Ole Devil and the Caplocks (5 page)

There were a number of
horses in the center of the clearing beyond the men, including the
Texian’s line backed dun gelding which was ground hitched by its
dangling, split-ended reins. The magnificent palomino gelding, with
a floral patterned single girth saddle that had a swollen fork and
a horn almost the size of a dinner plate, obviously belonged to the
Mexican. It was standing a few feet away from the other animals,
its one-piece reins held by an unarmed, barefooted Indian boy—who
was shorter and more stocky than the Hopis, if that was their
identity—clad in a battered straw sombrero, torn white cotton shirt
and trousers with ragged legs.

With one exception, the
rest of the animals were wiry Indian ponies of various colors. The
latter had saddles with simple wooden trees covered by rawhide and
war bridles made from a single length of rope fastened to the lower
jaw by two half hitches. They were positioned so that Ole Devil
could not see enough of the exception to make out how it was
rigged. Nor did he waste time trying to find out.

Having given the Indians
and the horses a quick examination, Ole Devil returned his
attention to their Mexican companion and, almost certainly,
superior. What he saw was not calculated to increase his peace of
mind. Just the opposite, in fact.

The man was holding what
at first glance appeared to be a so-called “Kentucky”
^xxi
rifle, except that it had some unusual features. One of the
differences was that the hammer was underneath the frame, just
ahead of the trigger guard. Although a few “under hammer” pieces
had been made, they were never popular due to the difficulty of
retaining the priming powder in the frizzen pan. There would be no
such problem with the weapon in his hands. It did not have a
frizzen pan, nor even a nipple to take a percussion cap. Another
omission was a ramrod, and there was no provision made to carry
what was normally an indispensable aid to reloading. However, the
most noticeable departure from the standard “Kentucky’s” fittings
was a rectangular metal bar with rounded ends which passed through
an aperture in the frame and a lever-like device behind it on the
right side.

There was no need for Ole
Devil to wonder what the weapon might be. It was his Browning Slide
Repeating rifle, which had been in the leather boot—still something
of an innovation—attached to the left side of the dun’s saddle.
What was more, as one of the three five-shot magazines that had
been in a leather pouch on the back of his waist belt was now
positioned in the aperture on the piece’s frame, the Mexican either
knew, or had deduced, its purpose.

The other two magazines,
Ole Devil’s saber, and his matched pair of pistols—one of which was
carried in a holster that, along with the sword, hung over his
saddle horn— lay at his captor’s feet.

“
That’s
better,
señor
,” the Mexican remarked, taking his eyes from the weapon and
looking at the Texian. “Are you sufficiently recovered to
understand me?”

“Just about,” Ole Devil
admitted. “But I’m as uncomfortable as hell. Can I sit up,
please?”

“If you wish,” the Mexican
authorized, with an air of friendly magnanimity, but he made no
offer to help. Instead, he continued to study the rifle while the
Texian shuffled laboriously to sit propped against the trunk of the
tree. Then he went on, “This is a remarkable weapon—if it
works.”

“It works well enough,”
Ole Devil declared, puzzled by his captor’s attitude and playing
for time almost instinctively; although he did not know what good
gaining it might do.

“Then it’s a great pity
that it will only fire five shots in succession,” the Mexican
remarked, cradling the butt against his shoulder and sighting along
the forty and five-sixteenths of an inch-long octagonal barrel so
that its .45-caliber muzzle was directed at the center of its
owner’s chest. “Of course, under certain conditions, one would be
sufficient.”

“
When
Jonathan Browning
^xxii
saw how difficult it was to carry with the slide in place, he
decided that five was the number that could be handled most
conveniently,” Ole Devil explained, noticing that the hammer had
not been drawn down into the fully cocked position and guessing
that his captor was merely playing a cat-and-mouse game with him.
So he was able to show no concern and spoke as if making nothing
more than casual conversation. “He’ll make slides to take greater
numbers as a special order.”

“That’s interesting,” the
Mexican said thoughtfully, his right forefinger caressing the
trigger. Seeing no trace of alarm on his captive’s face, he turned
the barrel out of its alignment with an air of annoyance and
disappointment. “Does he make many rifles like this?”

“
I don’t
know,” Ole Devil admitted, deciding against claiming that the
majority of the Republic of Texas’s Army were supplied with similar
weapons. “It’s the only one I’ve come across, but I expect he’s
made and sold more.”
^xxiii

“I’ve never heard of a
weapon like this,” the Mexican stated. “An army equipped with them
would be a formidable thing.”

“Except that the generals
would never accept anything so new,” Ole Devil pointed out,
wondering what the conversation was leading up to.

“
That’s
true enough,” the Mexican conceded and gave a shrug. Laying the
rifle down carefully alongside the other weapons, he straightened
with an attitude of being ready to get to business. “Enough of this
small talk,
señor
. The time has come for us to
introduce ourselves. I am Major Abrahan Phillipe Gonzales de
Villena y Danvila, of the Arizona Hopi
Activos
Regiment, at your
service.”

The introduction accounted
for the man being clad in a uniform with which Ole Devil was not
acquainted.
Activos
were not members of the regular army, but reservists and
local militia commanded by influential civilians from the districts
in which they were raised. Coming from wealthy families, the
majority of such officers selected whatever type of attire they
fancied.

As, in general, the
Activos
regiments were
formed of peons who were poorly trained, armed and equipped and who
had little desire to become soldiers, they were not regarded as
dangerous by the Texians. However, Ole Devil realized that his
captors might prove to be an exception to the rule. Although the
Hopi Indians, being a nation of settled pastoral agriculturalists,
did not have a reputation as raiders and warriors like the Apaches,
Yaquis and Comanches, they were said to be tough and capable
fighting men. So being a prisoner in their hands was not a thing to
be taken lightly.

“
May I
ask who you are,
señor
,” Villena went on, when the
Texian did not offer to respond to the introduction. “You will
pardon me for doing so, but my curiosity has been aroused by
meeting with a member of the Texas Light Cavalry in this part of
the country—” He raised his hand in a mockingly prohibitive gesture
as Ole Devil was about to speak. “Please,
señor
, don’t try to deny it. I’m not
one of those regular army clodhoppers. I’ve made a thorough study
of—if you will excuse the use of the term—the enemy. The way you
are dressed tells me that you serve in Colonel Edward Fog’s
‘regiment.’ “

“In that case, I won’t
deny it,” the Texian promised, impressed by the extent of the
Mexican’s knowledge and hiding his annoyance over the note of
derision with which the word “regiment” had been said.

“Then perhaps you will be
good enough to answer my question,” Villena suggested, still
speaking politely, but the underlying threat in his voice was
growing more noticeable.

“I decided that I didn’t
like the idea of being a soldier anymore,” Ole Devil explained. “So
I deserted.”

‘
You are
a deserter?” the Mexican purred, exuding disbelief and waving his
hand almost languidly toward the weapons at his feet. “I very much
doubt that,
señor
. A matched pair of
percussion-fired pistols made by Joseph Manton of London, England,
a ‘bowie’ knife inscribed with the name ‘James Black, Little Rock,
Arkansas,’ a saber from L. Haiman and Brother, this remarkable
rifle. They are not the arms supplied to an ordinary enlisted man.
You are a caballero, like myself,
señor
. Men of our class do not
desert.”

Considering he was on
dangerous ground, Ole Devil did not reply. Instead, he looked
around the clearing again. He was no more fortunate than on the
first occasion in finding something which might offer the slightest
hope of escaping from his desperate situation. Certainly there was
no help anywhere close at hand, unless the picket whom he had been
on his way to visit—

“
I must
confess that I am puzzled,
señor
” Villena stated, breaking into
his captive’s train of thought. “According to the information I was
given, the Texas Light Cavalry are forming part of the screen for
General Houston’s flight. And yet I find two members of it over
here near the coast.”

Try as he might, Ole Devil
could not prevent himself from giving some slight indication of how
disturbing that news was. Yet, when he came to think of it, Villena
had suggested that he had already met with another member of the
Texas Light Cavalry. Which meant that he must have come across the
picket. Even as Ole Devil regained control and halted the
stiffening movement he was making, he knew that it had not gone
unnoticed.

“
Two of
you,
señor
,” the Mexican confirmed, clearly delighted at having evoked
even so small a response. “My scouts came upon the other at the
edge of the woodland. But you know what these damned savages are
like. Instead of taking him a prisoner, so that I could question
him, one of them caved his skull in with a throwing
stick.”

The mocking timbre in the
Mexican’s voice filled Ole Devil with anger. Like any good officer,
he took an interest in the men under his command. Although well
qualified to handle the duty, having spent several years on the
frontier, the picket was also a married man with two children. No
matter how he had allowed the Hopis to come near enough to kill
him, his death was a tragedy. However, the Texian controlled his
emotions. Displaying them would serve no other purpose than to give
amusement and pleasure to his sadistic captor. “So you see my
predicament,
señor
,” Villena went on, but he was clearly growing irritated by
Ole Devil’s continued refusal to respond to his goading. “My
colonel has sent me on a scouting mission and I come across a
member of the Texas Light Cavalry far from where he should be. But
he is killed before I can question him. At first I tell myself he
must be a deserter. Then I am told that one of his officers has
been captured. So, being a man of intelligence, I ask myself, ‘Why
are they in this vicinity?’ and find I cannot supply the
answer.”

Despite his distress over
the death of the picket, Ole Devil was listening with growing
relief. Up until then he had been afraid that, having learned about
the consignment of Caplocks, Santa Anna had sent a regiment to help
the renegades who had tried to prevent their collection. Now he was
sure that Villena’s presence was no more than an unfortunate
coincidence. In addition to the Mexicans’ main force, which was
marching toward San Antonio de Bexar, there were said to be two
other columns on their way to invade Texas. In all probability, the
Arizona Hopi
Activos
Regiment were the advance party from one of the
latter.

“
Perhaps
you would care to supply me with the answer,
señor
?” Villena
suggested. “I’d advise you to do so. These Indians of mine can be
most brutal. Much as I would dislike to have to give the order,
they’ll make you talk whether you want to or not.”

“I’ve nothing to say,” Ole
Devil replied.

“
That is
a foolish attitude,
señor
,” Villena warned. “And one
which will avail you nothing. Much as I would regret the necessity,
my sense of duty would compel me to employ even barbarous and
painful means if that is the only way in which I can get the
information I require from you. Tell me what I want to know and I
give you my word that I will set you free.”

“You will?” Ole Devil
gasped, with well-simulated eagerness.

“I will,” Villena
confirmed. “You have my word on it.”

An experienced poker
player, Ole Devil had become experienced at reading facial
expressions. As the Mexican was giving the assurance, a malicious
glint came to his eyes and his lips twisted into a derisive sneer.
It was obvious to the Texian that his captor was still playing the
cat-and-mouse game by making such an offer. Even if he supplied the
information, it would not save him from torture and death. Yet he
also had to concede that Villena was playing the game in a clever
fashion. The pretended amiability and reluctance to employ painful
methods was calculated to lessen his resistance when the latter
were being applied.