by J. T. Edson
‘What’re you pair doing in here?’ Erasmus Jolly demanded, after looking around to make sure that nobody else was present.
Having seen that he would not be able to carry out his assignment as long as the cantina was closed and the men returned to their regiments, Stanforth Duke had been furious. He had guessed that when Houston heard what he had been trying to do, he would take steps to ensure Duke was not given a second opportunity. Being of a vindictive nature he had decided that the indirect cause of his misfortune should be made to suffer. So he told Jolly to take their men and revenge themselves upon the young dandy, while he went to see if there was any chance of resuming the task which had brought them to San Antonio. Having discovered that their victim was at the livery barn, Jolly had come with his companions. He wanted to provoke Hardin into starting a fight so that he could claim, if questioned, that he and his companions had acted in self-defense. After what he had seen at the cantina, he felt confident that doing so would be easy.
‘That depends on why you’re asking,’ Hardin answered truculently, coming to his feet and darting a quick look to where his pistol—which he had removed while washing—lay on his saddle just beyond his reach.
There’s a fair few fellers’ gear in here, including our’n, with nobody to keep an eye on it,’ growled the biggest of the party, standing to Jolly’s right. Clad in vanquero-style clothing, his name was Stone. It had been he who had asked the questions in the cantina which had allowed Duke to start commenting upon the military situation in Texas. ‘So we’re a mite curious when we find two fellers taking things out of somebody’s war bag.’
‘It’s my war bag,’ Hardin stated coldly, acting as Jolly hoped he would, and flickering a glance past the men towards the main entrance. ‘And I’m putting something in, not taking it out.’
‘How about them other two bed-rolls?’ the former undertaker challenged, as he and his companions moved slowly closer. He still kept his hands behind his back and continued in an officious manner to which he felt sure the dandy would take exception, ‘Seems to me that makes one more of ’em than there is of you.’
‘We’re taking our amigo’s gear out to headquarters with us,’ Blaze explained in a placatory manner, after having darted a look at his cousin which, Jolly believed, was imploring him not to make trouble.
‘Your amigo’s, huh?’ Jolly sniffed and brought his party to a halt about fifteen feet away from the cousins.
‘He’s waiting out there,’ Hardin elaborated and swung his gaze past the men as if searching for somebody to confirm his statement. Then he eyed the black dressed figure sardonically. ‘Only you’ve no intention of believing us.’
‘You’re damned right we haven’t,’ Jolly confirmed, bringing his hands into view. The right was grasping a cocked pistol, which he lined at the slim young dandy. ‘Stand still, both of you.’
‘Best do it, Devil,’ Blaze advised almost tremulously.
‘Shed your weapons,’ Jolly went on. ‘We’re going to take you to the constable and see what he reckons to your story.’
‘That suits me,’ Blaze declared, starting to draw the bowie knife from his sheath with the tips of his fingers. He looked at his cousin, continuing, ‘I’d do it, was I you, Devil. The constable knows us and he’ll soon clear things up.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Hardin agreed, giving a confirmatory nod. Then he also took out his knife and let it fall. Oozing arrogance and indignation, he scowled at Jolly. ‘And when he has, hombre, we’ll be expecting an apology.’
‘You’ll get it,’ the former undertaker sneered, watching the bulky red-head’s pistol following the two knives. ‘Move away from ’em.’
As the cousins obeyed the order, going into the centre of the barn, Jolly congratulated himself upon the way in which he was carrying out his superior’s instructions. While desirous of vengeance, Duke had decided that it should be restricted to a severe beating with fists and feet. There must, he had stated, be no shooting as that would attract unwanted attention. So, with such a restriction placed upon him, Jolly had been determined to ensure that their victims were also denied the use of weapons. Satisfied that he had achieved his intentions, he was about to tell his men to do their work when he heard a soft footfall from his rear. While his men looked around he kept his eyes to the front.
A small figure appeared in the main entrance. Bareheaded, he had short-cropped black hair and sallow, cheerful, Oriental features. He wore a loose fitting black cotton shirt, which was hanging outside trousers of the same material that were tucked into Hessian boots, and he was unarmed. Apart from the lack of a pigtail, he might have been a typical Chinese coolie, one of those who were already to be found in the United States.
‘Devil-san!’ the new arrival began, hurrying across the room and passing between Stone and Jolly. ‘General Houston says for you to co—’
‘Hold hard there, you yeller-skinned varmint!’ Stone bellowed, shooting out his right hand to grasp the back of the small Oriental’s shirt neck and starting to tug at it. ‘Get the hell out of-’
As either Hardin or his cousin could have warned the burly man, such an action was ill-advised to say the least. While Tommy Okasi was undoubtedly of Oriental descent, he did not belong to the Chinese race. He was, in fact, Japanese and possessed a sturdy fighting spirit which the Chinese coolies, with whom Stone had been acquainted, only rarely exhibited.
Five years ago, a ship commanded by Hardin’s father had come across a derelict vessel drifting in the China Sea. The only survivor had been Tommy Okasi, half dead, and with no possessions other than the clothing on his back, a pair of swords and the bow and quiver of arrows which were now leaning against his saddle. On recovering, he had proved to speak a little English. However, when questioned, he had given no explanation for his presence aboard the other vessel. Nor had he evinced any desire to return to his native land. Instead, he had stayed on in Captain Hardin’s ship attaching himself to his rescuer’s son. What was more, while he had a very thorough knowledge of his nation’s highly effective martial arts, he was content to act as Ole Devil Hardin’s valet.
Even before the events which had caused Hardin and Mannen Blaze to leave Louisiana and join other members of the Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan in Texas, Tommy had been of great service to his employer. Since arriving and becoming involved in the struggle for independence, he had taken a full part in their activities and had shared their dangers.
All in all, Tommy Okasi—even without his two swords, which for some reason he was no longer wearing—was not the kind of man to be treated the way Stone was doing.
Feeling the hand take hold of his collar and himself being jerked roughly backwards, Tommy reacted with devastating speed. Instead of allowing himself to be flung by his captor and out of the door, he contrived to go towards Stone. The loose fit of his shirt did nothing to impede his movements. Twisting his torso to the left, he bent his right arm in front of him. Then, at exactly the crucial moment, he reversed his body’s direction and propelled the arm to the rear.
‘Kiai!’ Tommy ejaculated, giving the traditional spiritual cry as he struck at his assailant.
To Stone, who had not expected such a display of aggression from a member of what he had always regarded as being a passive and easily bullied race, it seemed as if he had been kicked in the solar plexus by a mule. Releasing the collar, as all the breath was rammed from his body by the force of the impact, the burly man clutched at the stricken area and folded over. He retreated hurriedly a few steps, trying to replenish his lungs, before tripping and sitting down.
Having liberated himself, Tommy continued to move with rapidity and deadly purpose. Jolly’s head had swiveled around as he heard Stone’s agony-filled croak on being struck and the pistol’s barrel wavered out of alignment. Before he could return it to its original point of aim, the small Oriental turned his unwanted attention upon him.
Around and up whipped Tommy’s left arm. He did not strike with his clenched fist, but the result was
just as effective. Keeping the fingers extended and together, with the thumb bent across his palm, he drove the hand so its edge passed under Jolly’s chin and chopped into his prominent Adam’s apple. Jolly might have thought himself fortunate had he known how effective the tegatana, hand sword, blow of karate could be, for he was just too far away to take it at full power. As it was, the result was not to be despised. To Jolly, it seemed that his windpipe had been assaulted by a blunt axe. Reeling backwards, making a sound like a chicken being strangled, he involuntarily tightened his right forefinger on the pistol’s trigger. The hammer swung around, propelling the flint in its jaws against the steel frizzen which hinged forward allowing the sparks to fall on to the priming charge. A spurt of flame, passing through the touch-hole, ignited the powder in the chamber. With a crash and cloud of white smoke, the weapon fired. As its bullet flew harmlessly into the wall, the recoil snatched it from Jolly’s grasp. Not that he gave its loss any thought Staggering towards the wall, with hands clutching at his neck, his only interest was in trying to breathe.
‘Get the bastards!’ yelled Bellowes, the stocky townsman who had ‘asked’ for Duke’s advice at the cantina.
‘Know something, Cousin Devil?’ Blaze inquired, sounding almost plaintive, as he watched two of the quartet reaching for the pistols in their belts as they all moved forward. ‘I don’t reckon they’ll listen to reason.’
‘I never thought they would’ Hardin answered.
To give Lacey—the big, burly, buckskin-clad man who had ‘protested’ against Duke’s criticism of Houston’s policies—and Bellowes their due, they intended to use the firearms as clubs in accordance with Jolly’s instructions. However, they found that doing so was far easier to plan than to carry out
Timing his action perfectly, Hardin demonstrated his savate training by kicking Bellowes’s hand as it was dragging the pistol free. Having done so, while Bellowes yelped with pain and dropped the pistol, Hardin turned on his second attacker, who was called Tate and who was dressed in a similar fashion to Stone. Ducking beneath the man’s hands as they reached towards him, Hardin caught him around the knees and, straightening up, tossed him over to crash to the floor. Even as Hardin disposed of Tate, Bellowes retaliated by delivering a right cross to the jaw which sent him across the barn to collide with the burro.
Employing a rapidity of motion that was vastly different from the slothful manner in which he had been behaving up to that moment, Blaze gave his attention to Lacey. Bounding into range, the red head flung forward his knotted right fist. Carrying the full weight of his body behind them, his knuckles made contact with the centre of Lacey’s face. Despite having almost reached the end of its flight, the blow was still hard enough to make its recipient release the pistol, which had just come clear of his belt, and he lumbered backwards a few steps with blood flowing freely from his squashed nose.
Although the smallest of Duke’s party, the fourth attacker did not hesitate to try to avenge Lacey. Dressed in the fashion of a French Creole dandy, McCann was a cocky young man who considered himself to be very tough. Catching Blaze’s right shoulder, McCann tugged and, as he turned, drove a punch into his stomach. While the blow landed fairly hard, it made little or no impression upon the solid wall of muscle with which it had connected. Startled by the lack of distress which he had expected to cause, McCann sent his right fist after the left, and with as little effect.
Looking almost benevolently at his assailant, who seemed diminutive in comparison with his own bulk, Blaze shot out his hands. Alarm came to McCann’s face as he felt the lapels of his jacket grasped and he was lifted from the floor as if he weighed no more than a baby. Then, as Lacey—who matched the red head in size—came back with the intention of repaying him for the blow to the nose, Blaze gave a heave and flung McCann aside. Although he alighted on his feet, the young man had no control over his movements. Unable to stop himself, he rushed onwards until he collided with and disappeared over the bales of hay behind which the two boys had hidden while eavesdropping upon Duke’s instructions.
After having struck and disarmed Jolly, Tommy watched the attacks being made upon Hardin and Blaze. He was ready to go to cither’s aid if the need arose. Behind him, Stone lurched erect breathing heavily. Rubbing his torso where Tommy’s elbow had impacted, the burly man moved forward. Hearing the other approaching, Tommy turned. He was only just in time, a huge hand was reaching for him. Before Stone’s fingers could close on the small Oriental, he felt his wrist gripped with surprising strength and given a peculiar jerking twist. Just how it happened, Stone could never imagine, but the barn suddenly seemed to revolve as his feet left the floor and he sailed over Tommy’s shoulder to land heavily on his back.
Still croaking hoarsely and having trouble breathing, Jolly had started to move in when he saw Stone rise. He was amazed to see his burly companion thrown with such ease, but, hoping to take Tommy by surprise, he charged forward. He met with no greater success than Stone, being treated to a similar kata-seoi shoulder throw and deposited almost on top of his companion. Having done so, Tommy darted away to help Hardin who was being attacked by Bellowes and Tate.
The fight continued to rage. It was fierce and hectic, but, despite their numerical superiority, far from satisfactory where Jolly’s party were concerned. They had come to the barn expecting little difficulty in dealing with Hardin and Blaze. Instead, due to Tommy’s intervention, their victims were able to turn the tables on them.
As when dealing with the Winglow brothers, Hardin relied upon his speed, agility and knowledge of savate to defend himself. Blaze lacked his cousin’s qualities, but was stronger and just as able to take care of himself, using skill instead of relying upon brute strength. By far the smallest of any of the combatants, even McCann being taller, Tommy Okasi was anything but the least effective. His use of ju jitsu and karate, which were all but unknown in the Western World at that period, vii more than off-set all the advantages his opponents had in the matter of size and weight.
Matched against three such talented performers, Jolly and his companions found themselves outclassed. In eight minutes, it was just about over. Having returned to the fray, McCann was put out of it when Hardin kicked him under the jaw. Shortly after, Blaze removed Lacey and Tate by coming up behind them while they were attacking his cousin, catching them by the scruff of their necks and banging their heads together. He had been free to do so because he had knocked Bellowes towards Tommy, who had deftly applied the finishing touch. A nukite, piercing hand-thrust into Bellowes’ stomach folded him over so that Tommy could follow up with a tega-tana chop to the base of the skull which dropped him as limp as a back-broke rabbit.
With all their companions sprawling unconscious, Jolly and Stone found themselves faced with the uninterrupted attentions of the two young men who should have been their victims, Both of them were soon being knocked around the barn, driven by Hardin’s and Blaze’s fists. While his cousin delivered a coup-de-grace to Stone, Hardin caught Jolly with a left uppercut which flung him backwards through the door. Going out to make sure that the undertaker was finished, Hardin heard shouts and running footsteps. Halting, and ignoring Jolly as he lay supine and motionless, Hardin—who looked anything but tidy or dandified at that moment—turned to see who was coming.
In the lead, striding out angrily, his face registering extreme disapproval, was Colonel William Barrett Travis.
Chapter Four – A Mission of Vital Importance
‘With respect, sir,’ William Barrett Travis said, after having read the contents of the dispatch which had been received that afternoon and heard what the General Samuel Houston intended to do about it. ‘I don’t think that Captain Hardin is a suitable man to carry out such an important assignment.’
‘Why not, Colonel?’ Houston inquired.
Seated behind the desk of the big Spanish colonial style mansion which had been donated by its owner as Houston’s headquarters whilst in San Antonio de Bexar, the commanding general of the Republic of
Texas’s army was an imposing and impressive figure. Big, thickset, with almost white hair, he had blue eyes that seemed strangely young in such a seamed, leathery and deeply tanned face. Although he would have preferred less formal garments, he was wearing the kind of uniform which the enlisted men expected of one with his exalted rank. The dark blue, close-buttoned, single-breasted coat had a high, stand-up collar. It was ornamented by gold shoulder scales, bearing the triple star insignia of a major general and by two rows of nine blind buttonholes in a ‘herring-bone’ pattern. He had a red silk sash around his waist, but his leather belt with a saber hanging from its slings was on the hat-rack by the door, as was his black, bicorn chapeau. His tight-legged fawn riding breeches ended in black Wellington leg boots with spurs on their heels.
‘If his behavior since arriving in San Antonio is anything to go by,’ Travis replied, looking straight to the front and ignoring the man who was sitting at his left, ‘he’s reckless, irresponsible and can’t—or won’t—avoid getting involved in fights no matter what duty he’s supposed to be carrying out.’
‘You know young Hardin, Jim,’ Houston remarked, looking at the third occupant of the room. ‘What do you say?’
‘I can’t deny that Devil gets into fights, Sam,’ James Bowie admitted. ‘He’s a fighting man from soda to hock —’ viii
‘That’s as maybe, Colonel,’ Travis interrupted. ‘But an ability to get involved in brawls isn’t what I’d regard as a desirable quality for the man the General needs. He has to take on a mission of vital importance.’
‘I’m not gainsaying that,’ Bowie answered, glancing with asperity at the other colonel. ‘Devil might get into fights, but I’ve never known him to start one without good cause.’
‘That depends on how you interpret good cause,’ Travis countered coldly. ‘From what I’ve been told, he became involved in the one at the cantina because he insisted that two men made room for him at the bar. In addition, not content with disabling them, he got himself into another fight, even though his man had come to tell him that the General wanted to see Mm.’
