Accompanied by Diamond-Hitch Brindley and Tommy Okasi, Ole Devil Hardin was traveling through the darkness toward the cluster of lights and the various sounds which marked the locations of the fifty or so dwellings and business premises that comprised the town of San Phillipe. They rode in line abreast, with the girl in the center, their attitudes suggestive of extreme wary alertness. She and the Texian were nursing their rifles, fully cocked and, in the latter’s case, with a five-shot slide magazine in the frame. The little Oriental was carrying his bow with an arrow nocked to the string. Nor, despite being close to their destination, did they place the weapons in less accessible positions. In fact, they grew even more watchful.
Few people who knew Texas would have blamed the trio for such behavior.
Even judged by the most tolerant standards, San Phillipe was far from an attractive place. For a number of reasons, particularly the presence of several dangerous reefs and shoals offshore, it was not even a success as a port and served mainly as a point at which small vessels could put in with illicit cargoes. However, it had not been considered a suitable location for the Bostonian Lady to land the consignment of Caplock rifles. There were ugly rumors that a number of the wrecks which had occurred in the vicinity might not have been accidental, but were caused through the ships being lured to destruction by the local inhabitants.
Although the time was close to midnight, most of the houses still had lamps burning and people moving about in them. Laughter, shouts, a rumble of conversation and music sounded from the largest building in the center of the town. However, while there did not appear to be anybody on the single street, the girl and the two young men were conscious of being watched.
“Blast it!” Di muttered, nodding toward the noisy and well illuminated building, but holding her voice down to little more than a whisper. “I was hoping that Cole Turtle’d be closed down afore we got here.”
“The trouble with you is that you want everything too easy,” Ole Devil replied, just as quietly and without relaxing his vigilance any more than the girl had while speaking. “What would this life of ours be without a little challenge or two and a few difficulties?”
“A damned sight easier,” Di stated, sotto voce. “Which I’d sooner it son-of-bitching was, but don’t reckon it’s ever likely to get to be. And I don’t want any old Nipponese sayings that you’ve just made up!”
“Humble self was not going to say a word,” Tommy answered, the girl’s last sentence having been addressed to him. “Let honorable and illustrious companions make foolish conversation while I keep watch over them.”
“Why thank you ’most to death,” Di sniffed, then went on as if to herself. “Damned if I know which of ’em’s the worst. Ain’t neither the one to improve on the other.”
Glancing quickly at Di, Ole Devil found nothing to lessen his admiration for the way in which she was bearing up under what had been—and still was—a period of dire tribulation and anxiety.
Doc Kimberley had done everything in his power, but Ewart Brindley’s condition was still critical. Nor could moving him have been achieved without much pain and the risk of aggravating his injury still further. Yet there was a definite limit to how long he could be allowed to stay where he was. Not only was the weather far from ideal for a badly wounded man to be out of doors, even though a shelter had been made for him, the area he was in might—in fact, probably would-be unsafe in the near future. Even accepting that Major Abrahan Phillipe Gonzales de Villena y Danvila’s deserted mozo had spoken the truth, it would only be a matter of a few days before the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment put in an appearance. There was also the possibility that Madeline de Moreau might gather sufficient assistance, either from renegades or the Mexican Army, to make another bid at capturing the assignment. So the old man would have to be taken somewhere beyond their reach.
For all the great concern she was feeling over the welfare of her grandfather and Joe Galton, who was her adoptive brother and companion since they had been children, the girl had neither said nor done anything that would have interfered with the work in which she was involved. Instead, she had accepted that both were receiving the best possible care and had given her full attention to dealing with the urgent problem of transporting the consignment.
With time of such vital importance, and there having been nowhere else close by from which a mare might be obtained, Ole Devil had set out for the town as soon as it was possible.’ Being aware of the inhabitants’ well-deserved unsavory reputation, he had realized that the visit would entail a considerable element of danger. He had doubted that, even though it might be to their advantage to gain independence from the rule of Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, they would allow thoughts of how useful the five hundred Caplock rifles would be in their fellow Texians’ struggle against the numerical superiority of the Mexican Army to override their predatory instincts. The weapons were too tempting a prize for them to ignore and he had sufficient worries on his hands already without creating more.
However, with Company “C” of the Texas Light Cavalry already subdivided by the need to maintain a circle of pickets around Santa Cristobal Bay as well as guarding the consignment and the mule train, he was unable to bring a strong enough force to ensure his safety. In fact, but for one detail, he would have restricted his party to himself and the little Oriental.
There was a man in San Phillipe, no more law abiding than his neighbors, who owed Ewart Brindley a debt of gratitude and could be counted upon to repay it. As he was, or had been, a leader of the community, his support could spell the difference between success and failure. However, being of a suspicious nature, he would not have accepted either a verbal or a written request from the wounded pack master if it was delivered by someone with whom he was not acquainted. Galton was still too weakened by his injury to make the hard and fast ride which the situation required. So Di, who Cole Turtle knew and liked, had been given the task of enlisting his aid.
In spite of their hopes that they might find an ally at San Phillipe, the girl and her companions had made certain preparations which they believed would improve their chances of survival.
Di had on a long and bulky wolf skin jacket and it did much to conceal her well-rounded feminine curves as well as the pistol and knife on her waist belt. By drawing down the wide brim of her low-crowned, fawn-colored hat—which had been hanging with the coat on her saddle when the Bostonian Lady’s captain had studied her on his arrival at Santa Cristobal Bay—she could partially hide her features and her hair was short enough to attract no attention.
For his part, Ole Devil had retained his armament—with the exception of the saber—which he had left in Mannen Blaze’s care—but exchanged his riding breeches for a pair of yellowish-brown civilian Nankeen trousers from his war bag. However, apart from donning a hat to be used for the same purpose as the girl’s head gear, lessening the chances of his Oriental features being noticed. Tommy had not made any alterations to his attire, weapons, or appearance.
As an added precaution, in case they should be seen arriving—which Di had claimed was practically inevitable—the two had made a wide detour around the town and were approaching it along the trail from the north. From what they could see and hear, taken with the sensation of being watched, they decided that the additional distance which they had been compelled to cover so as to mislead such observers was worthwhile.
Drawing closer to the large building without being challenged or molested, Di and the two young men became aware of a shape on the porch at the right of the open front door. Conveying an impression of considerable size and bulk but wearing a high crowned black sombrero and a serape which covered it from head to foot, the figure was squatting with Its back against the wall and appeared to be asleep.
“Could he’s good ole Cole Turtle’s still the head he-hooper around these parts,” the girl hissed, relief plain in her voice “That there’s his man, Charlie Slow-Down, I telled you about. There’s a full loaded and cocked blunderbuss under his serape, which he’s never been slow to use it. But do and say like I told you and we’ll be all right—I hope’”
“That’s what I like,” Ole Devil answered, studying the motionless shape. “A girl with confidence in her own advice.”
“Ancient and wise Nipponese saying—” Tommy began.
“That’s all we need!” Di groaned.
“Woman seldom speaks with wisdom,” the little Oriental continued blandly. “And when she does, it is by accident.”
“If things go wrong,” the girl whispered, “I know who I hope gets shot first—and where he’s hit.”
For all their quietly spoken banter, Di, Ole Devil and Tommy appreciated that, far from being over, their problems could soon reach a crisis. The conversation was a way of reducing the tension which all of them were experiencing.
While confident that Cole Turtle would do what he could to help, Di had never minimized the risks involved by going to ask him for it. Strangers had never been made welcome in San Phillipe, unless they were sufficiently well armed and tough enough to make expressions of disapproval from the population inadvisable. What was more, almost two years had elapsed since her last visit. Turtle might have left during that time, or have lost his position of authority. Should either have happened, the trio might find it impossible to achieve their purpose. It could even prove difficult for them to escape with their lives.
Unfortunately, as the girl and her companions realized, the presence of Charlie Slow-Down in his usual position could not be regarded as conclusive evidence that the man whom they were hoping to contact was available. While the big Caddo Indian had acted as Turtle’s bodyguard, he could have transferred his loyalties to the new owner if the San Phillipe Hotel—by which grandiloquent name the establishment was known—had changed hands. However, they were aware that it was too late for them to turn back and attempt to satisfy their curiosity by some other, safer, means.
Neither increasing nor slowing their pace, although Tommy returned the arrow to his quiver, the trio brought their mounts to a halt in front of the building and at the unoccupied half of the hitching rail. While doing so, they looked across at the half a dozen horses tethered on the other side. There was nothing significant about the various styles of saddles on the animals. It would be many years before the low homed, double girthed rig—designed for the specialized needs of the cattle industry as it would be practiced in the Lone Star State xxxv —became almost de rigueur for Texians. Many colonists still used the outfits which they had brought with them, or sat Mexican saddles purchased locally. On dismounting. Tommy hung the bow and quiver over his saddle horn. Effective as they would have been in the event of attempts to molest his party during the ride through the town, he preferred to rely upon his daisho of swords when on foot and at close quarters. However, Di and Ole Devil retained their rifles. Nor did they set the hammers at half cock before, having hung their reins over the hitching rail, they stepped on to the sidewalk.
“Saludos, Charlie Slow-Down,” Ole Devil greeted, as he had been instructed by the girl, taking a buckskin pouch from the inside pocket of his shirt. “Ewart Brindley sent this snuff and said he’d be obliged if you’d keep an eye on our horses and gear while we’re inside.”
There was no verbal response to the request. However, a thick left wrist emerged from beneath the serape. Deciding that—with the possible exception of Mannen Blaze’s hands —the upturned palm was the largest he had ever seen, Ole Devil dropped the pouch into it. Closing, the fist disappeared and the mound of humanity became as motionless as before.
Satisfied that he had carried out and been accepted in a proscribed ritual, the Texian wished he had been given some indication of the state of affairs which was awaiting his party inside the hotel. Not that he gave any sign of his feelings. In fact, he had a gasconading swagger in his walk as, with the Browning rifle cradled on the crook of his left arm, he led the way across the porch. With the girl and the little Oriental following on either side and about a pace to the rear, he paused to let his eyes grow accustomed to the glare of the well-lit interior. Then he stepped through the double doors and his friends followed him.
The lateness of the hour did not appear to be having any adverse effect upon trade in the hotel’s barroom. There were a number of men in various styles of clothing ranging from Eastern suits to buckskins and Mexican charro garments, but all had one thing in common. Everyone was well armed, with pistols, knives, or both. A number of white, Latin and Indian girls in garish costumes circulated among the customers and helped to ensure that the two bartenders behind the counter —made from planks set on empty barrels—were kept occupied in dispensing their wares. Although the band, which was comprised of a piano, two fiddlers and a trumpeter, continued to play with no reduction of volume, conversations died away. Cold, hard, watchful eyes turned in the newcomers’ direction.
Advancing to Ole Devil’s right, with enough room for her to turn the rifle she was carrying into a firing position if the need arose, Di tried to walk in a cockily masculine fashion. She also scanned the room from beneath the drawn down brim of her hat, searching for the man who could mean the trio would achieve their purpose and be allowed to go without hindrance. Reaching a table in the right-hand rear corner, she was hard put to hold down an exclamation of relief.
There were many people in Texas and along the lower reaches of the Mississippi River who would not have shared the girl’s satisfaction over seeing the man who was responsible for it. In fact, they would have regarded such an emotion as peculiar when it was directed at Cole Turtle.
Even sitting down, Turtle was obviously tall and built on a massive scale. Completely bald, his fat and from a distance (but not when close enough to notice his hard eyes) jovial face sported an enormous black mustache. He wore an expensive gray cutaway coat, white shirt with a ruffed front and Nankeen trousers tucked into riding boots. Evidence of his prosperity was given by a couple of diamond rings and the pearl stickpin in his scarlet silk cravat. A good quality percussion-fired pistol lay close to his big right fist and there were four stacks of gold coins in front of him. Tossing down his cards, he let out a thunderous guffaw of laughter and scooped in the money which had formed the pot in the hand of poker which had just ended.
None of the other five players in the game appeared to find their heavily built host’s actions amusing. Instead, they scowled at him and one angrily gathered the cards ready to continue. Ignoring his companions, Turtle glanced at the newcomers. After one quick look, he neither moved nor gave any indication of being aware that the trio had entered. For all that, he felt uneasy.
One of Charlie Slow-Down’s functions was to prevent unauthorized visitors from coming in with such readily accessible weapons as the rifles carried by two of the new arrivals. Nor had he ever failed in the duty. Yet despite there being something which seemed vaguely familiar about the tall young man. Turtle could not remember having met him. Nor, due to the positions of their hats, could the hotelkeeper identify the other two.
Conscious of Turtle’s scrutiny, brief as it had been, Di wished that she could inform her companions that this was the man they had come to meet. However, such was her faith in Ole Devil and Tommy, she felt sure that such an explanation would not be necessary. She had described Turtle for their benefit while riding to the town. Men of their ability could be counted upon to keep their eyes open and wits about them under such trying conditions. So they were sure to have already seen him and made a correct identification.
While the Texian and the little Oriental were justifying the girl’s faith in their powers of observation, having noticed that Turtle was present, they were not devoting their entire attention to him. Instead, once they had seen and recognized him, they were studying the other occupants of the room.
Some of the furnishings of the barroom, particularly the counter, left much to be desired in style and elegance and made one fitting seem out of place. Taken from a wrecked vessel—which had gone aground on a local reef—having survived the impact and being brought ashore in a small boat, a large mirror was attached to the wall behind the bar. It was a fixture regarded with mixed feelings by the customers. However, as three men had already been killed because their behavior had been considered a menace to its existence and safety, it was now an accepted feature of the hotel.
While crossing the room, Ole Devil and Tommy were taking advantage of the mirror’s most controversial and, to some of the clientele’s way of thinking, objectionable qualities. Looking at the reflections on its surface, which was cleaned daily even though other parts of the establishment might not be, they were able to watch the people to their rear as well as keeping those in front and to either side under observation. They could tell that their arrival was a source of considerable interest and speculation, but that was only to have been expected. Strangers must be even rarer in San Phillipe since the struggle for independence had commenced than they had been in more peaceful times.
However, in spite of their curiosity, the majority of the customers had no intention of attempting to satisfy it. Many of them were residents of the town and most of the remainder had visited the hotel often enough to be aware of its most stringently enforced rule. Not only did the tall young man look as mean as hell and might prove dangerous if riled, but the fact that he and one of his companions carried rifles was significant. It suggested that they were sufficiently trusted by Cole Turtle to have the right to be armed in such a manner. Visitors who were less favored were compelled by Charlie Slow-Down to leave outside all but the weapons upon their persons.
Four men, who were occupying a table to the left of the door, struck Ole Devil as being more than casually interested in his party’s arrival. Dressed in the kind of clothing which would evolve into the attire of the Texas cowhand, they were unshaven and travel-stained. Empty plates, a coffeepot and cups in front of them implied that they had not been present for long. In fact, even as the Texian gave the quartet his attention, a girl with a tray arrived and cleared the table.
Although Ole Devil could not recollect the circumstances, he was certain that he had come into contact with at least one of the quartet recently. However, he was unable to make a more extensive examination. Seated with his back to the trio, the man had been looking over his shoulder. Then, turning his head to the front, he began to speak to his companions.
Before the Texian could decide whether he was correct in his assumption, he saw certain disturbing movements by the rest of the quartet. The man nearest to the door and the one at the far side of the table dropped their hands out of his range of vision. However, the behavior of the last man supplied a clue to what they might be doing. He reached across with his right hand and grasped the butt of the pistol which was thrust through the left side of his belt. Before he could draw the weapon, an angry comment from the first to have attracted Ole Devil’s attention caused him to refrain. If the way in which he glared at the mirror was any guide, he had been warned that his actions might have been seen via its reflection. He did not appear to be too pleased with what he was told next, but scowled and spoke heatedly.
After a brief discussion, the man with his back to Ole Devil shoved aside his chair and stood up. The rest also rose, with the second and third of them taking care to keep their right hands concealed behind their backs. Throwing another brief look across the room, the first man strode out of the door.
Suddenly, Ole Devil’s memory clicked. Unless he was mistaken, the man had been a member of Madeline de Moreau’s gang of renegades and had fled with her when Company “C” had put in its appearance to rout them.
Even as Ole Devil was reaching his conclusions regarding the identity of the man who was leaving the San Phillipe Hotel, he became aware of something else. Instead of following Dodd, as he remembered having heard their companion called, the other three from the table were walking toward the bar. They might merely be intending to buy drinks, but he doubted it.
In fact, the young Texian felt sure that two of the approaching men were holding cocked pistols concealed behind their backs!
If that was so, there could be only one reason for the three renegades’ actions!