Ole Devil and the caplocks

by Edson, John Thomas

  "That's the thing I'm counting on most," Ole Devil replied. "But, if she sent those men to tell your grandfather about seeing her and her men coming this way, she must have had a reason for doing it. I wish I could think what it was."

  Throughout the short ride back to his waiting companions, the Texian tried to console himself with the thought that Di's final comment had been valid. The arrival of Mannen Blaze and Company "C" the previous day had scattered the renegades who were with Madeline de Moreau. Nor, even if she had managed to gather them again, were there so many as to have a great numerical supremacy over Brindley and his Tejas Indian employees.

  In spite of the latter point, Ole Devil could not dispel his perturbation. He felt sure that the two men who had met the mule train were acting under Madeline de Moreau's orders. In which case, she must have had a good reason for sending them. Nothing he had seen of her led him to assume she was

  J. T. EDSON

  foolish. In fact, he had found her to be intelHgent and unscrupulous. So, if he was correct in his assumptions, she was planning mischief of some kind. He wished that he could guess what it might be.

  Swinging from the dun's saddle near to the other horses, Ole Devil put aside his speculations so as to give his instructions to his cousin and Beauregard Rassendyll. Each picket was to be given a companion and warned about the Hopis, with orders to report to the bay immediately if any of them were seen. Fifty of the new caplocks were to be cleaned—all were coated in grease—ready for use and would be loaded as soon as word was received that the Indians were coming.

  "I'll see to it," Mannen promised, after his cousin had explained the reason why he was being left in command. "And I've got something that will help. Uncle Ben Blaze sent me a Browning and three slides."

  "That could come in handy all right," Ole Devil admitted. "But I hope that you don't need it."

  "Tell you though," Di went on. "You might not be able to stop them Hopis a-coming, but with the caplocks and your lil ole Browning, you ought to be able to make 'em limp a mite going back."

  "Like Cousin Devil says," Mannen drawled, his tones suggesting that he was having difficulty in staying awake, "I hope it doesn't come to that."

  While the conversation had been taking place, Ole Devil was transferring his saddle and bridle to the big, powerful black gelding which was his second mount. Being fresh, it would travel at a better speed than the dun. As Di was equally aware of the need to move fast, she had been making her sorrel gelding ready instead of relying upon the mount belonging to the dead picket.

  Satisfied that he had done all he could to safeguard the consignment and confident he could rely upon Mannen to do

  everything necessary, Ole Devil set off with the girl. They made good time, but the sun was going down before they arrived at their destination.

  Topping a ridge which gave them their first view of the mule train, Di and the Texian could sense that their fears had been justified. The animals, still saddled and under the watchful gaze of the Tejas Indian packers, were standing in a bunch just beyond some bushes on the bank of a small stream. Forming a rough circle around them were a number of the Texian soldiers, positioned as if waiting to repel an attack. However, only half of Maxime's detail were present. Nor was there any sign of Brindley and his cargador* A further suggestion that something had happened was given by a gray horse which lay unmoving on its side a short way from the other animals. The sight of it brought a furious exclamation from the girl.

  "Hell's teeth!" Di bellowed, reining in the sorrel. "Something's happened to ole Whitey!"

  The words were directed at Ole Devil's back. Disturbed by what he was seeing, he signaled with his hands and heels for the black gelding to increase its pace. Nor, despite the shock she had received and appreciating what the loss of the white horse could mean, did the giri delay. Even as she stopped speaking, she urged her mount forward at a better speed and followed her grim-faced companion. Galloping across the intervening distance, they were almost neck and neck as they passed between two members of his company.

  "Go in there, Cap'n Hardin!" called one of the soldiers, pointing toward the bushes.

  Acting upon the somewhat inadequate advice, with the giri still at his side, Ole Devil went in the direction indicated by the man. Before they had gone many feet, he began to get an

  * Cargador: assistant pack master and second-in-command of a mule train.

  inkling of what the soldier had meant. At least two other members of his company were partially concealed by the foliage and it was impossible to tell what they were doing. Recognizing one as possessing a reasonable knowledge of medical and surgical matters, he felt an ever growing sense of alarm.

  Sliding the black to a halt on the edge of the bushes, Ole Devil was quitting the saddle and allowing the reins to fall free even before it was fully at a stop. Responding with an equal alacrity, Di dismounted and accompanied him as he advanced on foot.

  "Grandpappy!" the girl shrieked, as she and the Texian passed between some of the bushes to enter a small patch of open ground. "Joe!"

  Ewart Brindley was lying on his back. About the same height as his granddaughter, he made up in breadth what he lacked in height. Stripped to the waist, his buckskin shirt having been cut off so that "Doc" Kimberley could get at the wound in the right side of his chest, he was well muscled and looked as hard and fit as a much younger man. Almost bald, with what little hair that remained a grizzled white, his leathery and sun-reddened features showed that, although he was trying to hide it, he was in considerable pain. He had on buckskin trousers, encircled by a belt with a big knife in an Indian sheath, and moccasins which extended to just below the knee.

  Not far away, propped in a sitting position against the bent leg of a kneeling soldier, Brindley's cargador was having what appeared to be a wound on his forehead bandaged. About twenty years of age, Joe Galton was tall, red haired, good looking in a freckled and, usually, cheerful way. He too wore buckskins and carried a knife on his belt.

  To give her full credit, regardless of the discovery she had just made, Di did not go into a display of hysteria. Raised by

  her grandfather in a predominantly male society since her parents had been killed during her early childhood, she had seen much of life—and death. So she was able to restrain her external emotions after the initial reaction. Going forward, her body trembling slightly with the strain of acting in an impassive manner, she watched the tall, lean, unshaven, yet clean looking soldier who was attending to Brindley. Deciding that he was competent to handle the task, she halted and looked down. However, when she tried to speak, the question she wanted to ask would not come.

  "How is he, Doc?" Ole Devil inquired, having moved forward and stopped at the girl's side. His left hand gave her right bicep a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

  "He'll pull through, but it's bad enough to keep him off his feet for a while," Kimberley answered, in the accent of a well-educated Englishman, without taking his attention from his work. "Joe's got a bad graze on his forehead. The bullet just touched and glanced off. It knocked him from his horse and stunned him, but he was lucky. Another inch, or less— Lie still, sir."

  The last words were directed at Brindley. Having opened his eyes, the old man was stirring and tried to sit up.

  "Goddamn it!" Brindley gritted, as Kimberley enforced the request by pushing at his shoulders. "Get your cotton-picking hands of fen—"

  "You hush your mouth and do like he says, blast it!" Di yelped, springing forward and dropping to her knees at the other side of her grandfather. Spitting the words out almost breathlessly in her anxiety, she continued, "This gent knows what he's about and there's nothing you can do yet a-whiles." "That's better," Kimberley went on, when his patient subsided more from agony-induced weakness than through any desire to be cooperative. He indicated a bulky, open saddle-

  bag by his side, "I've got something in here will ease the pain."

  "N—No—drugs for me!" Brindley protested feebly and man
aged to focus his eyes upon his granddaughter. "Damn it, Di-gal, they shot ole Whitey—"

  "I saw," the girl admitted bitterly.

  "Y—You—kn—know—what—that means?" the old man demanded.

  "If I don't, you've sure as hell wasted a heap of time raising me," Di replied. "Which you haven't. So you just lie still while I go tend to things."

  "Lemme come and—" Galton put in.

  "I don't reckon you'd be a whole heap of help right now," Di answered, looking at the speaker. "So stay put, blast you. Ain't nothing you can do that I can't, not's needs tending to right now anyway. I'll see to things and the boys'U tell me what's happened."

  "Hell, I'm not hurt all that bad!" the cargador objected, but his voice lacked conviction and his attempt to force himself away from the support given by the soldier's knee achieved nothing. Giving a low groan, he sank down again and raised a hand to his head. Trying to speak lightly, he went on, "I feel like I've just woke up after a night at Mama Rosa's cantina. So I wouldn't be a heap of help. Damned if you wasn't right, Di-gal."

  "/ never figured's I wasn't," the girl pointed out, returning her attention to Brindley and wagging her right forefinger in front of his face. "You do what the doc here says, mind. And that goes for you, Joe Galton." Having delivered her instructions, she looked at Kimberley and continued in milder tones, "Happen this pair of worthless goats give you any trouble, Doc, treat 'em like I do when they make fuss for me."

  "How would that be, young lady?" the Englishman inquired, removing some of the contents from his saddlebag.

  "Same thing's I do with the mules, which there's not a whole heap of difference 'tween 'em," Di elaborated. "Whomp 'em over the head with something heavy and's won't matter happen it gets busted."

  "By jove! That strikes me as being a sound piece of medical advice," Kimberley declared, darting a glance filled with approbation at the girl. He could sense the deep emotional stress that she was experiencing and felt admiration for the way in which she kept it under control.

  "Like they say," Di replied, straightening up. "You can do most anything with kindness, 'less you're dealing with mules —or men." Her gaze swung to Ole Devil. "You fixing to stand here jawing for the rest of the day?"

  "It's a thought," the Texian answered. "But I wouldn't get any peace from you if I did, so I'll go and do some work."

  "And not before time," Di sniffed.

  "I don't know why he left England," Ole Devil remarked to the girl as they were walking through the bushes. "But he's a damned good doctor."

  "I could see that, or you'd have heard me yelling," the girl stated and glared at the dead horse. "Goddamn it Devil if—"

  "I'll be talking to Maxime about coming away from the train," Ole Devil promised and, in spite of the gentle way that he was speaking, his face became even more Satanic.

  "It wasn't his fault, damn it," Di protested, realizing that her comment had been misinterpreted and her sense of fair play demanded that the error must be corrected. "You put those boys you sent under Grandpappy Ewart's orders and it was him, not ole Charlie Maxime's said they should head back to the bay and try to trap the renegades a-'tween us."

  "Yes," Ole Devil conceded. "But—"

  "There's no son-of-a-bitching 'but' about it!" the girl interrupted. "What in hell's use is it you giving a feller orders to take orders from somebody, then expecting him to pick and choose which of 'em he takes?"

  "You're right," Ole Devil admitted, his lips twitching into a smile that he did not feel like giving. Again he gave Di's arm a gentle squeeze, for he shared Kimberley's feelings about her. "And saying what should have been, or laying blame, isn't going to change what happened. It's how we're affected and what's going to need doing now that counts. First, though, we better find out how it came about." He raised his voice, "Corporal Anchor!"

  "Yo!" responded a medium-size and thickset soldier, rising and ambling swiftly toward his superior.

  "What happened?" Ole Devil inquired, acknowledging the other's salute.

  "I don't know, Cap'n," Anchor replied. "We heard shooting's we was coming back. But by the time we came into sight, it was all over. Ewart and young Joe Galton were down and the fellers who'd done it had lit out like the devil after a yearling. So Charlie Maxime sent me with Doc Kimberley and half of the boys to stand guard, then went after 'em with the rest."

  While the brief conversation was taking place, a tall, well-made and middle-aged Tejas Indian approached from where he and his companions were attending to the mules. Dressed in buckskins and knee-high moccasins like the rest of the mule packers, he had on a high-crowned, wide-brimmed black hat with an eagle's tail feather in its band. He was armed with a big knife on his belt and had a "Plains" rifle across the crook of his left arm. There was something dignified and commanding about him and he showed none of the servility or debauchery which characterized many of his tribe

  who lived and worked in close contact with Mexicans or Anglo-Saxon colonists.

  The same applied to all of Brindley's Indian employees, even Waldo, the aged cook, who occasionally went on a drinking spree. All had avoided the "civilizing" influence of the missions. Tough, hardy and capable, the old man, his granddaughter and cargador treated them with respect and they reciprocated by being loyal and hardworking.

  "How Ewart 'n' Joe?" the man asked in a guttural voice. "I see white feller know what him doing and tell him take them in bushes in case bad hombres come back."

  "They will both be all right," Di answered, speaking Tejas fluently. "What happened, Tom?"

  "We were tricked," replied Tom Wolf, the chief of the mule packers, reverting to his native tongue.

  "Tell me about it, please," the girl requested.

  Keeping his face impassive, but speaking with a vehemence that was obvious to Ole Devil even though he did not understand the language, Tom Wolf complied. He could speak passable English, but felt—as did Di—that he could make a more thorough explanation in his own tongue. So Di listened and translated for the young Texian's benefit.

  According to Tom Wolf, Sergeant Maxime had not been to blame for leaving the mule train. The non-com had been reluctant to do so, but Brindley insisted. On the face of it, the decision had been correct; or at least justifiable under the circumstances as they had known them. There was nothing suspicious about the way that the two strangers had divulged their information. In fact, it had come up in what seemed a natural manner. They claimed to have seen a woman, who looked to have been in a fight, leading a group of men towards the coast. Not having cared for the appearance of the party, they had kept out of sight and made their examination with the aid of a telescope. On coming into view of the train.

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  they had concluded that—as its escort were soldiers—they would be advised to ride over and give a warning. They were, they had said, on their way west to join Houston and the Republic of Texas's Army.

  Although Brindley had dispatched his military escort, in the hope of trapping the renegades, he did not accept his informants at face value. After they had ridden away, he told Tom Wolf to follow them. If they were working in cahoots with the woman and her band, such a possibility had been anticipated. Certainly they had neither turned back nor acted in a suspicious fashion up to the time that the sound of shooting from the rear had caused the Tejas chief to give up his observation and return.

  Like the soldiers, Tom Wolf had arrived too late to participate in the fighting. Nor, much as he had wished to do so, was he able to go after his employer's assailants. Instead, he had remained with the mules and left the other task to Sergeant Maxime. In addition to attending to his duties, he had learned how the attack had taken place. The mule train was approaching the stream when a packer had seen a number of riders on a rim about half a mile to the south.

  While the newcomers had behaved in a menacing fashion, they were only acting as a diversion. Four of their number had been concealed in a grove of post oaks less than a quarter of a mile to the north. As t
he exposed group approached, but before they had come into range of the defenders' weapons, the hidden men opened fire to hit Brindley, the cargador and the gray mare. Having done so, they withdrew and the threat of a charge, which was not launched, by their companions prevented the packers from giving chase.

  "The men would have gone after them when the others rode away, but I stopped them," Tom Wolf concluded. 'T could see the soldiers coming and knew we must look after Ewart, Joe and the mules."

  "You acted with wisdom, Chief," declared Ole Devil, to whom the words had been directed in English. "I don't doubt the courage of your braves, or that you would have preferred to avenge the shooting of your friends."

  "Do you want us to make camp here, Di?" asked the Indian, but the girl could see he was appreciative of and relieved by the young Texian's statement.

  "It's all we can do." Di sighed, anger clouding her expressive face. After Tom Wolf had turned to go and give the necessary orders, she swung toward Ole Devil. "Goddamn it, even though they didn't scatter the mules like they was hoping, they couldn't have done worse to us than they did."

  "They did just what they meant to do," the Texian answered.

  "You mean all they was fixing to do was down Grandpappy Ewart and Joe?" the girl demanded.

  "That was the idea, but they were told to shoot the bell mare as well," Ole Devil replied. "Whoever planned the ambush must have been around mules enough to know that, especially with a well trained team like this, they'd bunch and balk, but wouldn't scatter under fire, particularly with old Whitey down. From what you've told me, they won't move without her to lead them."

  "They won't," Di confirmed, realizing what her companion was driving at.

  Being hybrids, resulting from the crossing of a male donkey with a female horse, mules were only rarely capable of breeding. For all that, they tended to find the company of a mare irresistible. It was a trait which packers, handling large numbers of the animals, turned to their advantage. The mules would follow a mare all day without needing to be fastened together and, apparently soothed by a bell fastened around her neck, were content to remain close to her all night instead of requiring tying when on the trail.