Keeping level with his employer. Tommy launched his attack almost simultaneously. Using the point of his tachi, he aimed badly and did no more than cut open a man's right shoulder in passing. However, the pistol was more successful and avenged Ewart Brindley by sending its ball into the throat of the man who had shot him.
Pudsey gave a screech of pain as Madeline's bullet found him and he went sideways from the horse. Startled by the
commotion, it gave a leap which helped to unseat him and he went crashing to the ground. Nor were his troubles at an end. Alert for the first suggestion that his companions were commencing the attack, Charlie Slow-Down let out a Kaddo war whoop which caused his mount to run. Its hooves struck the injured man as he sprawled helplessly in front of it.
Pandemonium and chaos was reigning unchecked on the trail.
Seeing the pair of riders bearing down upon them, the remaining members of the woman's band made no attempt to draw weapons and defend themselves. Instead, as Ole Devil had anticipated when making his plans for breaking the ambush, they began to scatter so as to avoid their assailants. Not all of them succeeded.
Spinning around, the man who had erroneously reported the return of Dodd's party tried to retire in the direction from which he had come. It proved to be a disastrous choice. Commg up behind him, Ole Devil elevated and brought down the saber in a "cut when chasing" blow which split open his skull and tumbled him lifeless on the trail.
Another renegade might have counted himself more fortunate in that he had been on the left flank of the ambush while waiting for their would-be victims to put in an appearance. Turning and darting toward where his horse was tethered, he went in a direction which kept him clear of the little Oriental's tachi. Satisfied that he had escaped death or injury, he continued to flee as fast as his legs could carry him. Two more of the band were less lucky. Passed by Ole Devil and Tommy, they became the targets for the Kaddo Indian's right-hand blunderbuss. One caught the majority of the sprayed-out lead and the other received a couple of the surplus buckshot balls. Although the latter was injured, he managed to run away. His companion went down, as dead as Dodd had been under similar circumstances.
Within a minute from starting out to greet what they had imagined to be friends carrying liquid refreshment, Madeline de Moreau's band of renegades had ceased to exist as such. Shouting curses, or going in silence and saving their breath, all who could rushed away from the trail with only one aim in mind. To collect a mount and put as much distance between themselves and their assailants as swiftly as possible.
Not that the woman was giving any thought to the disastrous fate into which she had led her male companions. The moment she had realized that Ole Devil Hardin had escaped unscathed from her bullet, she had also known that the time had come to quit their company. Without even waiting to discover how the men might be faring, she lowered the empty pistol and, pivoting on her heels, ran away from the trail.
Reaching her horse, Madeline snatched its reins free from the bush to which it was tied. An excellent rider, she contrived to swing astride the restless animal without relinquishing her hold of the pistol and despite the encumbrance of the cloak-coat. Having done so, she urged it into motion.
From the various sounds to her rear, the woman could tell that her men were not fighting back. So there was no hope that, in some miraculous way, they might turn the tables on their attackers. Any remote chance that they would rally and, possibly, succeed in the purpose of the ambush was dashed by yells of encouragement and the drumming of several horses' hooves originating from the north. Riders coming from that point of the compass were almost certain to be the Texian's friends, particularly as one voice was feminine in timbre and she felt sure she recognized it. Anybody who was accompanying Diamond-Hitch Brindley would only add to the renegades' troubles.
Accepting the inevitable, although she was in a searing rage, the woman guided her horse through the trees at a very fast pace. Furious as she was, she did not ride blindly. Rather
the violence of her emotions seemed to increase her perceptions and equestrian skill so that she was traveling much more swiftly than she would have done if she had been in a calmer frame of mind.
Madeline had two objectives as she was allowing her horse to gallop through the woodland.
Firstly, there was the very urgent necessity to get far beyond the reach of the proposed victims of the abortive ambush.
During the time the woman had spent in Di Brindley's and Ole Devil Hardin's company, she had formed a shrewd assessment of their characters. Neither had showed hesitation in risking their lives to ensure the safety of the caplock rifles. So neither would be inclined to show compassion to anybody who had done as much as she to prevent the delivery of the weapons to Major General Samuel Houston and the Republic of Texas's Army. While the Texian might be held back from taking extreme measures out of considerations for her sex, the giri most assuredly would not; particularly since the shooting of her grandfather and the pack train's cargador.
Secondly and of equal importance, Madeline had no wish to come into further contact with the men she was deserting. After the perilous situation into which she had led them, her fate at their hands would be as bad—probably even worse in some respects—than if the two young people she had been hoping to kill were to capture her. At least, no matter how the giri might wish to act, the Texian would ensure that her end would be quick.
So, while she was riding, Madeline tried to hear if she was being followed. Her instincts warned her that if she was, her pursuers were most likely to be members of her band who were also fleeing from the wrath which had descended upon them. That would not make them any less a menace to her safety. Let them catch up with her and they might shoot her
in their rage over their narrow escape from death. However, the noise made by her passage through the woodland prevented her from gaining any information and she had no intention of stopping to hsten.
After covering something over a mile in the same reckless fashion, common sense dictated that Madeline should slow down. There was, she realized, a danger that she might ride the horse into the ground if she continued her flight in such a manner. If that happened, she was all too aware of how slim her chances of survival would be.
Taking the sensible line of action, the woman caused her lathered mount to reduce its pace. Struggling to control her own breathing, for riding at a gallop was hard work especially under such demanding conditions, she brought the animal to a halt. She could not hear anything to suggest that the men she had deserted were fighting with their assailants, nor had she expected it. If she knew them, all who were able would already be making good their escape.
Necessity rather than any sense of kindness or responsibility had caused Madeline to become proficient in horse management. So she dismounted and, loosening the girth of her eastern rig, she moved the saddle backward and forward to help cool the animal's back. Having done so, she decided against reloading the pistol—^which she had contrived to return to the holster on mounting, leaving her hands free to hold the reins—and resumed her journey on foot.
Violent emotions churned through the woman as, leading the horse by its reins, she walked in a southwesterly direction. She was obsessed by the realization of how close she had been to death, if nothing worse, that night. Instead of admitting that she had brought all her misfortunes on herself, she laid the blame for her past and present predicaments upon the young Texian who had thwarted her and killed the only man she had ever loved.
"Damn Hardin!" Madeline hissed. "I'll never rest until he's dead!"
However, the woman appreciated the difficulties which stood in the way of her quest for vengeance. She could not hope to obtain it unaided. Nor did the answer lie in gathering together such members of the band as had not yet responded to the message left by her late husband at their hideout. They were the same kind of men as those whom she had deserted and she had no desire to put herself in their power.
As far as Madeline could see
, there was only one solution. Continue traveling to the south and search for official assistance. She had in her possession a document signed by Presi-dente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, demanding that all members of the Mexican Army render her protection or support if either was required. If she could find a unit of suitable strength, its commanding officer would be only too pleased to learn about the consignment of caplock rifles and she might yet bring about the destruction of Ole Devil Hardin. In fact, that would be her price for supplying the information.
LOOKS LIKE YOU WAS HORNSWOGGLED
"Gott in himmelf" shouted Major Ludwig von Lowenbrau, commanding Company "B" of the Red River Volunteer Dragoons, as the rising sun allowed him his first unimpeded view into the hollow which surrounded Santa Cristobal Bay. In the stress of his emotion, he continued to speak with his native tongue. "If I'd known last night—"
Realizing that there were some of his subordinates also studying the terrain and its occupants below, von Lowenbrau made an almost visible effort to restrain his display of anger and surprise. It would never do for them to suspect, even if they had not understood his words, just how badly he had been mistaken in his summation of the situation. Discipline in his regiment was slack enough without him behaving in a manner likely to increase their disrespect. However, while outwardly he resumed his hard and expressionless demeanor, internally he was boiling with rage and mortification.
No man, particularly a proud and arrogant former Prussian officer who also considered himself a capable gambler, enjoyed learning that he had been tricked. Yet, taking in the sight which was spread beneath him, von Lowenbrau knew
that he had fallen for a bluff. Realizing who was responsible for it did nothing to improve his feelings.
It was, the major concluded bitterly, all too easy to be wise after the event!
Everything about the previous night had suggested that von Lowenbrau might be leading his men into a situation which they could not handle and from which they were likely to suffer heavy losses. From all appearances, his purpose had been suspected, and very effective measures taken to circumvent it. The disparity between the references made by Man-nen Blaze and the sentry regarding Ole Devil Hardin's whereabouts had suggested that he was close at hand instead of being away relieving the pickets. Such would have been a task assigned to a subordinate, for it did not require the services of the company's commanding officer. Of course, Hardin might have been reluctant to trust it to such an incompetent second-in-command, but he would have been even more reluctant to leave Blaze in charge of the consignment of caplocks.
All in all, von Lowenbrau had been convinced that there was too much organization about his reception for it to have been arranged by Hardin's dull-witted lieutenant. So, he had decided it was wise not to enter the hollow. And Blaze's mention of yellow fever made his men unwilling to approach the source of such a virulently infectious disease.
Having been well trained in an officer's duties, von Lowenbrau had decided to wait for daylight to reassess the situation and form a better impression of it. Once he had seen the exact strength of the opposition, he could estimate the chances of being able to carry out his assignment by force if necessary.
With that in mind, the major had ordered his company to make camp on the rim. Although Blaze had withdrawn the majority of his men, he had left two sentries at the top of the
slope. Nor had there been a time when they, or their reHefs, relaxed their vigilance and most of it had been directed at the Prussian and his subordinates. However, much to his surprise, they had rejoined their companions as soon as his men had shown signs of rising.
Dawn's gray light showed von Lowenbrau just how he had been misled!
One of the first things to strike the major on commencing his examination was the absence of Ewart Brindley's mules. He had wondered why the animals were so quiet during the night and had finally concluded that, having been pushed hard on the journey to the bay, they were sleeping.
However, the matter of the missing mule train struck von Lowenbrau as being a minor issue. Once he had taken charge of the consignment, he would wait until Brindley arrived and then commandeer the animals for his own use. From what he could see, gaining possession of the caplocks would not be as difficult as he had anticipated.
On counting the men in the hollow, von Lowenbrau found there were nowhere near as many as he had anticipated. In fact, his contingent had the consignment's guards outnumbered by close to three to one. However, Hardin's men— although he did not appear to be present—were ensconced in pits which had been sited so as to offer protection against assailants who were descending from the rim. Each of them had no less than five rifles close at hand.
"Looks like you was homswoggled, Major, " remarked Lou Benn, a burly and sullen featured man who held rank as sergeant and had ambitions to become an officer. He had given the situation a similar evaluation and drawing much the same conclusions as the Major. "What're you fixing to have us do now?"
The words came to von Lowenbrau like the thrust of a sharp-roweled spur. All too well he could imagine how the
story of his failure would be received if they returned empty-handed to the regiment. There were many, including the speaker, who hated him and would be delighted to see him humbled. In fact, the colonel might even use it to remove him from his position of command.
"Have the men saddle up," the major ordered, goaded by the need to take some kind of action and thinking about the consequences of going back a failure. "We're going down for the rifles and ammunition." ''Ole Devil Hardin's not the man to give—" Benn began. "Hardin's not there!" von Lowenbrau pointed out, snapping shut the telescope through which he had been conducting his scrutiny. "And, even if he was, I outrank him. So saddle up, damn you. We have them outnumbered and, as they've only got Blaze in command, there won't be any trouble from them."
While the sergeant felt that his superior might be somewhat overconfident, he did not announce his misgivings. Fancy-dressed and high-toned the Prussian—like many of his race, he grew indignant if called a German—might be, but he had gained the reputation for being bad medicine when crossed. What was more, Benn had to concede that he had been correct on two points.
Firstly, the numerical odds were well in the Dragoons' favor.
Secondly, as far as Benn could make out—and he too had used a telescope to look very carefully—Ole Devil Hardin was not present. One did not easily forget such a man and the sergeant was confident that he could have made the required identification if its subject had been available.
Sharing von Lowenbrau's low opinion of Mannen Blaze's personality and capability, Benn also considered that it would be possible to commandeer—he disliked the more accurate term "steal"-the consignment. The Texas Light Cav-
ally's enlisted men were unlikely to resist with their commanding officer absent and while they were being led by a numbskull who acted most of the time like he was about to fall asleep. Especially when they found themselves confronted by a determined force of nearly three times their numbers.
Nor, if it came to a point, did the sergeant relish the notion of reporting to Colonel Johnson without having successfully accomplished the mission. He had his eyes set upon promotion to and the status—plus benefits—gained by being an officer. So delivering the caplocks would be a big step toward attaining his ambition. Turning, he barked orders which sent the rest of the Dragoons hurrying to saddle their horses.
"Bring the pack animals too," von Lowenbrau commanded. "I want every man going down there with us."
"Here they come, Mannen," Beauregard Rassendyll remarked, looking at the rim and wishing he could draw the sword he was wearing to supplement the Croodlom & Co. "Duck Foot" Mob Pistol which dangled in his right hand. However, the burly redhead had said that he must not and— no matter what his earlier opinion of the other had been— the events of the previous night had made him willing to bow to what he now accepted as superior wisdom. "And, was I asked, I'd say they were ready to make trouble."
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"Yep," Mannen Blaze conceded, still sounding as if he might fall asleep at any moment. Standing by the supercargo, with the Browning Slide Repeating rifle across the crook of his left arm, he studied the approaching riders as they spread out to descend the slope in line abreast. "They're loaded for b'ar, not squirrel, I'd say."
Which was, the burly redhead told himself silently, pretty well what he had expected would happen once Major Ludwig
von Lowenbrau discovered the exact strength—or lack of it —of the force at his disposal.
There were, Mannen conceded, a few consolations. His ruse and the intelligent backing of the men under his command had bought him some valuable time. Unless Smith— who had been replaced by another sentry on the rim—had been prevented from departing, help should already be on its way from the mule train.
The big question was, would it arrive in time?
Mannen had hoped that the reinforcements would have put in an appearance before von Lowenbrau could find out that he had been tricked. Unfortunately, the hope had not materialized. Nor, from what Mannen could remember of the major, would he be likely to turn aside after he had been seen by his men to have fallen for a bluff. In fact, going by the way each of his men was nursing a rifle, it had made him even more determined to carry out his intentions—
And a man did not need to be a mind reader to work out what they must be!
Sweeping a quick glance at the few members of Company "C" who were at his disposal, Mannen could find no traces of alarm and despondency as they watched the thirty or so Dragoons. He did not doubt that they were ready and willing to fight despite the disparity of their numbers, but that was a mixed blessing. Even if they should be victorious, he could imagine how the rest of the Republic of Texas's Army would react to the news—^which was sure to leak out—that two outfits had done battle with each other. Morale was low enough already without giving Major General Samuel Houston that sort of a situation to contend with.
Ole Devil and the caplocks Page 15
