Ole Devil and the Caplocks (4 page)

Being members of the
Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan had done much to smooth the two young
fugitives’ path across Louisiana, as had the money and other aids
to the flight which had been supplied without question when Mannen
had requested them. Other kinsmen, accepting Ole Devil’s word that
he was innocent, had helped the cousins to establish themselves in
Texas. He knew and shared their sentiments on the matter of
breaking free from the tyrannical yoke of
Presidente
Antonio Lopez de Santa
Anna and had committed himself, without pressure from them to do
so, to the cause. Bearing the latter point in mind, Ole Devil had
his well-developed sense of duty to contend with. He was all too
aware of how badly the hurriedly formed, greatly outnumbered Army
of the Republic of Texas needed every man. Harassed by internal
friction as much as from the enemy, Major General Samuel Houston
could ill afford to lose the services of a loyal, disciplined and
competent officer, which Ole Devil knew he had proved himself to
be.

In addition, there was
Melissa’s feelings for Ole Devil to consider. While the delay in
the marriage might have been at her instigation and caused by the
hope that circumstances might allow him to return and resume their
love affair, it could also be for the reason given by Rassendyll.
It was in keeping with Vanderlyne’s character that he would want to
support his wife and by his own efforts rather than relying upon
the bounty of his, or her, parents, and yet refuse to allow her
standards of living to be lowered to any great extent.

So, in spite of his
assumption that he could go back and take up where he had left off
with Melissa, Ole Devil was realistic enough to concede that he
might be wrong. In the years which had elapsed since his departure,
she could have changed her attitude toward him. It was possible
that she had come to love Vanderlyne and put Ole Devil from her
thoughts as being unattainable. If he returned, he might stir up an
emotional conflict which would be better avoided.

What was more, a
successful resumption of their love affair would produce the
friction between their respective families which Ole Devil’s
refusal to allow Melissa to prove his innocence in the first place
had been intended to avert. The need to prevent it was even greater
now than it had been when the incident occurred. The Comforths and
Vanderlynes were backing the Hardins, Fogs and Blazes in the bitter
controversy over whether the United States Congress should continue
to allow support to be given to the Texians in their struggle for
independence.

The continuation of the
powerful alliance between the families would be of far greater
importance in the future. Many prominent Texians, Ole Devil’s kin
among them, accepted that the forming of an independent Republic
was only a short-term policy. However, their ambition to see Texas
become a part of the United States did not meet with complete
approval in that country. The anti-slavery lobby was utterly,
almost rabidly, opposed to what threatened to be the creation of
further “Slave-States.”
^xv
Others could not see any profit in the acquisition of such a
vast, thinly populated, and, as far as they could tell,
unproductive wilderness; particularly when obtaining it would
antagonize and probably have an adverse effect upon trade with
Mexico.

Taking all the facts into
consideration, Ole Devil realized that his decision could have
far-reaching effects. If Melissa was being forced against her
wishes into an unwanted marriage with a man she hated, he would not
have hesitated to return and take her regardless of the
consequences. However, he knew that such was not the case. She had
always felt warmth and affection, if not love, for Vanderlyne. In
fact, her only misgivings over her feelings toward Ole Devil had
been caused by a wish to avoid hurting her fiancé.

Being an intelligent young
man, with a well-developed sense of responsibility, Ole Devil had
known at the bottom of his heart from the moment he had heard
Rassendyll’s news that there was only one course he could take with
honor. He must continue to adhere to the arrangement which Melissa
and he had made that night on the outskirts of Crown
Bayou.

There could be no going
back!

Knowing it had been one
thing, accepting it was less easy!

Although Ole Devil was
normally too well adjusted to be plagued by self-doubts, the
receipt of the news and the understanding of its implications had
been a traumatic experience. So much so that he had felt an
irresistible desire to be alone and give the matter his undivided
attention. Certainly the noise and activity on the beach at Santa
Cristobal Bay had been too distracting and disturbing for him to
concentrate upon the various conflicting issues which were
involved. Knowing that he could count upon Mannen, Di Brindley and
Rassendyll as on himself, he had collected the gelding and,
ostensibly, set off to inspect the pickets whom he had positioned
earlier that morning.

None of the men Ole Devil
had visited so far had had anything to report. However, in spite of
approaching the most distant of the remaining pickets and knowing
that it was the direction from which an enemy force might be
expected to come, his emotional condition was making him far less
alert and watchful than would normally have been the
case.

An excellent horseman, the
young Texian guided his horse through the woodland with hardly any
need for conscious thought. He was following a trail which had been
made either by wild animals or free-ranging longhorn cattle. Being
well trained, the gelding kept far enough away from the trees to
save him from banging his legs against the trunks or being swept
from the saddle by low hanging branches.

Approaching a massive old
cottonwood tree, the dun saw nothing to prevent it passing
underneath the lowest branches. They were high enough for there to
be no danger of them touching its rider. Still engrossed in his
thoughts, Ole Devil was giving little attention to his
surroundings. So the man who, having been concealed by the thick
foliage, dropped off an overhanging limb took him completely
unawares.

Before the Texian could
react, he was being half knocked and half dragged from his low
homed, double girthed “slick fork” saddle.
^xvi
Trying to struggle, his head struck the tree’s trunk a
glancing blow. For a brief instant, it seemed that bright lights
were exploding inside his head. Then everything went
black.

“
He’s
beginning to show signs of life at last. By the Holy Mother, that’s
fortunate for you. If you’d killed him, I would have made you wish
you’d never been born.”

The words, spoken in
Spanish with the accent of an upper class Mexican, seemed to be
coming from a long way off. Yet for all his dazed and bewildered
condition, Ole Devil Hardin could detect their hard and imperious
timbre. Whoever was speaking appeared to be addressing his social
inferiors.

“
I’m
pleased to see that you’re recovering,
señor
,” the voice continued,
changing to English and picking the words carefully, as if the
language was familiar but had not been used recently. “I was
concerned when I first saw you, thinking you were more seriously
injured by my man’s attack.”

Hearing his native tongue
helped Ole Devil to clear his head of the mists which seemed to be
swirling around in it, but nothing could dispel the nagging ache
that was emanating from the back of his skull. However, with his
faculties returning, he was able to appreciate that there was an
underlying hardness to the polite and almost solicitous
tones.

“
Your
hat cushioned at least some of the force with which your head
struck the trunk of the tree,” the speaker went on, “otherwise the
result would have been far worse. As it is, you have been
unconscious for some minutes.”

Gradually, the Texian’s
vision began to clear. From the sight which met his eyes and what
he could feel, he was lying supine and far from comfortably on the
ground. Above him spread the branches of the massive old cottonwood
tree in which his unknown and, as yet, unseen assailant must have
been concealed before dropping upon him.

Wanting to feel at his
throbbing head in the hope that doing so would reduce the pain, Ole
Devil tried to bring his hands from beneath his body. He found that
he could not move them. For a few seconds, such was his befuddled
state that he was unable to think why they were failing to respond
to his will.

Then understanding struck
him!

His wrists were bound
together behind his back!

On experimenting, Ole
Devil discovered that his ankles were also secured.

The Texian was not too
surprised by the discovery. Already his brain was functioning
sufficiently for him to deduce that, no matter how amiable the
speaker might sound on the surface, he was unlikely to be an
ally.

Shaking his head and
gritting his teeth, Ole Devil raised his shoulders until he could
examine his surroundings. As soon as his gaze was focused upon the
speaker, he knew that the conclusions he had formed were correct.
Standing with his legs apart, just clear of the Texian’s feet, the
man’s attire was military in cut. It was not the uniform of any
Mexican regiment with which Ole Devil was acquainted. Nor, despite
there being a number of highborn Chicanos fighting against Santa
Anna, did he believe the other was a member of the Republic of
Texas’s Army.

Slightly over medium
height, the man’s physique—emphasized by the cut of his expensive
and well-tailored garments —was reasonable if not exceptional. In
his late twenties, his deeply bronzed and handsome face had hazel
eyes with somewhat drooping lids and a Hapsburg
^xvii
lip such as frequently occurred among members of high-class
Spanish families. A Hussar-style black astrakhan
^xviii
Busby, with a silver gray bag hanging out of its top behind a
long, flowing plume made of several emerald-green tail feathers
from a cock Quetzal,
^xix
had a golden cord passing around his neck from the back. His
form-fitting, waist long light green tunic was elaborately frogged
with black silk and the matching, tight-legged breeches sported
broad stripes of gold braid. The latter ended in black
Wellington-leg boots
^xx
with dangling gold tassels at the front and large-roweled
“Chihuahua” spurs on the low heels. A silver-gray coat, trimmed
with black astrakhan, its sleeves empty, was draped across his
shoulders. However, instead of a cavalry saber, there was a
magnificent Toledo steel
epee-de-combat
attached to its
slings on the left side of his black leather waist belt. As his
hands—encased in white gauntlets—were occupied, a heavy riding
quirt dangled by its strap from his left wrist.

In spite of the way that
the elegant—if somewhat travel-stained—young man had spoken, Ole
Devil sensed there was something menacing about him. His dress and
appearance marked him as being from a wealthy family of pure
Spanish blood. Since arriving in Texas, Ole Devil had met many of
his class. Some he had found to be gentlemen, even when judged
under the exacting standards by which he had been raised. Others
were race-proud, arrogant and vicious bullies. He guessed that his
captor was of the latter kind. Behind the veneer of culture was a
cold-blooded sadistic nature which would take pleasure in
inflicting pain.

Looking past the Mexican,
Ole Devil discovered that they were on the edge of a fair-sized
clearing fringed with bushes and trees.

And they were not
alone!

Some twenty feet away,
squatting on their heels in a rough half circle and gazing at the
Texian with coldly impassive dark brown faces, were five tall,
lean, and muscular Indians. They had shoulder long black hair held
back by cloth headbands which had no decoration such as feathers.
Loose fitting, multicolored trade shirts hung outside deerskin
breechcloths and the legs of their moccasins extended almost to
knee level.

Only one of the quintet
possessed a firearm, the others having either a knife in a sheath
or a tomahawk’s handle thrust through the leather belts which
encircled their shirts. A couple nursed short bows and had quivers
of arrows on their backs. Three had flattish, slightly curved,
sturdy pieces of wood about twenty-four inches in length, which Ole
Devil identified as throwing sticks—simple, yet effective and
deadly weapons in skilled hands—by their sides. From all
appearances, the remaining member of the group was its leader.
Eldest and best dressed, with a red headband, he not only had a
knife, but there was a flintlock pistol tucked into his belt and a
nine-foot-long war lance standing with its head spiked into the
ground within easy reach of his right hand.

Although Ole Devil could
not claim to be an authority on such matters, he had always been a
good listener, and he remembered what he was told. From the
information given by men with more extensive knowledge, he decided
that the Indians were Hopis. Hailing from the region of northwest
Sonora known as “Arizona,” they were one of the few tribes to
employ throwing sticks as weapons.