched and well-filled seat of her
buckskin trousers.