Young Ole Devil (4 page)

Strolling from an alley along
the street, a man of about Hardin
’s age stopped as he saw what was
happening. Six foot tall, heavily built, he conveyed an impression
of well-padded> comfortable lethargy. He had curly, auburn hair
showing beneath his black hat, and his sun-reddened features lost
their amiable, sleepy-looking expression as he took in the scene
before the
cantina.
As he was dressed—with the exception of his scarlet silk
bandana—and armed in the same fashion as Hardin, it seemed likely
that he was connected in some way with the dandy. He too appeared
to have bathed, shaved and donned clean garments recently, Although
his pace changed from a leisurely amble to a run, he knew that he
would not be able to reach the fight before the second assailant
had returned to participate in it.

Being unaware that help was
coming, Hardin set about saving himself. Bracing his neck, without
making what he knew would be a futile attempt to free it by sheer
strength, he managed to lessen the impact as Cyril shoved downwards
and the back of his head met the ground. Then, as he was raised for
a second time, he pivoted at the hips to send his left knee with
some force into the burly man
’s ribs. Immediately after making that attack,
Hardin thrust his right hand upwards between Cyril’s arms. He did
not close it into a fist. Instead, he jabbed his first and second
fingers into Cyril’s nostrils. Pain roared through the recipient of
file attack. Leaving Hardin’s throat, his hands went up to try and
staunch the blood which gushed from his nose.

Rushing up, Basil arrived just
after his brother had been compelled to release Hardin. Coming in
from the opposite side to Cyril, Basil launched his right foot in a
kick. Rolling to the left, Hardin swung his left arm so that the
base of his fist met the advancing shin just above the ankle.
Working in smooth coordination, his right hand grasped the leg of
the trousers over his left fist. Having halted the kick, Hardin
returned his shoulders to the ground and hauled the captured limb
above him. Then his own right leg snapped around and upwards,
aiming the toe of his boot at Basil
’s groin area. The kick caught Basil on
the inside of the upper thigh. While painful, it was not
sufficiently so to incapacitate him. It did, however, combine with
the pull being exerted upon his leg to throw him off
balance.

Giving Basil
’s leg a twisting heave which
toppled him over, Hardin released him and bounded up. Snarling
incoherently in his rage, half-blinded by tears, Cyril lunged and
with bloody hands tried to grab the slim young man.

‘
This’s for the
Chicano
boy!’ Hardin told the burly man savagely, pivoting
into another
savate
kick.

Propelled by the powerful
gluteus muscles of Hardin
’s buttocks, his right boot came into contact with
the bottom of Cyril’s jaw. The burly man’s head hinged back until
it seemed that his neck might be in danger of snapping. Lifted from
his knees he began to crumple like a punctured balloon and
collapsed flaccidly on to his face.

Having disposed of the elder brother, Hardin
turned his attention to the younger. Moving clear of Cyril and
standing with his back to the spectators, the young dandy studied
Basil who was once more on his hands and knees and staring at his
sibling as if unable to believe his eyes.

‘
Come
on, you lousy son-of-a-bitch!’ Hardin ordered coldly and his face
seemed even more Satanic as he swept the second of the Winglow
family with a contempt-filled gaze. ‘Let’s see how you stack up
against a
man
instead of a
Chicano
boy.’

Swinging his head so as to
glare at the speaker, Basil became aware of the significance of die
comment and did not care for what it suggested.
Apparently, the dandy had
another reason besides arrogant self-importance for picking the
fight.

Although the Winglows and their
companions had believed that they were the only human occupants of
the livery barn, they had been mistaken. Shortly after the rest of
the party had taken their departure, the brothers had heard a
scuffling noise. On going to investigate, they had discovered that
a pair of boys
—a Texian and a
Chicano—
were hiding behind some bales of hay. Guessing
that the boys had heard Duke giving his instructions, Basil and
Cyril had decided to frighten them into keeping quiet and had tried
to catch them. Being older than his friend, the
Chicano
had tried to hold the brothers
off with a pitchfork while the youngster escaped. Although he had
been partly successful, the Texian boy having fled, the
Chicano
had been less
fortunate. Disarming him, the brothers had slapped him around and
finally left him bloody and unconscious on the floor.

Partly because they had been
told to pretend that they did not know the rest of their party, but
mainly due to believing that Duke would disapprove of what they had
done, the brothers had not mentioned the incident on their arrival
at the
cantina.
From what he had said, it seemed that the dandy had found
the
Chicano
and, learning who was responsible, had for some reason
decided to inflict summary punishment upon the men who had carried
out the attack.

Letting out a bellow of rage, Basil thrust
himself erect. Recklessly he flung himself forward with big hands
reaching to grab hold of the dandy. It proved to be a costly error
in tactics. Before his fingers could close, the object of his
intentions seemed to disappear.

Crouching under
Basil
’s
grasp, Hardin let him have a punch
in the pit of the stomach. It halted him
and, as he doubled over, Hardin’s knee rocketed upwards. For the
second time, Basil was fortunate in avoiding the full force of an
attack. He had fallen back just enough for the knee to miss his
face. Struck on the forehead, he was lifted upright and staggered
rearwards for a few steps. However, he did not go down. As Hardin
advanced, Basil caught his balance and swung a backhand blow with
his right hand. Although it was almost at the end of its flight
when it connected on the side of the dandy’s head, it brought him
to a halt. Basil followed it with a much more effective punch to
the chest, sending Hardin up against the hitching rail. Wanting to
make the most of his success, Basil lunged forward.

On seeing that his cousin had
escaped and rendered one attacker
hors-de-combat,
Mannen Blaze had slowed to a more
leisurely pace. He had complete faith in Hardin’s ability to take
care of the remaining assailant. Satisfied that his assistance
would not be required and thinking that his arrival might bring
some of the burly man’s friends into the affair, he halted and
leaned against the hitching rail of a store on the opposite side of
the street to the
cantina.
While it was clear that he did not mean to intervene, he
was ready if anybody else should do so. Although he did not know
it, such an intervention was at that moment being
suggested.

Standing glowering angrily at
the crowd, Duke felt a touch on his sleeve. Looking around he found
one of his party at his side. Tall, gangling, the
man
’s somber
features and black clothing were indicative of his profession. He
had been an undertaker before joining Johnson’s
regiment.

‘
Shall
we cut in, major?’ the man inquired, watching Hardin side step
Basil’s rush and move into the centre of the street.

‘
No,
Jolly!’ Duke replied. Those two stupid bastards deserve all they
get, letting themselves be riled into a fight.’

The force with which the punch
had landed on his chest had been a warning to Hardin that a
toe-to-toe slugging brawl would
favor his heavier assailant. So he had had
no intention of being trapped in a position which would require
that he fought in such a manner. Having evaded Basil and gained
room to maneuver, he swung around to await the next
development.

Instead of having learned the
futility of such tactics, the burly man continued with the methods
he had employed with
some success in previous fights. They proved
disastrous against the swiftly-moving dandy, who refused to stand
and trade blows or to come to grips where brute strength would have
prevailed. It soon became obvious that, barring something
unforeseen happening, Hardin was going to win. However, not all of
the punishment being meted out went one way, Basil managed to land
some punches in return for the many which were being rained upon
him. All in all, the appreciative spectators were treated to a
pretty good fight.

Despite seeing that his cousin
was justifying his confidence, Mannen Blaze was perturbed as he
remembered what had brought them to San Antonio. Devil could, Blaze
reflected have picked a more suitable time to become involved in a
street brawl. That belief was increased, as was his perturbation,
by the sight of two men who came from an alley further along the
street. Recognizing one and making an accurate guess at the
other
’s
identity, Blaze could foresee stormy times ahead for his
cousin.

One of the new arrivals was
grey-haired, very tall, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. Clad
in a buckskin shirt, brown bell-bottomed
vaquero
trousers and high heeled,
spur-decorated boots, with a wide-brimmed black hat tilted back on
his head, he had a bowie knife—more correctly
the
bowie knife
^vi
—in a sheath on the left side of his
waist belt

Seeing Colonel James Bowie
approaching was not the cause of Blaze
’s consternation. In fact, the
legendary knife-fighter and adventurer appeared to be amused at
finding Hardin in a fight. The same did not apply to his
companion.

Lacking two inches of
Bowie
’s
height, the second man was also more slenderly built. He wore a
uniform similar to those of the soldiers on the sidewalk, except
that it was of better material and more decorative. There were
bullion shoulder scales on his tunic and his head-dress was a black
felt
shako.
Further indications of his rank were supplied by the red
sash, knotted at the right, around his waist under a belt with a
saber hanging by its slings, and by a row of five brass buttons on
each sleeve’s cuff. He marched rather than walked, striding out as
if on parade.

Blaze assumed, correctly, that
the
officer
was Colonel William Barrett Travis; already noted for being a tough
martinet and disciplinarian. Judging from his expression, he did
not approve of what was going on.

‘
Stop
this damned brawling immediately!’ Travis bellowed, just after
Hardin had knocked Basil staggering with a right to the
jaw.

Turning his head to discover
who had spoken, Hardin duplicated his cousin
’s identification of the two
men. However,’ carrying out the order was not possible. While
Hardin was willing to obey, the same did not apply to his battered
and bloody assailant.

Catching his balance and coming
to a halt, Basil once again charged wildly at the young man who had
inflicted so much pain upon him. Hearing the other approaching,
Hardin knew that he would not be responsib
le to words. Avoiding the bull-like
rush, he whipped around a
savate
circular side kick which propelled the toe of his
boot into the pit of Basil’s stomach with considerable force. The
burly man let out a belching gasp, folded over at the waist and
blundered onwards a couple of steps. Pivoting, Hardin delivered a
second kick. It landed on the seat of Basil’s pants and kept him
moving. Pure chance guided him to the supporting post of the
hitching rail. As he still had not straightened up, the top of his
skull rammed into the sturdy timber. Rebounding from it, he fell as
if he had been boned and with blood pouring from his
scalp.

‘
Sorry, colonel,’ Hardin said, breathing heavily but turning
in a respectful manner towards the approaching men. T don’t think
that feller heard what you said.’

‘
I see
you’ve not forgotten how to fight, young Ole Devil,’ Bowie remarked
with a grin, glancing at the motionless brothers.

‘
You
know him, Colonel Bowie?’ Travis asked, before Hardin could reply
and in tones which suggested that he and the great knife fighter
might not be on the best of terms.

‘
Don’t
you?’ Bowie inquired, sounding puzzled. ‘This’s Captain Hardin of
Ed Fog’s Texas Light Cavalry. Devil, may I present Colonel William
Barrett Travis?’

‘
My
pleasure, sir,’ Hardin responded, although he felt certain that the
sentiment would not be mutual under the circumstances.

Like his cousin, who was coming
slowly towards him, Hardin silently decided that of all the senior
officers in the Republic of Texas
’s army, Barrett Travis was the last whom
he would have
wanted to arrive at that moment. Even if the colonel had
known the reason for the fight, Hardin considered it was unlikely
to have met with his approval.