Ole Devil and the Caplocks (27 page)

Without waiting for or
needing orders, the members of Company “C” dropped the empty rifles
and began to liberate the second weapons from across their backs.
The Dragoons were also making the necessary adjustments to allow
them to continue the bombardment. While they were doing so, Ole
Devil, Mannen and Tommy made use of the Brownings’ and the bow’s
capabilities for rapid reloading and sought to select the best
targets among the mill of rearing, swerving, hopelessly entangled
and confused riders.

Ole Devil toppled one of
the majors. A brave passing between them saved Alarcon’s life by
intercepting the bullet which Mannen had thrown at him. However,
Chief Jesus was less fortunate. Having contrived to keep some kind
of control over his war pony, he emerged through the scattered dead
or wounded animals and men to try and rally the rest. Before he
could do so, he was transfixed by the little Oriental’s arrow and
joined many of his braves on the ground.

To give the Hopis their
due, while realizing that their war medicine—the belief in which no
amount of Christian mission indoctrination succeeded in wiping
out—had failed, some of them tried to fight back.

Before the Texians could
fire a second time, a throwing stick
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spun through the air and struck von Lowenbrau’s head and he
went down.

Holding her second rifle
cocked and ready, Di was scanning the confused mass before her in
the hope of locating Madeline de Moreau when she heard a cry of
pain from alongside her.

Having emptied both his
rifles, Rassendyll had set down the second where it would be
readily available if he required the bayonet that was attached to
it and was reaching for the Croodlom & Co. “Duck Foot” Mob
Pistol which was laying close by. Before his fingers could grasp
the butt, an arrow struck him in the shoulder. He could not
restrain his agonized exclamation. Grabbing ineffectually at the
shaft which was protruding from his flesh, he spun around to
stumble against the rear of the pit.

Two of the Dragoons and
four members of Company “C” were also struck by the Hopis’
missiles, while others had narrow escapes as arrows or throwing
sticks whizzed by them. However, such reprisals—only one member of
each party received a fatal injury—were nothing compared to the
slaughter which had been dealt out already—

And that which was about
to be inflicted!

Less than twenty seconds
after the supercargo had been wounded, although too late to prevent
it from happening, Sergeant Dale gave the order and Company “C”
turned loose their second fusillade. Nor had the slight delay while
the non-com had waited—being unaware that von Lowenbrau was
indisposed—reduced its effectiveness. In fact, it proved to be just
as devastating and even more potent than its
predecessor.

Once again, the deadly
tempest of lead assailed the Hopis. Any who had managed to evade
the confusion and were trying to continue the attack were selected
as targets. The others were hit, or missed, by random shooting as
the fates directed. Many fell, including the second major who had
come to the fore and was heading toward the rifle pits.

However, Madeline and
Villena survived both of the volleys. Being cautious and knowing
that his uniform made him an easily distinguishable target, the
major had contrived to keep as many bodies as possible between
himself and the enemy. He did not wish to let his former captive or
the strange little foreigner pick him out for revenge. On her part,
the woman was aware that Di Brindley would not hesitate to kill
her. So she had allowed the men to draw ahead and had followed
ready to grab any opportunity which was presented, or let them take
care of the objects of her hatred.

While the Hopis were far
from being cowards, there was a limit to how much punishment they
were willing to take when there seemed little hope of returning it.
What was more, a number of the leaders had fallen and the rest saw
no reason to throw their lives away. So they turned and fled,
scattering in every direction save toward their
assailants.

Seeing what was happening,
the woman and Villena followed the Hopis’ example. They went
independently, neither giving even a thought to the other or to the
men whom each had helped send to their deaths.

At the sight of Madeline
dashing away, Di threw a shot after her and missed. Growling a
curse, the girl dropped her empty weapon and looked at Rassendyll.
Experienced in such matters, she knew that the wound was not
desperately dangerous.

“I’ll send the doc to you.
Beau!” Di promised, grabbing up the mob pistol. “And I’ll borrow
this seeing’s you’ll not be needing it.”

With that, the girl
bounded up the rear slope of the pit, which had been dug at such an
angle as to facilitate a rapid departure. Already the men of
Company “C” were charging forward to use their bayonets and deal
with the unhorsed, but uninjured Hopis. So she knew that she was
not leaving the supercargo defenseless while she pursued the urgent
matter demanding her attention.

The
Tejas
left to look after the mules
and, if need be, to destroy the consignment by blowing it up.
However, half a dozen of them stood just below the rim holding
several saddled horses. One was Ewart Brindley’s big grulla
^lxi
gelding, selected by the girl as her own mount was tired from
the strenuous activity of the previous few days. Running to it, she
used her empty hand to grab the reins from the young brave.
Swinging astride the saddle, she set the spirited animal into
motion and went like a bat out of hell in the direction from which
she had come.

Madeline de Moreau was
traveling at a good rate, but she was not afraid of being followed
by the Texians after her original near panic had subsided. From
various noises which had reached her ears, she had concluded that
close-quarters fighting was taking place. So her enemies would be
too occupied in dealing with the surviving Hopis to pursue her.
Having made her deduction, she saw no reason to keep on pushing her
horse at such a speed. It had seen much use recently and she wished
to conserve its energy in case of emergency. What was more, she
needed it to carry her to safety.

After what had happened on
the cliffs above Santa Cristobal Bay, the woman felt it would be
advisable to avoid further contact with the Arizona Hopi
Activos
Regiment. Once
the remaining companies heard of their companions’ fate, they might
believe she had brought it about deliberately. Nor would any of the
survivors who had fled be more inclined to regard her favorably. So
she must seek out some other Mexican force and try to persuade its
officers to offer her protection from the Indians in addition to
striking at the consignment of Caplocks.

Bitter rage surged through
the woman as she realized that the objects of her hatred had not
only survived her wrath, but had once again got the better of her.
The emotion was so intense that, at first, she took no notice of
the sound of a horse approaching rapidly from her rear. Becoming
aware of it, she looked back expecting to find one of the Hopis was
following. Dangerous as that might have been under the
circumstances, she learned she was wrong in her assumption; but the
pursuer posed an even greater threat.

Perhaps an Indian would
have been more interested in escaping than repaying her for what
she had helped to bring about, but that did not apply to
Diamond-Hitch Brindley.

The pistol in the girl’s
right hand was grim evidence of her intentions!

Letting out a shriek of
combined fury and fright, the woman turned her gaze to the front
and slammed her heels savagely against the flanks of her mount.
Jabbed by her spurs’ sharp rowels, it bounded forward with a force
which almost caused her to drop the single-barreled pistol she had
drawn at the start of the charge and had not yet replaced in its
saddle holster. However, she contrived to retain her grip on the
butt and started to urge her horse to go even faster. Having set
off in the general direction taken by Madeline, ignoring the
hand-to-hand fighting by the men, Di had soon caught sight of her.
Excellently mounted on a horse which was comparatively fresh, the
girl had not doubted that she could overtake the woman. However, in
case there might be shooting at other than close quarters, she had
decided against depending upon the weapon she had borrowed from
Beauregard Rassendyll. Taking advantage of a refinement he had had
applied, she hung it on her saddle horn by the rawhide loop which
was threaded through a ring on the butt. Then she had drawn a
pistol from the brace which were bolstered on her rig. With the
heavy caliber flintlock in her hand, she felt that she could deal
with any situation that might arise.

Oblivious of everything
except one another, guiding their mounts almost instinctively
through fairly open bush speckled country, the girl and the woman
galloped in a southwesterly direction. The latter was fleeing with
the fear of death as her goad and the former rode just as
recklessly, spurred on by a desire to kill.

Almost a mile fell behind
the pursued and the pursuer!

Slowly, but inexorably,
Di’s big grulla was closing the gap between them!

Having noticed this, in
rapid glances taken to her rear whenever the opportunity had
arisen, Madeline tried desperately to improve the situation.
Gallantly as her flagging and lathered mount responded to the
punishment she was inflicting with her spurs, it failed to draw
away.

Driving the horse up a
gentle slope, with slightly less than a hundred yards separating it
and the grulla, the woman felt it reeling. Just as it reached the
top, it stumbled and almost threw her. This time, she lost her hold
on the pistol and, as it flew from her fingers, the exhausted
animal started to collapse. Sobbing in alarm, she flung herself
from the saddle. Not until her momentum had carried her several
steps forward did she realize that she had left the weapon’s mate
in its holster on her saddle. Nor did she feel that the “Pepperbox”
would serve her needs under the circumstances.

Turning around, Madeline
almost hurled herself toward the stricken animal. She could see Di
charging through the bushes and the sight gave her an inducement
for extra speed. Snatching out the pistol, she prepared to fight
for her life. Cocking and sighting it, she squeezed the trigger.
With a crack, it vomited out its load. Although the bullet failed
to contact the girl, it drove into the grulla’s chest. A superb
rider, Di felt the lead’s impact and her mount going down. She knew
what she must do. Liberating her feet from the stirrup irons, she
kicked her right leg forward and over the grulla’s head. Jumping
clear, she alighted without being trapped by the falling animal.
Unfortunately, she landed upon a piece of uneven ground. While it
threw her off balance, she neither fell nor lost her pistol.
However, before she had recovered her equilibrium, she saw that her
troubles were far from over.

Hurling the empty pistol
aside, the woman looked for its mate. She discovered that it had
buried the tip of its barrel into the ground. So there was a chance
that the muzzle was plugged and it would not be usable. Instead of
wasting time in checking, she snatched the “Pepperbox” from her
waistband. It was one of the best models available, percussion
fired and double action in operation. While its mechanism did not
allow for such rapid shooting as would later and better designed
revolvers,
^lxii
it still permitted a rate of fire far in excess of any
contemporary handgun.

“That’s another I owe you,
de Moreau!” Di shrieked, glancing at the dying grulla.

Spitting out obscenities
in French and English, Madeline brought up the “Pepperbox” with
both hands. However, she knew its limitations and started to move
closer. For all her knowledge, she could not refrain from chancing
a shot when she saw the girl was drawing a bead on her. Not
surprisingly, considering her weapon’s rudimentary sights, she
missed. At first, rage caused her to overlook her peril. Even as
the realization struck her, she could tell—although they were still
too far apart to make out the actual movements—that Di was
squeezing the pistol’s trigger.

Confident that she was
holding true on the center of the woman’s breast, the girl sensed
rather than noticed that the flintlock’s hammer was pivoting toward
the frizzen plate. It struck, striking sparks that fell into the
pan as the plate hinged back under the impact.

There was no other
result!

In her eagerness to settle
accounts with Madeline, Di had fallen into the error which Colonel
Alarcon had hoped would afflict her companions. Either that, or the
roughness of her landing when quitting the falling horse had jolted
the priming powder from the pan. Whichever it might be, she was in
dire and deadly peril.

Again the woman’s weapon
cracked, its comparatively light powder charge ejecting a .34
caliber ball which stirred the girl’s red locks in passing.
Continuing her advance, Madeline drew back the trigger, which
turned the next barrel into the battery and cocked the hammer.
Despite being taken on the move, the third shot came even closer to
achieving her purpose.