Ole Devil and the caplocks

by Edson, John Thomas

  "Yes sir." Di grinned, noticing how the renegade was staring with awestricken fascination at the smaller of her male companions. Clearly the man had been impressed by the demonstration of laijitsu in reverse and realized that, swiftly as the tachi had been returned to its sheath, it could be produced with an equal or possibly even greater speed. "He just might at that."

  "Bring him over so that he can answer Mister Turtle's question, Tommy," Ole Devil commanded.

  Having delivered his instructions, the Texian turned around. His whole bearing was redolent of confidence that he would be obeyed. Not only did the girl share his conviction that the little Oriental could handle their prisoner, but she knew why Ole Devil was acting in such a manner. He meant to impress the onlookers and warn them that he was a man with whom it would be dangerous to meddle. So she accompanied him as he strode across the room.

  Approaching their host's table, Di gave the other men at it more of her attention than she was devoting to Turtle. All

  i

  had an air of prosperity, but that was only to be expected. A player needed to have plenty of money, or negotiatable property, to sit in on a game with the kind of stakes for which they had been playing. Three were prominent members of the community, with only slightly lower social standing than the hotelkeeper, whom she knew slightly and did not care for. Nor did the other two, one in the attire of a civilian ship's officer and the other dressed in the fashion of a Mississippi riverboat gambler, strike her as being any more likable. She noticed that the latter was studying Ole Devil with considerable interest.

  "Go after Devil-San!" ordered the little Oriental, picking up the pistol and knife without taking his eyes off the renegade.

  Gulping nervously, despite having an even greater size and weight advantage than he had had over the giri, the man showed no inclination to refuse. Instead, he turned to scuttle after Di and Ole Devil. Tucking the pistol into his belt. Tommy followed at a more leisurely pace.

  "All right, hombre, " the Texian said, his face taking on its most Satanic expression as the man came up. "You heard Mister Turtle. How many more of your outfit are there and how close might they be?"

  "I—" the prisoner began, torn between fear of his captors and the knowledge of the way a betrayal would be regarded by his fellow renegades no matter how it had been extracted from him. "Augh!"

  The last exclamation had been involuntary and was one of agony. It was caused by Tommy driving his right hand, with the fingers extended and the thumb bent across the palm, in a hira-nukite—fouT finger piercing—thrust against the man's kidney region. It was a most painful form of treatment, as its recipient might have testified if he had not had more urgent matters on his mind.

  "You'll find it's a whole heap easier on yourself if you answer," Ole Devil remarked. "That was only for starters."

  "There's a dozen more of us," the renegade croaked, having reached a similar conclusion. "The—They're about three miles out, on the trail south."

  "Are they likely to come here?" Ole Devil asked.

  "N—No!" the man yelped. "Honest to Gawd! Mrs. de Moreau allowed that you'd be sure to come that way and didn't even want us four to come in. How the hell did they miss—"

  'We're asking the questions," Ole Devil pointed out.

  "N—No offense!" the prisoner squawked, drawing in his spine as he anticipated the arrival of another painful blow from what had felt like a blunt steel spike.

  "What're you laying for these folks over?" asked the gambler, who had been sharing his attention between the girl and the Texian.

  "With respect, sir," Ole Devil put in before the renegade could answer, having no wish for the other occupants of the barroom to learn about the consignment of caplock rifles. "But that's between them and us."

  "Is that so?" The gambler growled, for the way in which the statement had been made was less polite than the words themselves.

  "That's how / see it!" Ole Devil declared, his voice and attitude showing he considered the matter to be closed.

  "Well I don'—" the gambler began.

  "I'm not acquainted with either of these gentlemen, Mister Trellis," Cole Turtle interrupted, laying his big right hand on the butt of the pistol in what some people might have regarded as a casual, or even accidental, manner. "But Di Brindley and her grandfather are my friends."

  "It seems I've the advantage over you in one respect," Wade Trellis replied, without making any great effort to hide

  his resentment over the hotelkeeper's intervention. He indicated the young Texian. "He's Ole Devil Hardin—"

  "I'd an idea that he might be," Turtle admitted with a sardonic smile. "You're traveling in distinguished and influential company, Di."

  "There's some's'd say better your'n, Cole," the girl answered, darting a hostile glare at the gambler.

  "And what the nut-man* here's going to say next, sir," Ole Devil went on, "is that there used to be a price on my head in Louisiana."

  "Used to be?" Trellis repeated, his cheeks reddening although he tried to keep from showing his resentment at having been classified as a "nut-man."

  "Used to be," Ole Devil confirmed. "I've been told that my name's been cleared and the charge which brought me here no longer applies."

  "So that's what you've heard, huh?" Trellis sneered.

  "Di's here as your guest and under your protection, sir," Ole Devil said, ignoring the gambler and addressing the ho-telkeeper in tones intended to carry around the room. He was aided by the silence which had descended upon the employees and customers alike. "But I can protect myself."

  "That's understood. Captain Hardin," Turtle replied, speaking just as loudly and, as was obvious to everybody present, once again giving what amounted to his seal of approval for the Texian.

  "Take this. Tommy," Ole Devil ordered, handing his rifle to the little Oriental. Then he swung his cold, Satanic gaze to Trellis. "The news was brought by a friend, whose word I

  * Nut-man: operator of a "shell game," using a dried pea and three walnut shells or thimbles, such as is described in THE LAW OF THE GUN. As the game is purely a swindle, despite requiring considerable manipulative skill, a nut-man was not regarded very highly in gambling circles.

  trust, so / believe it, nut-man. If you 'd care to dispute the story, pick up Mister Turtle's pistol and start to do it."

  Looking from the grim-faced young Texian to the gambler and back, a broad grin twisted the hotelkeeper's lips. After a glance at Di, who neither moved nor spoke, he set the hammer of the pistol at half cock and pushed across the table until it was just within the gambler's reach. Then, taking his hand away, he sat back with an air of eager anticipation. His whole attitude showed that he expected, hoped even, that the challenge would be accepted. Knowing Trellis, he did not doubt it would.

  Nor was Turtle particularly surprised that Ole Devil should be adopting such a high handed attitude. It was typical of an arrogant, hot tempered young Southron blood that he would be quick to respond to any suggestion which might affect his honor. Or even merely because he had, for some reason, taken a dislike to another person.

  For all the apparently impassive way in which Di was looking on, she felt deeply perturbed by the latest turn of events. However, she held different views from those of her host regarding Ole Devil's behavior. Knowing him very well, in spite of their brief acquaintance, she felt sure that he was not acting out of a kind of glory in the code duello which caused many young men of his class to issue a challenge to fight under the most flimsy of excuses.

  In her summation, the girl was doing less injustice than Turtle to the Texian's motives.

  Originally Ole Devil had hoped to arrive in San Phillipe, carry out his business with the hotelkeeper and depart without attracting attention. Due to the intervention of the renegades, there was no longer any hope of doing so. The revelation of Di's identity would, as Trellis's words had proved, be sure to arouse speculation among the customers. Even if they could be prevented from discovering the reason for the vis
it.

  knowing who the girl was and the nature of the business with which her family was connected, they would be eager to learn if something of value was being transported in their vicinity.

  While Turtle wielded considerable authority in the town, he was not its absolute and unchallenged ruler. Any of the three citizens in the game possessed the means to go against his desires provided they considered there was sufficient inducement. With that in mind, Ole Devil had decided to give them an object lesson. His every instinct warned him that the gambler was posing the most immediate threat. With his curiosity aroused. Trellis would be willing to satisfy it even at the risk of offending the hotelkeeper. Having drawn his conclusion, the young Texian did not hesitate to act upon it.

  "There's one thing you'd better know, nut-man,"' Ole Devil drawled, making no attempt to arm himself. "Down here in Texas, we don't waste time by following the Clonmel Code.* So you can either admit that you accept my word, or pick up that pistol and try to use it."

  "And have that damned Chink of yours shoot me as soon as I touch it?" Trellis countered, his face's expression ugly in its anger but his inborn caution warning him that he might be approaching a trap.

  "With an empty rifle?" Turtle commented, darting a glance pregnant with meaning at the other men around the table. He did not say, "He's trying to avoid fighting," but they and the gambler knew it was implied.

  "Like hell it's empty!" Trellis spat out, although he guessed that his host was equally aware of the fact. "That thing fires more than one time without reloading."

  "The nut-man's right," Ole Devil confirmed, seeing the advantage of allowing his audience to appreciate the Brown-

  * Clonmel Code: twenty-six "commandments" laying down the rules to be followed when fighting a duel, particularly with pistols, adopted by the Summer Assizes at Clonmel, Tipperary County, Ireland, in 1770.

  ing's potential. "But to show that / don't need any help, one of you gentleman can cover my man and shoot him if he offers to turn the rifle this way."

  "Maybe one of 'em'd best throw down on me, too, Devil," Di suggested, still unaware of why the Texian was determined to force a showdown with the gambler but willing to help. "Seeing's that hombre's so all fired scared somebody'll take advantage of him."

  "I don't think that even Mister Trellis would go that far," Turtle remarked, running a coldly prohibitive gaze at his fellow influential citizens in case any of them should be contemplating taking up Ole Devil's suggestion. "Will your man obey you, Captain Hardin?"

  "He will," the Texian declared. "Tommy, take the prisoner and Di's rifle across the room and wait there until I call for you."

  "You heard Devil-san," the little Oriental told the captive, tossing down the knife he had been carrying in his left hand and accepting the girl's rifle. "Get going and keep your mouth closed."

  Watching Tommy carrying out the first part of the orders. Trellis became aware that other eyes were being turned in his own direction. So he realized that he must decide upon what action to take. Not that he had any real choice. If he backed down, he would be finished in San Phillipe. What was more, he had guessed that only a matter of the greatest importance would bring Di Brindley to the town at that hour of the night. That she was accompanied by a person of Ole Devil Hardin's prominence was further proof of the supposition. If he could dispose of the young Texian, he would be in a better position to satisfy his curiosity. Then, should his belief that the girl's mule train was transporting something of exceptional value be confirmed, he could easily gather sufficient help to take whatever it might be by force.

  There was only one problem to be solved.

  Disposing of Ole Devil Hardin!

  Studying the situation, the gambler felt that he had discovered a way to do it.

  "All right," Trellis growled, thrusting back his chair and coming to his feet. "You've asked for it. We'll step outside and I'll give you satisfact—"

  In spite of making his suggestion, the gambler had no intention of carrying it out. Not when he had decided that there was a much safer and more certain way to deal with the matter than by facing Ole Devil in a fair fight. Nor would any of the local citizens other than Turtle be inclined to object about his methods. More likely the hotelkeeper's rivals at the table, all of whom had been losers in the poker game, would be only too willing to oppose him. Especially when Trellis had told them of his suspicions over the reason for the girl's arrival.

  So, while still speaking, the gambler grabbed for Turtle's pistol. It had been placed barely within reach when he was sitting down and with the barrel pointing toward him. Having stood up had put him even farther from the weapon, but not enough to be detrimental to his chances. The Texian had not made any attempt to arm himself. Nor would he be expecting that there would be any need for him to do so until after they had left the building.

  All in all, the scheme appeared sound and certain to succeed.

  Unfortunately for Trellis, it was doomed to fail because of his ignorance.

  To be fair to the gambler, his error was understandable. While he had been in Texas long enough to have heard of the Brindleys and their business, his only knowledge of Ole Devil had come from Louisiana. Nor had his information been complete.

  Even before circumstances had caused Ole Devil to leave the United States, he had developed a very effective method of handling a pistol. While it was not one which would have been permissible under the rigid rules of the Clonmel Code, he had perfected it in the more demanding conditions of his new home.

  Alert for treachery, Ole Devil was ready to counter it with deadly efficiency. Turning palm out, his right hand flashed up to coil around the butt of his Manton pistol. In a single motion, he slid the barrel from his belt loop and turned it forward after the fashion gunfighters of a later era would call the "high cavalry twist" draw.* However, unlike the men who would use it in years to come, the shape of his weapon did not permit him to fire one-handed. As he could not cock the hammer with his right thumb, he had trained himself to do it with the heel of his left hand.

  Shock twisted at Trellis's face as he was raising the pistol with his left hand on the barrel and the right reaching for the butt. He saw the Texian's weapon was swinging rapidly in his direction and having its hammer cocked at the same time. Then it roared and something which felt like a hot iron bored into the right side of his chest. Slammed backward, agony depriving him of any further conscious thought, he struck the wall and lost his hold on the pistol. Bouncing off, he crumpled and fell.

  "Well, gentlemen," Ole Devil said, raking the other participants in the game—apart from Turtle—^with coldly menacing eyes. "How do you see it?"

  "Yoii did the right thing," the owner of the town's general store declared with only a momentary hesitation. Then, after the other players had stated their concurrence and Turtle's

  *A more detailed account of the "high cavalry twist" draw is given in SLIP GUN

  men were removing the unconscious gambler, he went on, "Trellis had no call to doubt your word. Captain."

  "That wasn't why I called him down and shot him," Ole Devil warned and signaled for Tommy to return with the prisoner. Replacing the pistol in its belt loop, he took back the Browning rifle, continuing, "Most of you are wondering what has brought us here. Trellis guessed that the Ewarts might be moving something of value and had notions of taking it from them. And he was guessing right. They're transporting a consignment for General Houston—and it is valuable."

  A low hiss of astonishment burst from the girl as she listened, but could hardly believe her ears. From the beginning, Ole Devil had insisted that they must keep their business with Turtle a secret. Yet he was announcing it openly to as mean and ornery a bunch of cutthroats as could be found in —or outside—Texas.

  "That's why I forced a fight with him and he's lucky to be alive, I wasn't trying merely to wound him," the Texian elaborated, conscious of Di's restless movements and guessing what was causing them. However, he gave his full attention to the
men at Turtle's table while speaking so that his words carried to everybody in the room. "The consignment is so important to General Houston and the future of Texas that anybody with the idea of trying to take it from us had better ask his helpers, 'How many of you want to die?' Because, you have my word on it, that's what any attempt will mean. I've got Company 'C of the Texas Light Cavalry, fifty strong and fighting men from soda to hock,* backing Ewart Brindley and his Tejas packers. That mule train is going through, gen-

  * The "soda" and the "hock" were the top and bottom cards of the deck when playing at faro, a description of which is given in RANGELAND HERCULES. So the term "from soda to hock" meant all the way, from the beginning to the end.

  tlemen, and I don't give a damn how many I have to kill to see it reaches General Houston intact."

  Studying the grim lines of Ole Devil's Mephistophelian features and the way in which he stood holding the rifle, nobody doubted that he meant every word he said.

  DON'T SHOOT, FELLERS!

  "This here's a no good, stupid son-of-a-bitching notion, was you to ask me!" muttered one of the five men who were squatting on their heels in a group under the spreading branches of a big old white oak tree. "Riding all this damned way to lay an ambush for somebody's most likely won't come don't strike me's making real good sense."

  "Nor me, neither," declared another member of the quintet, also holding down the level of his voice and darting a glance at a figure which was standing a short distance away. "I don't see nobody's knows sic 'em about Texas being loco enough to go to San Phillipe looking for help."

  "That's for sure," confirmed a third of the group, speaking no louder than his companions. The mention of the town brought something else to his attention and he went on, "What in hell's keeping Dodd 'n' the others? They sure's hell aren't rushing back, are they?"