Ole Devil and the Caplocks (13 page)

Suddenly, Rassendyll
realized that he had been comparing the burly redhead with Ole
Devil and other more obviously competent members of the Hardin, Fog
and Blaze clan. Since being left alone with Mannen, he had grown
increasingly aware that he might have made an incorrect judgment.
Certainly, none of the detail who was guarding the consignment had
shown any concern over Ole Devil’s departure, or hesitated to carry
out Mannen’s orders. The sentry’s attitude was further evidence
that there was more to the redhead than met the eye. Such respect
had to be earned and was not given merely because the recipient had
had the good fortune to be born into the right circles.

Having noticed the way
Rassendyll had stiffened, then relaxed, but was still continuing to
gaze at him in a speculative fashion, Mannen guessed what had
caused the behavior. He was more amused than annoyed by the
Louisianan’s reaction. If it came to a point, he felt just a mite
flattered. While he had never imagined himself to be as brilliant
as his cousin Devil, he knew that he was competent enough to carry
out his duties without needing to have somebody hold his hand. Yet
it was satisfying when others, particularly a smart and capable
person like Rassendyll, also appreciated his good
qualities.

However, there were more
important matters than self-congratulation demanding Mannen’s
attention. As yet, the approaching riders were still only noises
which came ever closer.

The questions which the
burly Texian had to answer were, who they might be and, more
important, how to deal with them.

Although Mannen did not
reply to the sentry’s request for orders immediately, indecision
was not keeping him silent. Knowing the vitally important issues
which were at stake, he wanted to consider the matter before
committing himself and his men to any line of action.

Firstly, before any plans
could be made, or orders given, there was the matter of the riders’
identity to be taken into consideration.

The direction from which
the party was coming suggested that they might be members of the
Arizona Hopi
Activos
Regiment, but their apparent disregard for the need to travel
silently argued against such a solution. Suspecting that there
might be an enemy force in the vicinity, they would not be likely
to move through the darkness with so much noise. Unless, of course,
they had learned of the consignment and its location, so hoped
their behavior would lull the guards into a sense of false
security.

Other Mexican soldiers
could also be expected to come from the southwest. If they had not
made contact with the
Activos
, they might believe that
there were no Texians around and therefore see no need to take
precautions.

Or they could be
renegades. Not Madeline de Moreau’s band, who would know better
than attempt such a subterfuge. There were other gangs, any of whom
would be only too willing to make a stab at snatching off such
valuable loot if they learned about it.

On the other hand, the
riders could be members of the Republic of Texas’s Army who had
been sent to reinforce Company “C” and increase the chances of
delivering the consignment safely. They could even be engaged upon
some unconnected mission. Knowing how certain sections of the army
were conducting themselves, Mannen felt that the arrival of a party
who were on the latter kind of assignment might prove a mixed
blessing and could even be a disadvantage.

Lastly, they could be no
more than a bunch of ordinary civilians running away from the
advancing Mexican Army. Such people were likely to make for the
coast so as to join the northbound trail. Except that did not
explain why they were traveling after nightfall. If the need to do
so had been caused by the presence of a hostile force nearby, they
should at least have been attempting to move in a quieter fashion.
The fact that there had been no warning from the pickets was not
such a good sign as it might appear on the surface. There had not
been sufficient men available to set out a ring of them through
which it would be impossible for anybody to pass undetected.
However, especially as the approaching party were not even trying
to conceal their presence, they should have attracted at least one
of the pairs of lookouts’ attention. Once that had happened,
following the orders they had been given, a man should have
returned to announce that riders were coming. That such a message
had not been received aroused disturbing possibilities. If a picket
had fallen into hostile hands, they might have been tortured into
betraying their companions. In which case, the men who were coming
might act in such a way as to lessen the chances of their true
purpose being suspected.

All in all, Mannen found
himself faced with one hell of a difficult problem.

“Damn it all!” the burly
redhead told himself, with a certain doleful satisfaction which he
had found helpful as a means of reducing his tension in times of
stress. “Whatever I do about them is bound to come out
wrong.”

However, there was no sign
of indecision in the way that Mannen addressed his companions. From
various slight sounds beyond the rim, he guessed that Sergeant Dale
had also been aroused when the sentry came to tell him about the
riders and was acting in a sensible fashion.

“Head back and fetch half
of the men up here. Beau,” Mannen ordered and, for all the
lethargic way in which he was speaking, the words were a command
rather than a request to a social equal. “Hold them just below the
rim. Have Sergeant Dale keep the rest ready to fetch up the spare
rifles if they’re needed.”

“Aye aye!” Rassendyll
replied, giving the traditional seafarer’s response to an order
with an alacrity which he would not have shown five minutes
earlier.

“
Hey
there!” yelled an unmistakably Anglo-Saxon voice, which had the
tones of a poorly educated Southron’s drawl in it. “This here’s
Sammy Cope ’n’ I’m fetching in some fellers.”

“That’s young Sammy for
sure,” the sentry declared quietly. “And he don’t sound like he’s
got a knife shoved again’ his back to make him say it.”

“
It
doesn’t,” Mannen conceded, although he also realized that—while
competent to handle their duty—neither of the pickets to which the
man in question belonged could be termed the most intelligent and
discerning members of Company “C.” They were, in fact, probably the
two most likely to be duped by an enemy. So he went on, in what
could only be described as a languid commanding hiss, “Challenge
them!”

“You-all stay put
a-whiles!” called the sentry, which might fall short of a formal
“Halt, who goes there?” but proved adequate for the situation.
“Who’ve you got with you, Sammy?”

“They’re a bunch of
fellers—” the original speaker commenced, still sounding
unperturbed, as he and whoever was with him came to a halt while
still beyond the trio on the rim’s range of vision.

“I’m Major von Lowenbrau,
with a patrol of the Red River Volunteer Dragoons!” interrupted a
harder and more decisive voice, which—although speaking English
fluently—held just a trace of a German accent. “We’re coming to
speak with your officers!”

“They’re all right!”
Rassendyll breathed, having guessed at the cause of the redhead’s
perturbation and sounding relieved.

“Sure,” Mannen replied.
“You could say they’re on our side. Go fetch those fellers up
here.”

“But—” Rassendyll began,
then remembered what the redhead had told him about one aspect of
the current situation in Texas.

“Figure on them being a
guard of honor to show our respect for such an important visitor,”
Mannen suggested, before the supercargo could comment upon the
matter, his somnolent tones charged with grim urgency. “Only get
them up here pronto, but quietly and have them keep out of sight
below the rim.”

“Very good!” Rassendyll
assented and turned to hurry away.

“Damn it, man, what’s
wrong with you?” the Germanic voice of von Lowenbrau barked
irritably. “Can we advance?”

“Tell them to come ahead
real slow and easy,” Mannen ordered sotto voce, as the man by his
side looked to him for guidance. “And make them think I’m just
helping you stand guard.”

“Yo!” responded the
sentry, showing no surprise at his superior’s behavior.

One of the better informed
members of Company “C,” the enlisted man was aware of certain
conditions which were prevailing. So he understood why Mannen was
taking precautions which seemed more suitable for dealing with
enemies than greeting men who were serving on the same side in the
Texians’ struggle for independence.

Among the many problems
with which Major General Samuel Houston was having to contend was
the way that a few senior officers in the Republic of Texas’s Army
were refusing to accept orders and abusing their positions of
authority. Instead of conforming to the sound tactics he was
advocating—which consisted of withdrawing to the east until the
time, place and conditions were suitable for making a stand —two in
particular were taking advantage of the lack of an effective
disciplinary system and insisted upon conducting their own private
campaigns.

Having declared that he
had no intention of retreating and would hold the town of Goliad
under his control. Colonel James W. Fannin was retaining his force
of four hundred of the army’s best-equipped soldiers who would have
been infinitely more useful serving under Houston’s direct
command.
^xxxvii

Another of the dissidents.
Colonel Frank Johnson, was making preparations for—as he
grandiloquently put it—carrying the war to the enemy by invading
Mexico along the coast road. Using the prospect of the loot which
was waiting to be collected, he was gathering supporters for the
venture. Nor did he care from where they came, or how they might
affect the overall campaign. In fact, Ole Devil and Mannen had been
responsible for the disruption of an attempt by one of his officers
to persuade members of the regiments loyal to Houston that they
would be better off in his service.

The Red River Volunteer
Dragoons were a regiment— although, like most of the others in the
Republic of Texas’s newly formed and privately recruited army, its
strength was not much over one hundred and fifty officers and
men—who were prominent as adherents to Johnson’s force. So the
sentry could appreciate his superior’s disinclination to trust its
members.

“
Come
ahead, gents,” the enlisted man requested. “Only do it real slow
’n’ easy. We’ve had trouble with renegades and aim to make sure of
who you are before you get too close.”

“Good thinking!” Mannen
praised, knowing that such a precaution would be understandable
when taken for the reason which had been given.

“
I hope
Sammy’s got enough sense not to give you away when he sees you’re
with me,” the sentry replied. “I wouldn’t think him and his amigo
know how things stand ’tween General Sam and Johnson, so they’ve
probably already told that major about the
rifles.”

That was a point which
Mannen had also anticipated. While loyal enough, Cope and the man
who was with him had never struck the redhead as being the kind to
take an interest in something as remote as their superiors’
policies beyond how they would be involved personally. Having no
wish to emphasized the dissension among the senior officers, Ole
Devil had advised Mannen and his non-coms to avoid referring to
Johnson’s plans. Some of the shrewder of the other ranks might have
heard of it, but he doubted whether that would apply to the pair in
question. So, seeing no harm in it and proud that their Company had
been selected to handle such an important assignment, they would
not be likely to speak other than the truth if asked by von
Lowenbrau —as they were certain to have been—why they were on
picket duty so far from the area in which the Texas Light Cavalry
should be serving.

“Damn it, man!” bellowed
the Dragoon major, but without setting his horse into motion. “I’ve
told you who I am!”

“
So did
them renegades, ’cepting they wasn’t who they claimed and I’m not
about to take no chances,” the sentry answered, once again
supplying an understandable explanation for his behavior and went
on to give a further demonstration of his intelligence. “I’d be a
heap happier happen I knowed you’d let Sammy go back to his amigo
on picket duty.”

“Aw hell, Smithie—” Cope
began, identifying the sentry’s voice and seeing his chance of
rejoining his companions by the bay.

“Get going!” von Lowenbrau
interrupted, with anything but good grace.

“But—” Cope
commenced.

“Do as you’re told, blast
you!” the major thundered, furious that his plans were suffering
such a disruption.

“Call out when you’re well
on your way, Sammy-boy!” the sentry advised.

“You’ll have rank as
corporal comes Cousin Devil getting back,” Mannen promised, nodding
his approval.

“
Gracias
,” the enlisted man replied
and, as they heard a horse moving away, he went on, “I hope he
doesn’t yell too soon. Once he has, I can’t keep on stalling
them.”