Despite the fact that he arrived at Gonzales without any further difficulties or attempts upon his life, Ole Devil Hardin refused to let himself be lulled into what he suspected might be a sense of false security. Even the fact that he was now riding across the range between the town and Ewart Brindley’s property did not cause him to relax his vigilance. Rather the knowledge tended to increase it.
Having taken precautions in case the vaquero and Mucker should return with the two men who had departed earlier, Ole Devil and Tommy Okasi had made their preparations to spend the night at the hamlet. After attending to their horses and those of the dead men, they had made a meal from the rations of jerked beef and pemmican which they were carrying. Then they had resumed their investigations into the ramifications of the incident at the cantina.
A thorough search of the two bodies had produced one very significant piece of evidence. In a concealed pocket at the back of the larger corpse’s belt there had been a document bearing the Mexican coat-of-arms and a message written in Spanish. It was to inform all members of Santa Anna’s forces that the bearer, Sidney Halford, was working for the Mexican Government and must be given any assistance that he requested. Although his companion had not been in possession of a similar authorization, it was convincing proof that they were not loyal to the Republic of Texas.
Unfortunately, there had been nothing to suggest why the renegades were at the hamlet.
Being aware of the very serious issues involved, Ole Devil and Tommy had discussed the matter at great length and in detail.
First they had considered the way in which the vaquero had acted when Ole Devil had entered the cantina. If the gang had merely been awaiting the arrival of a companion, there was no reason for him to have behaved in such a manner. He might, of course, have been alerting the other members of the party to the fact that the newcomer was rather more important than a chance-passing member of the Republic of Texas’s army. However, the lanky man’s reaction to the introduction had implied that he, for one, wanted to discover who had arrived.
Against that, the gang had apparently expected only one man. If they had known who was being sent to collect the rifles, they must have acquired their knowledge from what had been said in General Samuel Houston’s office. Which meant that somebody had been able to listen to the conversation without the General and Ole Devil being aware of it. However, if that had been the case, the eavesdropper would have known that Tommy was accompanying the young Texian. Unless, as the little Oriental had pointed out, for some reason he—or she—had been prevented from hearing all that had passed between them.
There was, Ole Devil had realized, only one course open to him. If there should be a spy with the means of gathering such confidential information, the General must be warned so that he could take precautions. Producing a writing-case from his war bag, the young Texian had composed a report for Houston. In it, he had given a comprehensive description of the incident and of the conclusions which he and Tommy had reached. He had also said that he was retaining the document which identified Halford in case he might find a need for it during the assignment
The next morning, after having spent an otherwise uneventful night in the cantina, Ole Devil had sent Tommy back to San Antonio de Bexar with the report. Using one of the dead men’s horses, which the fleeing pair had been in too much of a hurry either to take with them or frighten away, the little Oriental was to ride relay. After delivering the information to Houston, he would follow and rejoin Ole Devil on the way to the rendezvous at Santa Cristobal Bay.
Taking along the second of the horses which had been left in the lean-to—the contents of the bed roll on the cantle of its ‘slick fork’ saddle, although supplying no information of greater use, suggested that it had been Halford’s property – Ole Devil had resumed his journey at dawn, Tommy was using Stiple’s mount, which had a Walker-style rig, having lost the toss of a coin to determine which of them should take it.
Once again the young Texian had not stuck to the trail. While the two men had fled and not returned, he doubted whether they and their companions would give up so easily; especially if they were aware of his assignment and were trying to prevent him from carrying it out. He had reached Guadalupe without having seen any sign of them. Visiting the town, he had found its population were preparing to take part in the withdrawal to the east
The commanding officer of the town’s small garrison had listened to Ole Devil’s story and, without having asked too many questions about the nature of his mission, had promised to send a patrol to the hamlet. They were to search along the trail on the very slender chance that the four men might still be lurking in the vicinity. Although Ole Devil had described the quartet as well as possible and the officer had said that he would try to find out if they had been seen around Guadalupe, he doubted if he would be successful as there were so many strangers present. However, he had offered to supply Ole Devil with an escort as far as Gonzales. Wanting to travel faster than would be possible if he was accompanied by a number of men, as well as having no wish to reduce the other’s already barely adequate force, the young Texian had declined the offer and had ridden on alone.
As was always his way, Ole Devil had given much thought to the situation. While he had remained alert and watchful, he had not expected to run into any trouble before he had passed through Gonzales on the final five or so miles which separated it from the Brindleys’ place. His reasoning was that if the men were hunting him because of the shipment, and had been told of at least part of the arrangements he had made in Houston’s office, they would know why he was not taking the most direct route to Santa Cristobal Bay. After the way in which he had arrived at the hamlet, they were likely to assume that he would adopt similar tactics and stay off the trail. While there were a number of ways in which he could travel from Guadalupe to Gonzales, once he had passed the latter town his route would be more restricted.
In view of his conclusions, Ole Devil was willing to bet that they would be spread out and keeping watch for him somewhere between two and four miles beyond Gonzales. Nearer to the town, or closer to the Brindleys’ ranch, any shooting would be heard and might—almost certainly would if there was more than one shot—be investigated. Now he had already entered the region where, if his assumptions were correct, he could expect to find them.
Slouching comfortably in the saddle of the borrowed horse, with the line-backed bay walking at its right side, the young Texian kept his eyes constantly on the move. He was passing through rolling, broken and bush-dotted terrain which would offer plenty of scope for ambush. What was more, there were numerous areas of high ground; vantage points from which the quartet could keep watch for him. However, it was also the kind of land that allowed a man to move without making himself too conspicuous if he knew how to utilize it and did not mind winding about instead of trying to go directly to his ultimate destination.
Since his arrival in Texas, Ole Devil had learned how to make the most use of such land when he was traversing it. Despite his upbringing, in fact because of it, he was no snob. Nor had he ever been so self-opinionated that he would not take advice and learn from those who knew what they were talking about. Working with experienced frontier men, he had watched, listened, remembered and put his findings into practice. He was doing so now as he rode along, leading the dun with its reins held in his left hand.
Having called at Gonzales and obtained advice on how to find the Brindleys’ ranch, Ole Devil had kept to the bottom of draws, or passed through areas of bushes instead of going across more easily negotiable open ground. When he had been compelled to expose himself by crossing a ridge, he had done so with great care and only after scanning every inch of the land ahead and behind.
The raucous cackle of feeding magpies came to Ole Devil’s ears as he was approaching the top of a bush-fringed rim. Suddenly, one of the black and white scavengers gave an alarm call and they rose into the air. The young Texian realized that it was not his presence which had frightened them.
Slowing down his horses, Ole Devil approached the rim with extreme care. Making use of the screen of bushes, he peered over the top. About a hundred yards away, a buckskin-clad figure carrying a rifle was walking towards the partially eaten carcass of a mule that lay in the open some thirty yards from a clump of buffalo-berry bushes,
Although the figure was dressed in a familiar manner, except that he had on Indian moccasins and leggings instead of boots, and despite the brim of the hat hiding his face as he looked down at the carcass, Ole Devil knew he was not one of the white men who had been in the cantina. About five foot seven inches tall, while neither puny nor skinny, he lacked the thickset bulk of the one who compared with him in height. In addition, he gave the impression of being younger. His horse, a black and white tobiano gelding with a ‘slick fork’ saddle that had a coiled rope strapped to its horn, but no bed roll on the cantle, was standing ground-hitched some thirty feet away. It was staring in alarmed manner at the dead mule.
The horse, Ole Devil decided, was showing better sense than its owner.
Even as the thought came, there was a rustling among the buffalo-berry bushes. Ole Devil looked that way and a sense of chilly apprehension drove through him. From all appearances, the youngster’s desire to examine the dead mule had led him into a potentially dangerous situation. Rearing up on its hind legs, a large bear loomed over the bushes. It had been lying up in the shade after feeding on the carcass, Snorting and snuffling, it stared at the intruder advancing towards its kill.
For a moment, Ole Devil was alarmed on the youngster’s behalf. Then, with a feeling of relief, he realized that the bear—despite its size—was of the black species and not, as he had first feared, a grizzly. Despite the many highly-spiced, horrifying stories told about its savage nature, Euarctos Americanus, the American black bear, was generally not especially dangerous to human beings. If the creature in the bushes had been a Texas flat-headed grizzly, the youngster’s position would have been very precarious. Fortunately for him, that part of Texas was somewhat to the east of Ursus Texensis Texensis’s range.
With the realization, Ole Devil felt the apprehension leaving him. He had no wish to advertise his presence and attract unwanted attention by shooting. All the black bears he had come into contact with had never lingered any longer than necessary in the presence of human beings, even when disturbed after having fed on a kill. It was merely curious and puzzled. Being shortsighted like all of its species, it was not sure what kind of creature was standing near its prey. However, as long as the youngster did nothing to antagonize it, there was a better than fair chance that he could withdraw in safety.
‘You mule-killing son-of-a-bitch!’
Even as Ole Devil opened his mouth to call and advise the youngster to back away slowly, the boy yelled at the bear and started to raise his rifle. Excitement, or fear, had given his voice a high pitched, almost feminine sounding timbre.
Hearing the youngster, the bear showed that it might be different in habits from most others of its species. Instead of giving a ‘whoop’ of alarm on hearing the human voice, spinning around and taking off for a safer location at all speed, it cut loose with a short, rasping and menacing, coughing noise.
Ole Devil had only once before heard a similar sound, but he had never forgotten that occasion. It had happened during a hunt in Louisiana and the bear had given just such a cough before charging through the pack of hounds to try and reach the hunters. Several bullets had been required to put the enraged beast down.
Instead of taking warning from the bear’s behavior, the youngster stood his ground. Lining the rifle, which he must have cocked as he was approaching the carcass, he squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell. There was a puff of smoke from the frizzen pan, but the main charge failed to ignite for some reason.
As if realizing what the hissing splutter from the rifle meant, the bear gave another of its threatening coughs and lurched forward.
To give the youngster credit, he might have acted in an impulsive and reckless manner by yelling and trying to shoot the bear, but he was no fool. Nor, despite how his voice had sounded, did he panic. As the bear dropped on to all fours and burst from the fringe of the buffalo-berry bushes, he let his useless rifle fall and turned. However, having already been disturbed and made nervous by the bloody carcass, or perhaps because it had caught the bear’s scent, the tobiano gelding did not wait for its master to return and mount. At the sight of the rage-bristling beast erupting into view, the horse gave a squeal of terror and, disregarding the dangling split-ended reins, bolted.
Growling a curse, Ole Devil used his spurs to set the borrowed horse into motion. Feeling the tug at its reins, the dun advanced and kept pace with its companion as they topped the ridge. However, as much as he would liked to have done, the young Texian knew he could not delay or slow down and transfer to his own mount
Once again, the youngster was displaying courage. Certainly he had sufficient good sense to keep running. He had a lead over the bear which might just about prove adequate providing that he could maintain or increase his pace. Unfortunately, he was going away from Ole Devil. To call on him to change direction would be fatal. So the young Texian kept quiet and urged his mount to a gallop. Then he discarded the dun’s reins to leave both his hands free.
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.