Ole Devil and the Caplocks (21 page)

However, the woman
appreciated the difficulties which stood in the way of her quest
for vengeance. She could not hope to obtain it unaided. Nor did the
answer lie in gathering together such members of the band as had
not yet responded to the message left by her late husband at their
hideout. They were the same kind of men as those whom she had
deserted and she had no desire to put herself in their
power.

As far as Madeline could
see, there was only one solution. Continue traveling to the south
and search for official assistance. She had in her possession a
document signed by
Presidente
Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, demanding that all
members of the Mexican Army render her protection or support if
either was required. If she could find a unit of suitable strength,
its commanding officer would be only too pleased to learn about the
consignment of Caplock rifles and she might yet bring about the
destruction of Ole Devil Hardin. In fact, that would be her price
for supplying the information.

“
Gott in
himmel!”
shouted Major Ludwig von
Lowenbrau, commanding Company “B” of the Red River Volunteer
Dragoons, as the rising sun allowed him his first unimpeded view
into the hollow which surrounded Santa Cristobal Bay. In the stress
of his emotion, he continued to speak with his native tongue. “If
I’d known last night—”

Realizing that there were
some of his subordinates also studying the terrain and its
occupants below, von Lowenbrau made an almost visible effort to
restrain his display of anger and surprise. It would never do for
them to suspect, even if they had not understood his words, just
how badly he had been mistaken in his summation of the situation.
Discipline in his regiment was slack enough without him behaving in
a manner likely to increase their disrespect. However, while
outwardly he resumed his hard and expressionless demeanor,
internally he was boiling with rage and mortification.

No man, particularly a
proud and arrogant former Prussian officer who also considered
himself a capable gambler, enjoyed learning that he had been
tricked. Yet, taking in the sight which was spread beneath him, von
Lowenbrau knew that he had fallen for a bluff. Realizing who was
responsible for it did nothing to improve his feelings.

It was, the major
concluded bitterly, all too easy to be wise after the
event!

Everything about the
previous night had suggested that von Lowenbrau might be leading
his men into a situation which they could not handle and from which
they were likely to suffer heavy losses. From all appearances, his
purpose had been suspected, and very effective measures taken to
circumvent it. The disparity between the references made by Mannen
Blaze and the sentry regarding Ole Devil Hardin’s whereabouts had
suggested that he was close at hand instead of being away relieving
the pickets. Such would have been a task assigned to a subordinate,
for it did not require the services of the company’s commanding
officer. Of course, Hardin might have been reluctant to trust it to
such an incompetent second-in-command, but he would have been even
more reluctant to leave Blaze in charge of the consignment of
Caplocks.

All in all, von Lowenbrau
had been convinced that there was too much organization about his
reception for it to have been arranged by Hardin’s dull-witted
lieutenant. So, he had decided it was wise not to enter the hollow.
And Blaze’s mention of yellow fever made his men unwilling to
approach the source of such a virulently infectious
disease.

Having been well trained
in an officer’s duties, von Lowenbrau had decided to wait for
daylight to reassess the situation and form a better impression of
it. Once he had seen the exact strength of the opposition, he could
estimate the chances of being able to carry out his assignment by
force if necessary.

With that in mind, the
major had ordered his company to make camp on the rim. Although
Blaze had withdrawn the majority of his men, he had left two
sentries at the top of the slope. Nor had there been a time when
they, or their reliefs, relaxed their vigilance and most of it had
been directed at the Prussian and his subordinates. However, much
to his surprise, they had rejoined their companions as soon as his
men had shown signs of rising.

Dawn’s gray light showed
von Lowenbrau just how he had been misled!

One of the first things to
strike the major on commencing his examination was the absence of
Ewart Brindley’s mules. He had wondered why the animals were so
quiet during the night and had finally concluded that, having been
pushed hard on the journey to the bay, they were
sleeping.

However, the matter of the
missing mule train struck von Lowenbrau as being a minor issue.
Once he had taken charge of the consignment, he would wait until
Brindley arrived and then commandeer the animals for his own use.
From what he could see, gaining possession of the Caplocks would
not be as difficult as he had anticipated.

On counting the men in the
hollow, von Lowenbrau found there were nowhere near as many as he
had anticipated. In fact, his contingent had the consignment’s
guards outnumbered by close to three to one. However, Hardin’s men—
although he did not appear to be present—were ensconced in pits
which had been sited so as to offer protection against assailants
who were descending from the rim. Each of them had no less than
five rifles close at hand.

“
Looks
like you was hornswoggled, Major,” remarked Lou Benn, a burly and
sullen featured man who held rank as sergeant and had ambitions to
become an officer. He had given the situation a similar evaluation
and drawing much the same conclusions as the Major. “What’re you
fixing to have us do now?”

The words came to von
Lowenbrau like the thrust of a sharp-roweled spur. All too well he
could imagine how the story of his failure would be received if
they returned empty-handed to the regiment. There were many,
including the speaker, who hated him and would be delighted to see
him humbled. In fact, the colonel might even use it to remove him
from his position of command.

“Have the men saddle up,”
the major ordered, goaded by the need to take some kind of action
and thinking about the consequences of going back a failure. “We’re
going down for the rifles and ammunition.”

“
Ole
Devil Hardin’s not the man to give—” Benn began.

“Hardin’s not there!” von
Lowenbrau pointed out, snapping shut the telescope through which he
had been conducting his scrutiny. “And, even if he was, I outrank
him. So saddle up, damn you. We have them outnumbered and, as
they’ve only got Blaze in command, there won’t be any trouble from
them.”

While the sergeant felt
that his superior might be somewhat overconfident, he did not
announce his misgivings. Fancy-dressed and high-toned the
Prussian—like many of his race, he grew indignant if called a
German—might be, but he had gained the reputation for being bad
medicine when crossed. What was more, Benn had to concede that he
had been correct on two points.

Firstly, the numerical
odds were well in the Dragoons’ favor.

Secondly, as far as Benn
could make out—and he too had used a telescope to look very
carefully—Ole Devil Hardin was not present. One did not easily
forget such a man and the sergeant was confident that he could have
made the required identification if its subject had been
available.

Sharing von Lowenbrau’s
low opinion of Mannen Blaze’s personality and capability, Benn also
considered that it would be possible to commandeer—he disliked the
more accurate term “steal”-the consignment. The Texas Light
Cavalry’s enlisted men were unlikely to resist with their
commanding officer absent and while they were being led by a
numbskull who acted most of the time like he was about to fall
asleep. Especially when they found themselves confronted by a
determined force of nearly three times their numbers.

Nor, if it came to a
point, did the sergeant relish the notion of reporting to Colonel
Johnson without having successfully accomplished the mission. He
had his eyes set upon promotion to and the status—plus
benefits—gained by being an officer. So delivering the Caplocks
would be a big step toward attaining his ambition. Turning, he
barked orders which sent the rest of the Dragoons hurrying to
saddle their horses.

“Bring the pack animals
too,” von Lowenbrau commanded. “I want every man going down there
with us.”

~*~

“Here they come, Mannen,”
Beauregard Rassendyll remarked, looking at the rim and wishing he
could draw the sword he was wearing to supplement the Croodlom
& Co. “Duck Foot” Mob Pistol which dangled in his right hand.
However, the burly redhead had said that he must not and— no matter
what his earlier opinion of the other had been— the events of the
previous night had made him willing to bow to what he now accepted
as superior wisdom. “And, was I asked, I’d say they were ready to
make trouble.”

“Yep,” Mannen Blaze
conceded, still sounding as if he might fall asleep at any moment.
Standing by the supercargo, with the Browning Slide Repeating rifle
across the crook of his left arm, he studied the approaching riders
as they spread out to descend the slope in line abreast. “They’re
loaded for b’ar, not squirrel, I’d say.”

Which was, the burly
redhead told himself silently, pretty well what he had expected
would happen once Major Ludwig von Lowenbrau discovered the exact
strength—or lack of it —of the force at his disposal.

There were, Mannen
conceded, a few consolations. His ruse and the intelligent backing
of the men under his command had bought him some valuable time.
Unless Smith— who had been replaced by another sentry on the
rim—had been prevented from departing, help should already be on
its way from the mule train.

The big question was,
would it arrive in time?

Mannen had hoped that the
reinforcements would have put in an appearance before von Lowenbrau
could find out that he had been tricked. Unfortunately, the hope
had not materialized. Nor, from what Mannen could remember of the
major, would he be likely to turn aside after he had been seen by
his men to have fallen for a bluff. In fact, going by the way each
of his men was nursing a rifle, it had made him even more
determined to carry out his intentions—

And a man did not need to
be a mind reader to work out what they must be!

Sweeping a quick glance at
the few members of Company “C” who were at his disposal, Mannen
could find no traces of alarm and despondency as they watched the
thirty or so Dragoons. He did not doubt that they were ready and
willing to fight despite the disparity of their numbers, but that
was a mixed blessing. Even if they should be victorious, he could
imagine how the rest of the Republic of Texas’s Army would react to
the news—which was sure to leak out—that two outfits had done
battle with each other. Morale was low enough already without
giving Major General Samuel Houston that sort of a situation to
contend with.

“
Don’t
any of you make what could be called a hostile, or even
threatening, move,” Mannen warned, in tones more suggestive that he
was complaining over having had a nap disturbed and which fooled
none of his audience. “And stay put in those holes you volunteered
to dig.”

“
That
was volunteering?” asked one of the enlisted men, with a grin, for
the redhead had insisted that the pits were dug as a precaution the
previous evening.

“
You ’n’
Mister Rassendyll get into your’n pronto comes trouble, Mister
Blaze,” Sergeant Dale requested, after the chuckles had ended, for
the two young men alone were standing exposed to their visitors.
“We’d hate for him to get killed afore we’ve seen if that danged
thing he’s holding really can shoot.”

“I’ll do my best not to
disappoint you, Sergeant,” Rassendyll promised, delighted by the
evidence that his status had improved where his comrades-in-arms
were concerned.

Up until the supercargo’s
collection and use of the bull’s-eye lantern the previous night, he
had been annoyed to find that the Texians did not hold him in very
high esteem. Partly it had been his own fault. His earlier attitude
was not calculated to be acceptable to such fiercely independent
souls. So his assumption that he would automatically be accorded
the same respect as Ole Devil and Mannen had antagonized them.
However, having demonstrated that he was good for something more
than dressing fancy, handling the easiest part of the consignment’s
delivery, and toting a mighty peculiar kind of handgun, he was
being treated as an equal.

Conscious of his
companion’s elation, Mannen did not allow it to distract him.
Instead, he continued to keep the Dragoons under observation and
waited to see what would develop. He felt satisfied that he had
done everything he could to receive them.

“Halt the men here.
Sergeant!” von Lowenbrau ordered, while a good fifty yards still
separated them from their objective.

“Huh?” grunted
Benn.

“You heard!” the major
snarled, glancing back and finding that the men were already
obeying without the non-com’s orders. “Come up when I
signal.”