Ole Devil and the Mule Train (An Ole Devil Western Book 3)

by J. T. Edson

  Captain Jackson Baines Hardin had been given the task of ensuring the safe delivery of a five hundred caplock rifles, on which depended the success of the Texians’ struggle to liberate themselves from the tyrannical rule of the Mexican dictator, Presidente Antonio Lopes de Santa Anna. Not only was he being pursued by a large contingent of the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment, but it was likely that an even larger enemy force would be coming after him. So he found that devising a way of transporting the rifles and ensuring protection on the journey was a most welcome diversion—and it didn’t leave him much time to worry about what might happen if he had things figured wrong. By the end of the journey, he’d learned a lot about mule trains.

  But at last Captain Hardin found himself trapped on the banks of the Brazos River, with no way of getting the consignment across. Just as well for him that, as men claimed, he was a ‘lil ole devil’ for a fight.

  OLE DEVIL AND THE MULE TRAIN

  OLE DEVIL HARDIN 3

  By J. T. Edson

  First published by Transworld Publishers in 1976

  Copyright © 1976, 2015 by J. T. Edson

  First Smashwords Edition: December 2015

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  Cover image © 2015 by Edward Martin

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book ~*~Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.

  For William D. ‘Bo’ Randall Jr and his son Gary of Orlando, Florida, makers of damned fine knives.

  Author’s Note

  While complete in itself, this book continues the story which has been told so far in Young Ole Devil and Ole Devil and the Caplocks. It also gives the information of how a mule train operates, which various footnotes in the earlier stories said would appear in Ole Devil at San Jacinto.

  Chapter One – How the Hell Did They Let It Happen?

  There had been death in plenty at the top of the hollow which surrounded Santa Cristóbal Bay, some ten miles north of the Matagorda Peninsula, Texas, on the morning of February 28, 1836. The bodies of many horses and men lay in a mass some fifty or so yards from the rim, their lifeblood thickly upon the ground.

  A few of the corpses were Mexicans, clad in fancy light green uniforms of the style worn by Hussars and other light cavalry regiments in Europe. The remainder were Indians, but not of the kind who might have been expected in East Texas. Tall and lean for the most part, their garments were multi-hued cotton shirts hanging outside trousers which were tucked into the knee-high leggings of moccasins. Weapons of various types were scattered about, discarded by their lifeless owners. There were the officers’ swords, the enlisted men’s tomahawks, lances, primitive yet effective curved wooden throwing-sticks, bows and arrows, but few firearms.

  The commanding officer of the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment, who lay with a large proportion of the three Companies which he had sent into the attack, had based his strategy upon the fact that there was always a serious failing of flintlock rifles and pistols in chilly and damp weather conditions. i He had stated that the Regiment would rely upon cold steel. Shattered open by one of the defender’s bullets, the state of his skull was testimony to the fact that he had made a terrible miscalculation.

  In spite of all the slaughter they had inflicted that morning, it seemed the victors still had not become sated by fighting and wanted to see more killing.

  Gathered in a rough circle around a pair of young men who were facing each other and holding bared knives, it was plain that those responsible for the corpses belonged to two separate parties. They were, in fact, members of the Texas Light Cavalry, and the Red River Volunteer Dragoons; both part of the recently organized Army of the Republic of Texas.

  Like the majority of the other Texians ii and Chicanos iii who were fighting to obtain freedom from Mexican domination, the two groups of men who had defeated the attack by a much larger force—the purpose of which was to capture a valuable shipment of arms—belonged to privately raised outfits.

  The Texas Light Cavalry showed the greatest uniformity in attire and weapons. Its members wore low-crowned, wide-brimmed black hats of a pattern which had become popular among the Anglo-U.S. colonists, particularly as the oppressive policies of Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna had caused an increasing antipathy towards everything of Mexican origin. Their fringed buckskin shirts were tucked into fawn riding breeches which ended in black Hessian boots. iv Each of them had a pistol carried butt forward on a broad, slanting leather loop at the right side of the waist belt, so that it would be accessible to either hand, and had a knife of some kind sheathed on the left. While their garments were stained and untidy, it was from hard usage and long traveling rather than neglect.

  However, while the Red River Volunteer Dragoons also sported buckskin shirts, they had retained whatever style of headdress, trousers, footwear and armament they had had in their possession at the time of enlistment. In most cases, their dirty and disheveled aspect stemmed from a complete disinterest in their personal appearance.

  The combatants in the center of the circle were about the same age, in their early twenties. v At close to six foot, they were evenly matched in height and weight. From all appearances, there was little between them where skill was concerned. Crouching slightly, with the knives’ blades extended in front of the thumb and forefinger of the right hand—a grip permitting a variety of cuts or thrusts—each used his left as an aid to his balance as well as to try and distract or grab hold of the other. Moving warily around, they watched for their chances and launched or evaded attacks.

  ‘Go get him, Wilkie!’ yelled one of the Dragoons, as the representative of his outfit made a fast stride rearwards to avoid a low thrust.

  ‘Keep after him, Stepin!’ encouraged one of the cavalrymen, watching the fighter in the fawn breeches press forward to make another attempt at driving home his weapon. ‘You’ve got him on the run!’

  There were other pieces of advice, some similar and others conflicting, supplied by various members of the crowd. Being so engrossed in watching and exhorting, none of them noticed the two groups of riders who were approaching. The first, consisting of three young men, was coming at a gallop and was about a quarter of a mile ahead of the second, larger—eleven-strong—party.

  If the Texas Light Cavalry’s contingent around the fight had been aware of the leading trio’s presence, particularly that of the man in front, not even their excitement would have prevented them from realizing that they were behaving in a most unsatisfactory and undesirable fashion. They would also have realized that they were likely to have the point brought home to them, aware or otherwise, in no uncertain fashion.

  Having seen and heard the commotion, as he and his companions were returning from the successful pursuit of the person who had been responsible for the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment’s attack, Captain Jackson Baines Hardin—commanding officer of Company C, Texas Light Cavalry—acted with his usual promptitude, but also showed the kind of forethought and understanding which made him one of the regiment’s most successful fighting leaders.

  Those same qualities had caused Captain Hardin to be given responsibility for handling his present assignme
nt. It was one upon which the future of Texas might be hinged. So the last thing he wanted was further trouble and difficulties, particularly such as might accrue from a fight between his men and the other group who had been thrown into their company at such an opportune moment.

  Since circumstances had caused Captain Hardin to leave Louisiana and would make it impossible for him to return, vi he had become deeply involved in the Texians’ struggle for independence. That was only to have been expected. Other members of the wealthy and influential Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan had already made their homes in what was at that time a Territory of the State of Coahuila vii and had welcomed him to their midst. When it had become obvious that open conflict with Mexico was unavoidable, they had financed, recruited and equipped the small regiment in which he was now serving.

  The Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan were stout supporters of the strategy proposed by Major General Samuel Houston, who had been given command of the Republic of Texas’s viii hastily assembled Army. They had willingly accepted his decision to withdraw to the east. They had shared his understanding that it would be disastrous to make a stand against the vastly superior numbers of the force which Santa Anna was already marching north to quell their uprising, unless it was at a time and in a place of their own choosing. Whilst retiring, they were to harass the Mexicans with hit-and-run tactics calculated to create as much havoc as possible.

  However, Captain Hardin had been taken away from the regiment and was handling an important mission. A consignment of five hundred new, percussion-fired, caplock rifles and a large supply of ammunition had been donated by sympathizers and had been dispatched by sea from New Orleans. Due to the delicate political situation in the United States of America, where feelings were sharply divided over the rebellion, ix it had been considered advisable to keep the consignment a secret. So it was landed at Santa Cristóbal Bay, instead of being delivered through one of the seaports which were in the Texians’ hands. Company C was under orders to collect the consignment and, transporting it by Ewart Brindley’s mule train, take it to wherever General Houston and the rest of the Army might be.

  A band of renegades led by Madeline de Moreau and her husband had learned of the shipment. Before they could be disposed of, in addition to wounding Ewart Brindley and his cargador, assistant pack master, Joe Galton, they had killed the train’s bell mare. However, Brindley’s grand-daughter, Charlotte Martha Jane—who was more usually referred to as ‘Diamond-Hitch’, shortened to ‘Di’, because of her speed and efficiency in ‘throwing’ x such a fastening on a mule’s pack—was fully capable of handling the train.

  With her husband already dead, Madeline de Moreau’s last fling had been to guide the three Companies of the Arizona Hopi Activos Regiment—also a volunteer outfit consisting of Mexican officers and Indian enlisted men—to the bay. Having learned that they were coming, Captain Hardin had conceived a most effective defensive plan. The attack had been driven off with heavy losses ending in the deaths of the woman, all but one of the officers, and many of the Hopis’ chiefs and war leaders who were serving as non-coms.

  Whilst it had still left them outnumbered by almost two to one, the arrival of a Major Ludwig von Lowenbrau and thirty members of the Red River Volunteer Dragoons had given Captain Hardin the means by which he could defeat the larger enemy force. However, there had been a time when the newcomers’ presence had appeared to be anything but a blessing.

  Having found out about the shipment of arms and ammunition, Colonel Frank Johnson—the founder of the Red River Volunteer Dragoons—had seen how it could be put to his private use. Ignoring Houston’s strategy and orders to the contrary, he was planning to—as he put it—carry the war to the enemy by invading Mexico along the coast road. Not knowing that Captain Hardin had arranged for Company C to act as an escort for the mule train, he had sent von Lowenbrau to confiscate the consignment. Nor had he given a thought to how the loss might affect the rest of the Republic of Texas’ Army. He was solely concerned with the loot and acclaim which would accrue from the successful conclusion of his scheme. Being foiled in the attempt, the Prussian had elected to desert Johnson and transfer with his men to the Texas Light Cavalry.

  On seeing and realizing what must be causing the commotion at the top of the rim, Captain Hardin began to doubt the wisdom of having agreed to von Lowenbrau’s suggestion. He was also furious that such a situation had been allowed to develop and take place in his temporary absence. Not that he could blame von Lowenbrau, who had been knocked unconscious by a Hopi throwing stick and had not yet recovered. In addition, Sergeant Maxime of Company C had been killed by an arrow and Corporal Anchor wounded in the hand-to-hand fighting. Sergeant Dale had led the party which had followed ready to support himself and his two companions when they had gone after Diamond Hitch Brindley in pursuit of Madeline de Moreau.

  However, that had still left all of the Dragoons’ non-coms, and Corporal Smith, who had earned his promotion for the part he had played in preventing the confiscation of the consignment. While none of the former would have attained their ranks in Company C, the latter ought to have been intelligent enough to have seen the trouble brewing and tried to avert it.

  ‘God damn it to Hell and back,’ the young captain had raged. ‘How the hell did they let it happen?’

  In spite of his anger and desire to bring the potentially explosive situation to an end, Captain Hardin had appreciated the disadvantages of charging up at the head of the party who were with him. Veterans all, disciplined and obedient as they were, the enlisted men if used to quell the disturbance would be likely to side with the other members of Company C. Even if they had no such intention, the Dragoons would have expected it of them and acted accordingly.

  With that in mind, the captain had ordered Sergeant Dale to return at a slower pace and take care of Di, who had lost her horse and was riding double with him. Then having transferred the girl to the non-com’s mount, he had set off at a gallop accompanied by only two companions. However, he was confident that the pair was adequate for his needs, each having special qualities which made him particularly suited to the task. With their assistance, he hoped to break up the crowd before they got completely out of hand. Even so, he knew it was not going to be easy.

  Six foot in height, First Lieutenant Mannen Blaze was dressed in a somewhat better quality version of the enlisted men’s uniform, but with a scarlet silk bandana tight rolled and knotted around his throat. He had a .54 caliber Manton xi caplock pistol and a massive, ivory handled knife of the kind which had already acquired the name ‘bowie’ in honor of the man credited with the design of the original weapon. xii Although he was bulky in build and generally conveyed an impression of well padded, contented lassitude, the men under his command—and others who had been fooled until they had learned the error of their ways—realized that his demeanor was deceptive. For all his size, he was not clumsy. He could move fast when necessary, and possessed great strength. Some indication of the former was shown by the way in which he sat his powerful brown gelding, being a light rider for all his weight.

  So, while on the surface the burly red haired young man appeared somnolent to the point of being a dullard, in reality he was a smart and capable officer. It had been his quick grasp of the situation and his adroit manipulations which, in Captain Hardin’s absence, had bluffed von Lowenbrau out of attempting to gain possession of the consignment.

  On the face of it, the second of the young captain’s assistants seemed to warrant even less confidence than Mannen Blaze. Not quite five foot six inches in height, but with a sturdy physique, his almond-eyed and cheerful features were those of a native of the Orient. Bare headed, he had closely cropped black hair. His garments were a loose fitting and wide sleeved black shirt hanging outside trousers of the same material which were tucked into matching Hessian boots.

  Apart from his footwear and the lack of a pigtail, the man could have been a Chinese coolie who might be found in any of the United States’ major seaports. However
, one rarely saw a coolie carrying weapons and he appeared to be well armed if in a somewhat primitive fashion. A pair of long handled, slightly curved swords with small, circular guards, balanced each other—the shorter at the right—in lacquered bamboo sheaths attached by slings to his leather waist belt. xiii In addition, he grasped a bow at least six foot in length in his left fist and there was a quiver suspended across his back so that its arrows would be readily accessible to his right hand. xiv

  As with Mannen Blaze, Tommy Okasi’s looks were deceptive. There was little contact between his homeland and the Western Hemisphere—nor would there be until after the visits in 1853-54 of a flotilla of warships commanded by Commodore Perry, United States’ Navy—so few people knew that he had originated from the group of islands known collectively as Japan. They believed him to be Chinese. He was reticent about his reasons for leaving and, being exceptionally capable in his nation’s highly effective martial arts, for the most part his privacy was respected. Those who tried to invade it never repeated the attempt.

  For all his undoubted skill as a warrior, the little Oriental was content to act as Captain Hardin’s valet. He had always proved to be a cheerful, loyal, courageous and dependable companion, being willing to take any risk which became necessary. These admirable traits had been displayed many times, even before accompanying his employer to Texas and taking an active part in the present assignment.

  Matching Mannen Blaze in height, attire—with the exception that his tight rolled silk bandana was a riot of clashing, multi-hued colors—age (in the mid-twenties) and armament, Jackson Baines Hardin was slender without being skinny or puny. Even while riding at a good speed across uneven terrain, he sat his line-backed dun gelding with a ramrod straight erectness. Although travel-stained and somewhat disheveled, his clothing showed signs that he had endeavored to keep it as clean as possible.