The Devil Gun (5 page)

oooOooo

* Told in
The Fastest Gun in Texas
.

CHAPTER FIVE

Silence fell on the room after Sam Ysabel’s words, for none of the Texans doubted his knowledge of Indian affairs. Ysabel belonged to the hardy brotherhood who pushed into the wild, unexplored country with the desire to see what lay beyond the next hill. Unlike the settlers who followed in their wake. Ysabel’s kind befriended the Indians, adopted their ways, learned their traditions and thoughts. Such a man could be expected to estimate the chances of Castle’s scheme working with more accuracy than any settler. After a moment, Ysabel expanded on his statement.

‘The Deacon knows enough of the old man chiefs to call all three tribes together, General. But he’d need some mighty strong medicine to make ‘em listen to him.’

‘Three hundred rifles like your Sharps and ammunition would give him a good starting point,’ Ole Devil pointed out.

Ysabel looked down at his rifle. At that time the Model 1859 Sharps could claim to be the finest rifle in general use. Neither the Henry nor Spencer repeating rifles could equal its range, accuracy or dependability, and ammunition for both was difficult to obtain.

‘Yes, sir,’ admitted Ysabel. ‘Spread out among the right folks in each tribe they’d gather a whole heap of support.’

‘Don’t forget the Ager, sir,’ Dusty put in.

‘I’m not likely to forget it, Captain Fog!’ Ole Devil barked.

‘You mean one of them Ager Coffee Mill guns, sir?’ asked Kiowa.

‘The men behind this scheme are taking one to the meeting and intend to offer it as support to the raiding parties,’ Ole Devil replied.

‘What would its effect be, Sam?’ Mosby inquired.

‘Big medicine, Colonel,’ Ysabel answered soberly. ‘Just about as big as you could get. They’d think it was a Devil Gun. I tell you, one good victory with that thing backing ‘em and those Yankees’d have every Indian in the whole damned state painting for war.’

‘As bad as that?’ asked Blaze.

‘Worse,’ grunted Ysabel. ‘Even such of the old man chiefs who wanted to stay out of it wouldn’t have any say with that thing siding the war-shouters.’

‘We have to stop the Ager falling into Indian hands, sir,’ Dusty stated.

‘Yes, they have to be stopped, Captain Fog,’ agreed Mosby. ‘The question is how do you stop them.’

‘Prevent them from contacting the Indians,’ Dusty suggested.

‘To do that, you have to find them,’ Blaze pointed out. ‘Did you learn either their rendezvous, or the meeting place with the Indians, Mr. Marsden?’

‘No, sir. The informant collapsed into a drunken stupor before I learned either. Each party slipped through the Ouachita Mountains, avoiding your patrols, and were to meet somewhere on the Red River.’

‘There’re a hundred crossing points on the Red,’ Hondo growled. ‘We can’t cover them all. And Texas’s a whole heap too much land for us to start combing it to find a small party.’

‘What escort did the two parties have, Mr. Marsden?’ asked Ole Devil.

‘One mounted company of Zouaves were taking the wagon to the rendezvous, but the Deacon claimed he could handle the situation better without so many men and so the escort was to return when the meeting was made.’

‘Why send them separately, Mr. Marsden?’ Blaze put in.

‘The Ager hadn’t arrived and a messenger from the Deacon arrived with news that he was expecting representatives from each tribe to visit him. He wanted something to show the Indians when they arrived. So it was decided to send off the arms wagon immediately. Castle and Silverman, in civilian clothing, were to follow with the Ager on a light artillery mount. They had a guide to take them through your lines.’

Ole Devil might have commented that lack of men prevented him from making accurate coverage of the Ouachita Mountains, but did not bother. Nor did Mosby need any explanation, for he specialised in slipping through the enemy’s lines and knew how it could be done, especially in mountainous land.

‘It doesn’t help us much to know where the rendezvous might be,’ the General commented. ‘They’ll have passed that point now.’

‘Just thought of something, General,’ Ysabel said. ‘A thing like this, getting the three tribes together I mean, calls for a special medicine place. You don’t just ask Comanche, Kiowa and Kaddoes to meet up and forget all the years of war in any old place.’

‘Sam’s right, General,’ Kiowa agreed. ‘It has to be some place that the Great Spirit keeps for his-self.’

‘Kind of sacred ground,’ continued Ysabel. ‘All the tribes have them. Places where enemies can meet and talk things out without needing to watch for sneaky games. A medicine place’d be the only location you could gather Comanche, Kiowa and Kaddo without getting trouble.’

‘Where would such a place be?’ asked Ole Devil.

‘Can think of half a dozen scattered about Texas,’ Ysabel replied. ‘There’s one on the Sweetwater, another on the Colorado.’

‘They’d be too far south,’ Dusty guessed, consulting the maps. ‘The Yankees need something close at hand.’

‘How about the joining of the Salt and Clear Forks of the Brazos?’ Kiowa put in. ‘That’s an old medicine place.’

‘I reckon you hit it, Kiowa,’ Ysabel enthused, looking at the spot to which the lean sergeant pointed. ‘The Deacon knows that country pretty well.’

‘It’s a touch close to Fort Worth and Dallas,’ objected Ole Devil.

‘Over a hundred miles from the nearest, and Indian country at that,’ Ysabel replied. ‘No, sir. Was I asked, I’d say that’s our place.’

Once again all the men gathered around and studied the maps. To experienced soldiers, the true meaning of the insignificant spaces upon the paper stood plain and clear. A thumb and forefinger might span from the Red River to the fork of the two tributaries of the Brazos, but all knew how many actual miles lay between the points.

‘With four days lead, they’ll be over the Red now,’ Hondo pointed out. ‘But with wagons they’ll be travelling slow. We might send a battalion—’

‘I can’t even spare a company, not and hold out here in Arkansas,’ Ole Devil answered. ‘And a company would travel too slowly to intercept them.’

‘A small party could move fast enough, sir,’ Dusty put in.

‘How small?’ asked Ole Devil.

‘I thought myself, Kiowa, Billy Jack and two more would do,’ Dusty said. ‘A party that size, mounted on the pick of our horses, could cover between thirty and forty miles a day even without taking remounts from any Confederate outfit we happened across.’

‘It’s getting on for three hundred miles to that fork, Dusty,’ Hondo warned.

‘Yes, sir, but if we’re lucky we’ll catch the Yankees before they reach it. How many men’ll be with the wagons, six, ten, a dozen at most. The Indians wouldn’t stand for many more than that. With surprise at our back, I reckon we can handle them.’

Ole Devil sat back in his chair, the impassive mask dropping onto his face and warning all who knew him that he was thinking. Every man present understood the problem facing the grim-faced General. His orders were to prevent further Union advance in Arkansas, and if possible regain the territory already taken. While he could hold the Yankees beyond the Arkansas river and prevent their gaining more land, he needed every man to do so. Despite Dusty’s youth, he was a valuable fighting leader and a man not easily spared. To let Dusty go, even with only four men, would seriously weaken Ole Devil’s precarious hold on the delicately balanced position. Yet to refuse would be just as disastrous. Once the Indians took to the warpath, there would be no stopping them short of using considerable force. Nor would the blood-crazy, coup-seeking braves differentiate between soldier and civilian, or between man, woman and child. The Indians, would ravage Texas from north to south, leaving the country, already weakened by the number of men away at the War, a burning, bloody ruin. Ole Devil knew the result of such an Indian uprising and also realised that every Texan serving the Confederate Government would want to return home to defend, or avenge, his family once the news spread.

So Ole Devil had to balance the temporary loss of a good officer against the possibility of the South losing thousands of badly needed soldiers. There could only be one answer.

‘Who do you want with you, Dustine?’ he asked. ‘And before you say it, I can’t let Mr. Blaze go with you. I need one of you to lead your troop.’

‘You’d best take Sergeant Ysabel, Dusty,’ Mosby put in. ‘He knows the country—’

‘And I’m kin to Long Walker, top war chief of the Comanche,’ Ysabel finished for his commanding officer. ‘It’s a pity Lon’s not here, Long Walker’s his grandpappy.’

Like many of his kind, Sam Ysabel had taken an Indian wife; unlike some of the frontiersmen, he remained true to the Indian girl and grief at her death sent him from the Comanches, although he stayed in touch with them.

‘Be pleased to have you, Sergeant,’ Dusty said. ‘And for the other man—’

‘May I be the other man, sir?’ Marsden put in.

All the Confederates in the room looked at the young Union officer. He read a mixture of surprise, inquiry, suspicion even in the various faces.

‘Why, mister?’ asked Ole Devil.

‘My people are causing the trouble, sir. I’d like to help put it right.’

‘If you fall into Union hands, you’ll be shot, boy,’ warned the grim-faced General, but an almost gentle note crept into his voice.

‘I will whether I see it through or stay here, sir, in the end.’ A man who acted as Marsden had could expect death at the hands of his own people. He knew and accepted that fact before be started out for the Ouachita. However, he wanted to see through the thing he started. Knowing the risks they took, he stood a fair chance of never coming back and preferred that to bringing shame upon his family.

Dusty smiled. ‘We’ll be travelling light, real light, sir. Mr. Marsden’s an infantry officer, does he think he can stand the pace?’

‘I trained for cavalry almost from birth, sir,’ Marsden answered.

‘Then you can come along,’ Dusty promised. ‘With your permission, sir, I’ll start making my preparations. We’ll pull out at first light in the morning.’

Although they might be able to leave earlier, Dusty knew it would be better to utilise the rest of the day in making sure they had the best horses and preparing for the long, hard ride ahead.

After Dusty’s party left the room, Mosby turned to Ole Devil. ‘Do you think we can trust Marsden, sir?’

‘I know we can,’ Ole Devil answered. ‘Haven’t seen the boy since he was ten, but he’s his father’s son.’

‘How about it, Dustine?’ queried Ole Devil.

‘You know his family, sir?’

‘You might say that, Colonel Mosby. I served with his father in the Mexican War, General Marsden is Dustine’s god-father and young Marsden there is my god-son. They named him Jackson Hardin for me. Now, gentlemen, we’ll see what we can do to get my god-son out of the mess he’s in. You’re a pretty good lawyer, John. Is there a precedent for his action?’

‘If there is,’ Mosby replied after a moment’s thought, ‘I can’t think of it.’

‘Or me,’ admitted Ole Devil. ‘I think that we’ll have to try direct methods. Hondo, can you take down a letter to General Philo Handiman, we’ll send it under a flag of truce to the nearest regular Yankee outfit, they’ll pass it on to Philo in Washington.’

Not knowing that his future was under consideration, Marsden resigned himself to his fate. In an attempt to stop himself thinking of his ruined career and possible fate, he studied the scenes around him. First thing to strike his eye was that the Texas Light Cavalry’s camp showed none of the casual slovenliness he associated with volunteer outfits. Next of interest being the amount of Union Army gear on view. Tents, leatherwork, arms all bore the mark of Union make, even though the voices around the camp sounded Texan.

‘You look surprised that we’re living so well, mister,’ Dusty remarked.

‘I am, sir,’ admitted Marsden.

‘We couldn’t do it relying on our own folks’ supplies. Apart from the uniforms, we mostly draw on the Yankees for anything we need.’

A faint smile came to Marsden’s lips at the small captain’s words. Something told Marsden that the forthcoming trip would be an education for him and that he might gain knowledge of use in his career. The smile went as Marsden realised that in all probability he no longer had a career or a future.

Telling the two sergeants to grab a meal, then report to his tent and bring Billy Jack, Dusty took Marsden to his quarters in the officers’ lines. Another of Marsden’s illusions went as he found that the wedge of tents had been stockaded and gave every hint of permanency.

‘We aren’t going anywhere,’ Dusty remarked in answer to the other’s comment on the permanent nature of the quarters. ‘Not unless it’s back over the Arkansas.’

The tent proved to be spacious, although not luxuriously furnished. However, it compared favourably with Marsden’s quarters with the Zouaves. Dusty shared the tent with his second-in-command and Red Blaze sat on one of the beds, his jacket off, Marsden’s weapon belt lying next to his own. A pair of saddles rested on burros, wooden racks like inverted A-shapes. One glance told Marsden that the Texans might use many Union items, but they stuck to their range rigs. The saddles had double girths and the type of low horn only rarely seen in New Mexico. A coiled, thirty-foot rope hung on one side of each saddle’s horn, with the slings for carrying a sabre at the other side. From the saddles, Marsden turned his attention to the arms leaning against the burros. As the Spencer carbine did not come into use until after the War started, he concluded the pair in the tent must be battlefield captures.

From the Spencers, Marsden turned his eyes to the sabres arid saw something that interested him. He wondered how he could satisfy his curiosity.

‘Everything all right, Dusty?’ Red asked.

‘Sure. Have a bed brought in for Mr. Marsden, he’s our guest.’

The order aroused no comment from Red. Among the regular officers of the Union and most of the Confederate brass the rules and chivalries of war were still honoured. A captured officer could expect decent treatment and certain privileges.

‘I’ll tend to it,’ Red promised. ‘His weapons are here, I left them until you told me how to dispose of them.’

‘You can let him have them back. He’ll be riding out with me in the morning.’