Looking at Beatriz Alvarez as he rode alongside her four-horse coach, Ole Devil Hardin wondered if he might have committed a serious error of judgment the previous night. Until he had discovered Captain Alphonso Escalier’s identity (one of the killers at the Goliad massacre) he had been content to act out the part of a character who was willing to let the woman act as peacemaker. However, on learning that Escalier was one of the officers actively involved in the massacre of Fannin’s command at Goliad, he had behaved in such a way that an attack was provoked thereby allowing him to take the appropriate action in return.
Nothing Beatriz had said or done after the killing suggested her feelings went beyond concern for the safety of the money which she had collected and was delivering to General José Urrea. While she had been impressed by Ole Devil’s astute deduction, she had neither confirmed nor denied that the money had been donated for the purpose of overthrowing Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. The young Texian had been too wise to press the matter in the face of her obvious reluctance to discuss it. Instead, he had repeated his offer to accompany her and had assured her that he would be able to overcome any objections to his presence raised by the members of her original escort. Apparently satisfied that he could be trusted, she had accepted and asked him to be her guest while she ate.
During the meal and until retiring for the night, Beatriz had proved attentive. She had shown a friendly interest in Ole Devil, which had seemed to hold a possibility of developing into a much more intimate acquaintance in the near future if he played his card’s right. It was, he conceded, very well done, and he felt sure that more than one man had fallen for similar treatment.
For his part, the young Texian had stuck to the storyline that he had arranged with his companions. They had discussed it in order to ensure that there would be no major discrepancies if they should be questioned at a later date. He had left the woman with the impression that he was a former officer in the Prussian Army whose ambitions had caused him to leave his homeland under a cloud. Questioned about his presence in Texas, he had explained that he was there trying to make his fortune, and had been serving Santa Anna as a combined spy and raider. By the time he was through describing some of his ‘activities’, he felt sure that she regarded him as being tough, ruthless and not over-burdened with scruples. The type of adventurer, in fact, who would be willing to take part in any kind of dangerous endeavor—even if it would mean turning against a former employer —provided that it was profitable.
The promises he had made to Beatriz regarding her escort did not prove too difficult for him to keep. Although he had doubted whether the soldiers would be in any condition to resume hostilities, he still took the precaution of making sure they did not come into contact with Mannen Blaze and Tommy Okasi. When the sergeant was conscious enough to understand what was said, Beatriz and Ole Devil told him of Escalier’s death. As the captain had not been the type of officer to inspire loyalty or respect, the news had had little effect. Moreover, the non-com had heard enough to gather that the woman was not pleased about the fight between the escort and their opponents. Knowing the kind of influence she wielded, he decided it would be advisable not to attempt reprisals.
That morning, before moving off, Beatriz had informed the escort that Ole Devil’s party would be travelling with them. Despite their antipathy towards gringos and Indians, the six soldiers had not raised any strenuous objections to the young Texian assuming command. In addition to the woman having stated that she was in agreement with the idea, they had all been in the army for long enough to recognize a real tough leader when confronted by one. There was a brief spell of sullenness, but after Ole Devil had turned the full force of his personality upon them, Beatriz noticed that they were soon moving with an alacrity that was usually accorded only to Major Carlos Badillo.
For all that Ole Devil had apparently earned the woman’s approbation, he could not help speculating on how the news of Escalier’s death would be received by Urrea and the other officers.
The young Texian’s thoughts on the subject were brought to an abrupt end. They were about eight miles beyond the Posada del Madonna, on the trail leading to Urrea’s hacienda. Riding at the head of the column, Sergeant Moreno let out a yell and pointed to the left. Looking in that direction, Ole Devil had no difficulty in locating the cause of the non-com’s actions.
A number of horsemen were coming into view over a ridge about half a mile away. There appeared to be around two dozen of them. All but one were bareheaded, with shoulder long black hair. The exception had on the attire of a vaquero and appeared to be the only Mexican present. Of the remainder, some wore no more than breechclouts and moccasins. Others had on either buckskin vests or odd items—such as jackets, shirts or trousers—of more civilized origin. All, including the exception, were well armed. Their weapons were a mixture of rifles, lances, or bows and arrows.
‘It’s the Yaquis!’ Moreno bellowed, setting his spurs to the flanks of his horse. ‘Whip up the team, driver!’
‘Don’t do that!’ Ole Devil contradicted in a roar, sending his dun stallion bounding forward so that he could glare up at the soldier sitting on the coach’s box. ‘Stop the team, Man—Otto!’
Although the stress of the moment almost led the young Texian into an indiscretion, like his cousin the previous evening he managed to steer clear of a possibly dangerous error. His last words had been in English, but he suspected Beatriz had an extensive knowledge of that language and she might have noticed the use of the name ‘Mannen’ instead of ‘Otto’, remembering it at a later time if there should be questions raised regarding their true identities.
‘Stop the team, driver!’ Ole Devil supplemented in Spanish.
On the point of carrying out Moreno’s order, the soldier was startled by the savage timbre of the young Texian’s voice. Like his companions, he had been impressed by Ole Devil’s aura of authority. So he ignored the sergeant and, even as Mannen came alongside the right hand lead horse, he began to apply the brake with his boot and haul back on the reins.
‘What—?’ Beatriz wailed, having watched the Yaquis in such concern that Ole Devil’s words had not registered with her.
The alarmed squawk which burst from the woman was caused when she felt the coach brought to a halt instead of increasing its pace. While the deceleration was not excessively violent, it pitched her forward. Thrusting her hands ahead, she prevented herself from being thrown across the coach. Twisting around and flopping on the other seat, she stared out of the window. What she saw did nothing to make her less nervous.
At the command of the renegade who was leading them, the Yaquis sent their wiry little horses bounding forward. Waving their weapons and whooping war yells, they started to gallop towards the trail. Allowing them to go ahead of him, the Mexican followed at a slightly less reckless pace.
‘Dismount, you men! ‘Ole Devil yelled, reining his dun to a halt as soon as he saw the driver was obeying him. His words were directed at the Lancers. Springing from the saddle, he continued, ‘Form a line on the side of the trail between the coach and the Yaquis.’
While he was speaking, the young Texian’s right hand closed on the wrist of the Browning Slide Repeating rifle’s butt and he began to draw it from the saddle boot. Showing an equal speed, Tommy quit his mount’s back. The little Oriental led his horse forward and snatched the dun’s reins from Ole Devil’s hands. Taking both animals to the rear of the coach, he fastened them to the lashings of the boot. Then he pulled his bow from the loops on his saddle.
Guessing what his cousin had in mind, Mannen dismounted. Before he took out his rifle, he led his horse to the right side door of the coach and secured its reins around a lantern bracket. With that done, he wasted no time in extracting the Browning. Reaching behind his back to pull a magazine from his belt’s pouch, he ran to where Ole Devil was standing.
Working with swift and unhurried speed, the slender young Texian was already preparing his weapon for use. Having no need to watch what he was doing, so skilled was he at loading the rifle, he was able to give most of his attention to the Lancers. Although Moreno had been ahead of the coach, the remainder of the escort were bringing up the rear. So, with the trail blocked by the vehicle, they were compelled to stop regardless of their inclinations.
‘Dismount and form a line!’ Ole Devil repeated in a commanding bellow, feeling the magazine stick as it reached the position from which its first loaded chamber was in alignment with the bore. ‘Pronto!’
It said much for the standard of discipline instilled by Badillo that the five Lancers responded as quickly as they did. They had learned that instant and rapid obedience to orders was less painful than acting in the tardy, unhurried manner which was the rule rather than the exception with the majority of Mexican soldiers. Without waiting to think, the men dismounted. Allowing their horses’ one-piece reins to dangle, they ran to the left side of the trail. Holding their rifles, they formed a line between the coach and the rapidly approaching Yaquis.
The firearms had been one of the reasons why Ole Devil had decided to stand and fight. Taken from the men of Fannin’s slaughtered command, they were of the type already being called ‘Mississippi’, or ‘Plains’ rifles. Shorter and of heavier caliber than the kind known as ‘Kentucky’ xxxix rifles, they had the advantage of being percussion fired and had been issued to the Tamaulipa Rifles as being more effective than their traditional weapons. xl
From what Ole Devil could see, Beatriz had been correct when—making conversation at breakfast that morning—she had claimed the Lancers were well trained in the use of their new weapons. That showed in the way the soldiers brought the rifles to their shoulders, cocked the hammers, but held their fire.
Hardly able to believe his ears, Sergeant Moreno looked back as his horse was speeding along the trail. Discovering that the gringo’s orders were being obeyed, he guided his mount around and headed towards the coach. Snatching the two pistols—also part of the loot taken from the Texians at Goliad—from the holsters on his saddle horn, he almost threw himself from his horse and rushed towards Ole Devil.
‘What’re you doing?’ the non-com bawled, realizing that the delay had ruined their already faint chances of out-running their attackers. ‘We’ll all be killed stop—’
‘Shut your mouth, you damned fool!’ Ole Devil interrupted, glaring at him in a way that reminded Moreno of Major Badillo in a temper. It brought an immediate end to his protest. ‘Guard Senora Alvarez, Tommy. Sergeant, come and take charge of your men. Don’t let any of them open fire until there’s no chance of them missing. All right, Otto, let’s go.’
The young Texian’s last five words had been in English, preventing the soldiers from understanding them. So there were a few startled exclamations as he and Mannen started to walk towards the approaching horsemen.
Staring through the window of the coach, Beatriz was as puzzled as the soldiers by Ole Devil’s behavior. However, everything had happened so quickly that she still had not recovered her wits. Her first thoughts were alarming that the Texians might be collaborating with the renegades and had stopped the coach to make sure she fell into the Yaquis’ hands. Before she could put this very perturbing notion into words, her doubts were resolved.
Studying the way their proposed victims were acting, the charging Yaquis were more delighted than perturbed. Even seeing the soldiers’ rifles being trained on them did not cause them any undue alarm. They still had something over four hundred yards to cover and were, as yet, well out of range. Even when they came closer, the soldiers would only have time to fire one shot each. Nor would that be too dangerous. Past experience had taught the braves how to deal with such a situation. Seeing the puffs of smoke leaving the priming pans, they could slip over and hang alongside their mounts’ flanks before the bullets were propelled from the barrels. Similar tactics had always worked in the past and they saw no reason why the present occasion should be any different.
‘Stand still, all of you!’ Ole Devil commanded, catching a movement out of the corner of his eye which suggested that at least one of the Lancers was starting to advance. ‘Keep them back and under control, sergeant.’
‘Do it, all of you!’ Moreno snarled, his face showing puzzlement. ‘Hold your fire until I give you the word.’
While the Yaquis were surprised to see the civilians coming towards them, they attached no special significance to the sight. Nor did they feel that there was any greatly increased danger as the pair started to bring up their rifles. Each brave paid extra attention only in the hope of discovering whether he was to be selected as a target, but none of them attempted to slow down.
Measuring the separating distance with his eyes, Ole Devil estimated it to be about three hundred yards. A long range, but adequate for his needs.
‘Now!’
Hearing his cousin’s word, Mannen stopped and settled the butt of the Browning more firmly against his shoulder. At his side, also having come to a halt, Ole Devil was taking just as careful an aim.
Two forefingers tightened on triggers!
When the rifles’ charges detonated, the Yaqui braves received what was to be their first shock. The Brownings’ mechanisms did not require an external priming pan, which meant there was no warning eruption of smoke. So both bullets were on their way before the Indians could think of taking the anticipated evasive action.
A horse, inadvertently hit by Mannen’s lead, went down. Displaying great skill, its rider cut loose from its back as it fell and contrived to land on his feet without injury. One of his companions was less fortunate. Caught in the chest by the shot that Ole Devil had fired, the brave slid backwards from his saddle, dying.
Brave as they were, a sense of alarm swept through the rest of the attackers. Nor did what happened next dispel their fears. However, it was reduced slightly when the two Texians continued to hold the rifles to their shoulders.
Whatever thoughts the Yaquis might have regarding Ole Devil and Mannen’s apparent madness in not doing anything they could recognize as starting to reload, none of them even came close to suspecting the truth. Few of them had ever seen even a double-barreled weapon, and the idea of one that could fire several shots in succession was beyond their comprehension, particularly when it could be done with the ease of the rifles in the two young Texians’ hands.
‘What are those loco gringos doing?’ demanded one of the Lancers, having no greater appreciation than the Indians of the Brownings’ capabilities.
‘I’m damned if I know,’ Sergeant Moreno admitted, scowling at the two Texians. ‘Get ready to run for your horses after you’ve fi—’
Oblivious of the advice that was being given to the escort, Ole Devil and Mannen were working their weapons’ simple mechanisms. Neither looked at the other, but they had worked together so many times that the rifles spoke practically at the same instant.
The second pair of shots came completely unexpected to the Yaquis. This time, Mannen had held higher and his bullet tumbled a brave wearing a looted shirt from the back of a fast moving pony. Although Ole Devil’s shot only wounded a man in the shoulder, the effect was satisfactory. Startled exclamations, which were duplicated by the equally amazed Lancers, burst from the remainder of the raiders. To add to their consternation, they saw that the Texians still did not offer to lower the rifles.
While putting the magazines through the reloading cycle, Ole Devil and Mannen selected their next objectives. Making sure of his aim, knowing that his life might depend upon it, the former killed a brave who was drawing back his bow ready to loose an arrow. Sighting with equal care, Mannen scored an impressive—if lucky—hit by knocking the flintlock musket which was being pointed at him out of its user’s hands.
To have been fired upon twice was disturbing enough for the braves, but seeing the weapons discharged yet again increased their consternation. Brave as they undoubtedly were under normal circumstances, the unexplained always filled them with dread. Nothing they had ever come into contact with before helped them to understand how the two Texians could continue to shoot with firearms that ought to have been empty after a single shot each. To the Yaquis’ way of thinking, there could be only one explanation for the gringos ability to keep on dealing out death.
‘Spirit guns!’ the warrior at the right end of the line screeched, putting his companions’ thoughts into words and reining his horse aside as he decided that one of the magical weapons was being turned his way. ‘They’re magic! Flee before they kill us all!’
‘Spirit guns!’ echoed the other warriors. ‘Flee before we’re all killed!’
Even before Ole Devil or Mannen could squeeze off another round, the panic-stricken Yaquis were swinging their mounts away. One of them scooped up the brave whose horse had been shot, but such was the state of terror inspired by the weapons that Jonathan Browning’s advanced mechanical skill and ability had produced, they fled without making any attempt to gather their dead.
Keeping the braves between himself and their intended victims, the renegade was following about thirty yards behind them. Although he saw what was happening, he was no better informed than the Indians and was equally perturbed at the way in which the rifles were working.
Even though he realized that the weapons’ repeated fire must be frightening the superstitious warriors, the Mexican was taken unawares by the speed with which the attack was turned into a rout. Instead of having a line of men ahead of him, shielding him from reprisals, he suddenly found himself completely exposed. He snatched desperately at the reins, trying to follow the braves’ example.
‘Get that son-of-a-bitch!’ Ole Devil snapped, lining his Browning.
The command was not necessary. Like his cousin, Mannen took no pleasure in what they had been doing. So he would have been equally willing to let the fleeing Yaquis depart instead of trying to kill more of them before they were out of range. After receiving such a fright, they were unlikely to return and resume the attack. In fact, believing that their medicine had gone bad on them, they would in all probability call off their war trail and make for home as quickly as they could.
The Mexican was another matter. Leading the warriors against his own people, having them loot, burn, pillage and slaughter for his own profit, he deserved no mercy.
Aimed with deadly precision, the rifles cracked as the renegade’s horse was broadside to them. Throwing up his arms as two lead balls tore into his vital organs, he toppled out of his saddle and landed across the body of one of the braves whom he had sent to his death.
Despite their belief that they had seen the last of the Yaquis, Ole Devil and Mannen continued to watch until they had disappeared over the horizon. From their rear came excited and puzzled chatter, suggesting that the soldiers were very impressed if unable to understand exactly how the attack had been broken and the braves driven off.
When the Texians turned and walked towards them, the sergeant and the Lancers stared as if mesmerized at the rifles. White-faced, showing that she too had no idea of what had happened, Beatriz was gazing from the window of the coach.
‘How—How—?’ Sergeant Moreno began.
‘Our rifles are made so that they can fire more than one shot,’ Ole Devil replied, indicating the magazine that he had removed. ‘Have half of your men go to make sure that the renegade and the braves are dead. The rest can gather up your horses.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Moreno answered, showing admiration and none of the animosity with which he had earlier scowled at Mannen.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it!’ Beatriz declared as the Texians crossed to the vehicle. ‘When you made us stop, I didn’t know what to think.’
‘It was the only thing to do,’ Ole Devil explained. ‘There was no way the coach could have out run the Yaquis, so we had to make a stand. I was counting on our two rifles taking them by surprise. They’d never have seen anything like them.’
‘I see,’ the woman said quietly, looking from the Browning rifle to the young Texian’s face. ‘You’re right about something else, Count von Richthofen. I’m sure that General Urrea can use your services.’