Ole Devil at San Jacinto (Old Devil Hardin Western Book 4) (23 page)

Although the Dragoons set off, none of their
hearts were in the task. Already the little ‘Indian’ was
approaching the top of the slope. From the speed at which he had
made the ascent, his mount was superior to their own. What was
more, there might be others of his ‘tribe’ waiting for him up
there. If not, he was still armed with that deadly bow and almost
certainly had more arrows of the particularly vicious variety with
which he had killed their comrade-in-arms the previous night.

Even those of the party who had
not seen the missile in question had had it described to them in
gory
—possibly
slightly exaggerated—detail. So there was a mutual, if unspoken
reluctance and disinclination to go where such murderous devices
could be loosed at them. However, being aware of their fate if they
refused, they decided to at least make a token appearance of
continuing the pursuit and would see what developed once they
reached the ridge. At least, their superior would not be there to
drive them on.

Unaware of what was taking place behind him
and not daring to look back, Tommy was able to see the crest of the
ridge. He found that Ole Devil was still there, staring down the
slope with an expression of bafflement and anger.

‘
Go on!’ the little
Oriental called, remembering what action was called for on his
employer’s part. ‘He let himself be killed to make it work. Don’t
spoil it, or his death will be in vain.
’

Experiencing a shock as if he had been
doused with cold water, Ole Devil Hardin’s mind absorbed Tommy
Okasi’s words. They came as such a surprise that it was only by
exercising all his strength of will that he found himself capable
of carrying out the little Oriental’s instructions. However, he
knew that he must do so. There would be a better chance of driving
off their pursuers if they kept it from being known how many men
were involved. Cursing himself silently and furiously for not
having surmised what Lieutenant Paul Dimmock had meant to do,
although he knew that few people would have anticipated such a
gesture of self sacrifice, he forced himself to continue with the
plan he had made.

Turning, Ole Devil ran to his big black
gelding. As his companion appeared at the crest of the ridge, he
started the animal moving. A short way ahead lay another area of
woodland just as Dimmock had predicted and which had been taken
into consideration as part of their strategy. It was there that the
Texian hoped they would be able to persuade any pursuers to turn
back.

Reaching the shelter of the trees before the
first of the Popocatapetl Dragoons made their appearance, the two
young men left their mounts tied with the three reserve horses
which Ole Devil had already taken there. Showing his usual
forethought, he had placed the animals where they could be seen
thus causing confusion as to the actual size of his party.
Returning to the edge of the woodland, he and the little Oriental
took up positions behind the sturdy trunks of a couple of trees and
awaited developments.

Watching as the Dragoons rode
slowly over the top of the ridge, talking and gesticulating from
one to another, Tommy made a selection from his remaining arrows.
Thrusting one into the ground within easy reach of his right hand,
he held
another in its palm and nocked a third ready for use.
Waiting until the men were about one hundred and fifty yards away,
he drew and loosed the first shaft.

Hearing the eerie whistling of
a
hiki-ya
point in flight, which lost little of its alarming
qualities when discharged by day, the Dragoons came to a halt.
However, as the arrow plunged downwards and imbedded itself in the
turf a few feet ahead of them, the sergeant applied the spurs to
his horse. Waving his saber, still smeared with Dimmock’s blood, he
charged forward. Although one of the enlisted men was in motion
almost as quickly, the rest hung back until they had gained a lead
of some ten yards before following.

‘
That sergeant’s mine!’ Ole Devil
growled, cradling the butt of the Browning Slide Repeating rifle to
his shoulder and squinting along the forty and five-sixteenths of
an inch length of its octagonal barrel.

Knowing that no answer was expected, Tommy
did not make one. Nor was he surprised at his employer’s choice.
Having seen the sergeant cut down Dimmock, Ole Devil intended to
take revenge personally. So Tommy concentrated on loading and
drawing his bow to deal with the second man.

Studying the hesitant behavior
of all but the leading pair of Dragoons, the little Oriental
decided that the use of the
wata-kusi
points the previous evening was paying dividends.
Unfortunately, he had brought only the two of them with him. Nor
had he any more of the
hiki-ya
heads, not that he contemplated employing another
one under the present circumstances.

Having straight edges and being
diamond-shaped in section, the
yanagi-ha—
‘willow leaf’—point lacked the specialized
qualities of the other types of heads, but that did not detract
from its worth.
^xlviii
It was the most efficient
general purpose point used by the
kyudoka.
Such was the kind of arrow upon which he
was now relying.

Sighting in the
traditional
yami,
‘eclipse’ fashion, so that the stave of the bow covered the
center of the target, Tommy loosed the arrow as soon as he heard
the flat crack of Ole Devil’s rifle. Shot in the head with a .45
caliber bullet, the sergeant went backwards over the cantle of his
saddle. Flying somewhat slower, the arrow still arrived with
sufficient velocity to pierce the Dragoon’s breastplate and reach
the vital organs it was supposed to protect. Dropping the saber
with a shriek of mortal torment, he grabbed at the shaft which was
protruding from his chest and tumbled, dying, off of his
horse.

Thumbing down the catch at the right side of
the rifle’s frame, Ole Devil caused the simple mechanism to
operate. The slide magazine crawled through the aperture until the
next loaded chamber was in line with the bore and was crammed
forward against the opening. Then, without taking the butt from his
shoulder, he reached with his forefinger to draw down the
under-hammer. In far less time than was possible with any
contemporary single-barreled firearm, he was ready to shoot
again.

Quickly as the Texian was able to recharge
the piece, Tommy could replenish his more primitive weapon with
even greater rapidity. Gathering up the third arrow, he nocked it
to the string. However, he did not make his draw immediately. None
of the other Dragoons were as near as the first pair and he had no
wish to waste a shaft. He had been fortunate in felling his man at
that range and anywhere beyond it would almost certainly see the
arrow repelled by the metal breastplate, which might give the
soldiers encouragement to press home an attack.

Ole Devil had no such
inhibitions. Sighting, he fired and saw the man at whom he had
aimed reel under the impact, although he did not fall. Instead, he
reined his horse around and sent it at a gallop in the direction
from which he had come. Panic of that kind was generally infectious
and so it proved on this occasion. Without the presence of either
Almonte or the sergeant to make them continue the attack upon
what
—if the
number of horses to be seen was any guide—appeared to be several of
the enemy, the rest of the Dragoons also turned and took their
departure.

‘
We’ve done it,
Devil-san,’ Tommy said with satisfaction, lowering the bow and
returning the
yanagi-ha
shaft to his quiver. ‘Shall I go and make sure that no more
of them are coming?’

‘
Yes,’ Ole Devil replied, looking at
the little Oriental in a speculative manner. ‘Do that.’

Giving the Texian no chance to
ask the questions which he knew would be forthcoming, Tommy went to
collect the dead
vaquero’s
horse which he had been using. He was not ashamed of the
decisions he had made where Paul Dimmock was concerned, but there
were more important things to do at that moment than discuss
them.

Riding towards the top of the ridge, Tommy
stopped before he reached the edge. Dismounting and allowing the
animal to stand ground hitched, he advanced the remaining distance
on foot until he could see over without allowing himself to be seen
in return. As he expected, the party of Dragoons were still riding
downwards and showed no sign of turning back. Nor were any more of
the enemy making the ascent. On the trail, looking like a disturbed
ants’ nest with various of its personnel milling around, the column
had come to a halt and several officers were making their way in
the direction of the advance party.

There was, however, something of
vastly greater interest and significance for the little Oriental to
observe. Some short distance from the remainder of the Dragoons’
bodyguard and on foot,
Presidente
Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna was surrounded by a
group comprised of his dinner guests from the previous evening.
Among them, the center of all their attention, was Colonel Juan
Almonte displaying a sheet of paper and holding several more in his
hand. Standing nearby, Dimmock’s horse supplied the clue to what
was happening.

Clearly the ‘reward posters’ and
the ‘Government’s’ letter, which the lieutenant should have dropped
‘accidentally’ with his saddlebags while ascending the slope, had
reached their destination in a much more convincing manner.
Everything now depended on whether
el Presidente
would accept them at their face value
and act upon them in the way that Major General Samuel Houston
hoped for.

Deciding that there was nothing
more he could see or do at that time, Tommy stood for a moment with
his feet together and hands clenched by his side. He bowed at the
waist towards the body of his dead companion in a silent and
respectful salutation. Then, picking up the bow which he had laid
down so as to pay his tribute to Dimmock, he withdrew from his
point of vantage. Retrieving the
hiki-ya
and
yanagi-ha
arrows in passing, the latter being far easier
than a
wata-kusi
point to remove from the body of its victim, he rejoined
his employer. As they started to ride eastwards, he reported all he
had seen and deduced.

‘
You’re probably right
about them being more likely to be
convinced by the posters and letters
after the way they fell into their hands,’ Ole Devil conceded
bitterly, when the little Oriental had finished speaking. Studying
the inscrutable mask of the other’s face, he went on, ‘Did Paul
tell you what he intended to do?’

‘
No,’ Tommy replied.

‘
When did you guess?’ the Texian
challenged.

‘
Watching him last night,
I thought he might be considering something of the sort,’ Tommy
admitted, with none of the mock deferential manner he adopted in
more relaxed moments or when he felt there was need to relieve his
companions’ tensions. ‘Twice before I left my home, I
saw
Samurai
who were dishonored and under the obligation to
commit
seppuku.
^xlix
Each time, he looked and behaved as
Dimmock-san was doing.’

‘
Paul wasn’t dishonored,’ Ole Devil
protested. ‘It was just the opposite, in fact.’

‘
We knew that,’ Tommy
replied, ‘but
he
believed he was.’

‘
Then why didn’t you say something to
me instead of letting him go through with it?’ Ole Devil demanded
savagely, as close as he had ever come to being furious with his
loyal little companion.

‘
How a man chooses to
live, or to die, is his own right, Devil-san,’ Tommy answered with
quiet dignity and gentleness. ‘It is not for others, even his
friends to interfere. Dimmock-san believed that for the rest of his
life, even though he had been on this mission, he would live under
a dark cloud because of his flight from Goliad. Always there would
be those who sought to remind him
—and his parents too—that he was
still alive when many of his comrades-in-arms were killed. Sooner
or later,
it
would come that he had to kill somebody, or be killed
himself. So he thought it was preferable to die now, usefully and
with honor. If I had doubted him, I would have spoken.’

‘
I know you
would,
amigo,’
Ole Devil admitted, nodding his approval. Then he gave a
sigh and went on, ‘He died usefully and with honor, all right.’ His
voice dropped to little more than a whisper, yet throbbed with
emotion, as he concluded, ‘You crazy, gallant fool, Paul. By the
Good Lord, I’ll do everything I can to make sure that you haven’t
died in vain.’

Lieutenant Paul Dimmock could have asked for
no better assurance, nor epitaph!

~*~

Colonel Juan Almonte was waiting
with what little patience he could muster for the man he had sent
after the dead
gringo’s
horse to return. A glance at the trail had informed him
that Ramon Caro had quit the box of the leading baggage wagon and
was joining their superior. He could trust that dirty little rat of
a letter-scribbler to try and put him in a bad light over the
shooting, and he wanted to refute such a claim as quickly as
possible.