Eagerly urging their horses forward Arnaldo Verde and his three white companions began to close together as they bore down on their intended victims. Each of the quartet used his spurs as an encouragement to make his mount run faster, wanting to make sure that they arrived before the young Texian could reload his rifle.
Watching the men approaching, Diamond-Hitch Brindley was very worried and her earlier annoyance returned. She had been revising her opinion about the possible capabilities of her rescuer, deciding that he might be much less of the fancily-dressed dude she had first thought After the way in which he had discharged his weapon’s only bullet, she concluded that his method of dealing with the bear must have stemmed from ignorance and reckless folly and not out of a courageous calculation of the dangers it involved. There was, Di knew, no way that he could go through the time-consuming process of reloading any type of rifle with which she was acquainted before the quartet reached them.
That was where Di and the four men were making the same mistake. It was an error caused by ignorance, although pardonable under the circumstances.
At first sight, the weapon in Ole Devil Hardin’s hands appeared to be a so-called ‘Kentucky’ rifle xvii of the kind which had long been popular in the more easterly of the United States; although it was being supplanted by the heavier calibered and shorter ‘Mississippi’ models west of that mighty river. However, a close examination would have revealed that it possessed several features which were not incorporated in die design of the standard ‘Kentucky’ flintlock, or the ‘Mississippi’ caplock. Most noticeable difference was the hammer being set underneath the rifle, just in front of the trigger-guard. There had been a few ‘under-hammer’ pieces made, but they had never been common, or popular, due to the difficulty of retaining the priming powder in the frizzen pan. Neither had any of them carried a lever on the right side of the frame, nor had an aperture cut through it An omission which might have aroused comment was a ramrod, for it was not supplied with the means to carry one beneath the barrel. The latter item was, in fact, not needed.
The action which Verde had noticed Ole Devil carrying out, but unfortunately for his party had failed to understand, was the remarkably easy process of loading a Browning Slide Repeating rifle. Once the original preparations had been made, it did not require a powder flask, patch, ball and ramrod.
The rectangular metal bar which Ole Devil had taken from the pouch on the rear of his belt was, in reality, the rifle’s magazine. Five chambers had been drilled in the front of the bar, that having been the number Jonathan Browning had considered most suitable for convenient handling; although he produced models with a greater capacity if requested Each chamber had a hole at the rear to take a percussion cap.
After firing a shot a thrust with the right thumb on the lever caused the magazine to move through the aperture in the receiver so that die next chamber was in place. Not only did the mechanism lock the magazine into position, but thrust it forward until a gas-tight seal was formed against the bore of the barrel As a further aid to ease of operation, the proximity of the hammer to the right forefinger allowed it to be cocked without the need to remove the butt from the shoulder. xviii
So Ole Devil did not have any need to reload in die normal fashion. Lowering the rifle as if he was compelled to had been done to make the quartet believe they had nothing to fear and to lure them closer.
When Verde and the three white men were about a hundred and fifty yards away, ignoring the muttering from the girl at his side—although he could hear that it consisted of profane comments about what she assumed to have been his stupidity in emptying his weapon—the Texian returned the butt to his right shoulder. He had already pressed on the operating lever and watched the magazine creeping through the aperture. With all ready for aligning the sights, he manipulated the hammer with his right forefinger.
Sighting at Al along the forty and five-sixteenths of an inch octagonal barrel, Ole Devil selected him because his rifle was most probably unfired and, at that distance he would be the most dangerous of the four. Squeezing the trigger, the Texian felt the thrust of the recoil. Although smoke swirled briefly between them, his shooting instincts told him that he had held true.
Caught in the chest by a .45 caliber bullet, Al was knocked backwards from his saddle and the rifle pirouetted out of his hand. The other three men were surprised that their intended victim had been able to fire as they had not seen him do anything which they could identify as recharging his weapon.
‘What the hell—?’ Soapy ejaculated, glaring from Verde to Mucker.
‘It must have two barrels!’ the vaquero answered, although he had a suspicion that was incorrect. ‘Keep going, if s empty now!’
As double-barreled rifles were not uncommon, Soapy and Mucker were inclined to accept Verde’s solution. However, they were puzzled to see Ole Devil was still lining the rifle. So was the vaquero, but his thoughts on the matter ended in consternation as he realized that the strange weapon was being directed towards him. Before he could do anything to save himself, it spoke again. Shot in the head, he crumpled from his horse and was dead by the time his body struck the ground.
‘What the hell kind of gun’s that?’ Mucker wailed, trying to slow down his racing horse.
‘Come on!’ Soapy ordered, being made of sterner stuff than his lanky companion. ‘It must be empty now.’
Seeing that the last two men were not turning aside, as he had hoped they would, Ole Devil made ready to deal with them. He took no pleasure in what he was having to do, but knew he had no other choice. Not only were the approaching pair traitors to Texas, but neither of them would hesitate to kill him, or the girl, if they were given the chance. Should they capture the girl after disposing of him, her fate was likely to be worse than a quick death.
Operating the mechanism of the Browning, Ole Devil turned its barrel towards Soapy. While Mucker was doing as his companion had ordered, he showed less resolution and was allowing the other man to draw ahead.
Finding himself the object of their intended victim’s attentions, Soapy thrust out and sighted his pistol as well as he could from the back of his galloping mount He stood up on his stirrup irons, letting the empty rifle slip from under his leg, in an attempt to form a steadier base for his efforts. Fifty yards was a long range for a hand-gun, but he had seen sufficient of the Texian’s marksmanship not to chance holding his fire until he was closer. The pistol bellowed and the sound coming so close to the horse’s ear caused it to swerve.
Although the bullet threw up dirt between Old Devil’s feet without harming him, the shot was not entirely wasted. Squeezing the rifle’s trigger, he saw his target swing aside and, being too late to prevent the discharge, knew that he had missed.
Thrusting down on the lever with his right thumb, Ole Devil switched his aim to Mucker as the magazine crept onwards to position the final chamber in front of the barrel’s bore. The lanky man might be allowing his companion to take the lead, but he still held a loaded weapon. Ignoring Soapy, the Texian turned loose his last available bullet Attempting to steer his mount so as to put Soapy between them, Mucker caught the lead in his right shoulder. Screeching in agony, he lost his balance and toppled from the saddle.
That still left Soapy!
Seeing that he had missed with his pistol, he regained control of his horse and sent it tearing onwards. Hurling the empty weapon ahead of him, he saw Ole Devil fend it off with the barrel of the rifle. Reaching for one of the pistols which were hanging in their holsters from his saddlehorn, he knew that he would need time to open the flap and draw it Guiding the horse straight at the Texian, so as to ride him down, Soapy hoped to gain it Just a moment too late, he realized that the ‘boy’ was raising a pistol in both hands and lining it at him.
‘Take him, Di!’ Ole Devil yelled as he threw himself aside, hoping that the girl would at least be able to create a diversion.
Even as the Texian moved and shouted, he heard the deep-throated boom of a pistol. Looking up, he saw Soapy’s head slam back and the hat flying from it. The speeding horse missed Ole Devil by inches as it passed between him and the girl. Its rider’s lifeless body was already starting to slide from its back as it went by.
After glancing to where Mucker was sprawled face down and motionless, having been knocked unconscious when he landed from the fall, Ole Devil turned his gaze to Di. She was lowering the smoking Manton pistol and did not appear to be distressed, or even greatly concerned by having had to kill a man.
However, as it had been because of him that her life had been endangered, the Texian doubted whether his standing with her grandfather would be improved.