Kill or Die (16 page)

“Ow . . . that hurts,” Sam Flintlock said as Evangeline dabbed something that stung on his battered face. “You're killing me here, woman.”

“I use this on children's cuts,” Evangeline said. “They don't make near the fuss you do, Sam.”

“An Indian would never cry out like that,” O'Hara said. “They know how to bear pain like men.”

“O'Hara, I wonder if you could bear the pain of my boot up your ass,” Flintlock said. Then, “Begging your pardon, Evangeline.”

“I've heard worse. Now sit still. This will sting.” “Worse than the last stuff? Owww. . .”

“I told you it would sting.”

“Nope, you'll never hear an Indian yelp like that,” O'Hara said. “Look, Evangeline, right there under his eye. You missed a spot.”

“Oh yes, I see it. Just a little dab, Sam.”

“Ow,” Flintlock said. His irritation still sharp in his voice, he said, “How did you manage to escape, Evangeline?”

“Men like Leander Byng underestimate women and he didn't closely guard me. It was dark and I just walked out.”

“Did you cast a spell?” O'Hara said. “Make yourself invisible?”

“I'm not that kind of witch,” Evangeline said. “No, I just slipped out of the tent and kept to the shadows. No one saw me. But then I was discovered by the Atakapan and they took me to a canoe. Later they told me they'd cut off Byng's head because he was the engineer who made the machines that cut the cypress.”

“That Byng feller is dead?” Flintlock said as Evangeline tightly bandaged his broken ribs.

“As dead as a man without a head can be.”

“The Indians plan to help us, Sam,” O'Hara said.

“Not quite,” Evangeline said. “The Atakapan will fight for their swamp. Regarding us, it's a case of the enemy of my enemy is my friend. There are three headless bodies floating in the water out there. Now Brewster Ritter knows that the Atakapan make good friends and formidable enemies.”

“They fought well enough tonight,” Flintlock said. “For a spell there I thought I was a goner.”

“Now they'll mourn their dead for three days and we won't see them,” Evangeline said.

Flintlock took a deep breath, then said, “Damn, it hurts me to breathe.”

“Broken ribs take time to heal,” Evangeline said. “You'd better stay close to the cabin.”

After looking around, Flintlock said, “Where is my Winchester?”

“Oh, I gave it to one of the Indians,” O'Hara said. “By way of thanks.”

“You make pretty free with other people's property, O'Hara,” Flintlock said, irritated all over again.

O'Hara shrugged. “Those boys needed a rifle.”

“And I don't?” Flintlock said.

“I never reckoned you were much good with it, Sammy.”

“Well, you're wrong. I'm a good rifle shot when I have a rifle.”

“You're passin' fair with the Colt's gun, though.”

“O'Hara, you try to take President Grant's Colt to give to an Injun and I'll plug you for sure,” Flintlock said.

“And leave you unarmed? I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, you still have the Hawken, though after what happened maybe you should leave it alone.”

“And that reminds me,” Flintlock said. “Evangeline, Ritter told me he'd feed me to the alligators if I didn't tell him where I stashed the money from the bank robbery. I couldn't tell him because I didn't know.”

“And now you wonder where I hid it?” Evangeline said.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“It's under your bed, behind my hatbox.”

Flintlock looked stricken. “The money sack was there all the time?”

“Yes, it was. When men search for stuff they never move things out of the way, so I knew it was safe.”

“That was sneaky, Evangeline,” O'Hara said.

“No, just common sense.”

“And knowing the ways of men,” Flintlock said.

“Yes. The ways of men are not a mystery to me.”

Earlier Evangeline had been staring out the cabin window. Now she said, “The seabirds are flying inland. I saw a flock of ibis and they're always the last to leave the coast before a big storm hits.” She looked pensive. “It's still too early in the year for storms in the Gulf.”

“Birds aren't that smart,” Flintlock said. “I've seen a lot of chickens in my time and every one of them was as dumb as a snubbin' post.”

“Birds can sense when a storm is coming, Sam,” Evangeline said. “They get well out of its way.”

“Evangeline, you've lived in the swamp for a while,” O'Hara said. “What do you think?”

“I don't know, not yet. A storm is like a wolf prowling outside your door in the darkness. By the time you sense his presence it's too late.”

Flintlock smiled, or tried to. All his battered face could manage was a distorted grimace. “Well, if a storm comes we'll follow the birds and head north onto dry land.”

“Maybe the birds are wrong and it won't happen,” O'Hara said.

“Yes, that's right,” Evangeline said. “Maybe it won't happen.”

But her troubled face gave the lie to that statement.

Like a whipped cur, Brewster Ritter sulked in his tent brooding over five men killed and two wounded, all of them hired guns. It was a loss he could ill afford, especially after the death of his engineer.

The entry of Indians into the fight had been an unexpected development and one that did not bode well. Already the loggers were muttering among themselves about refusing to go back into the swamp without the protection of a regiment of U.S. infantry.

Work was grinding to a standstill and something had to be done, Ritter told himself. But what?

Bonifaunt Toohy's suggestion that he lay the matter at the feet of Mathias Cobb and let him sort it out, he'd turned down at once.

But now on reflection he wasn't so sure.

Cobb stood to make more money than anyone else on this venture, so it was in his interest to come up with a solution. It involved the hiring of an engineer and more guns and so be it. He could well afford the additional cost.

Ritter downed a glass of rum and then told the guard at his tent to find Toohy and bring him. The gunman was surly, as was every man in camp, and even the whores had deserted, seeking safer pastures.

Toohy, who had been cut across the cheek by an arrow, arrived with more bad news. The loggers were now refusing to enter the swamp and a dozen had already pulled stakes, hoofing it to Budville, where they could catch a train headed north into timber country.

“Boss, you're not going to cut any more cypress until you can convince the rest of the men to stay,” Toohy said. “Jed Connolly died a couple of minutes ago, still with an arrowhead in him. He was fast on the draw and shoot and a lot of the boys set store by him.”

“Then we have to hire a bunch more like Connolly,” Ritter said. “I want you to go tell Cobb what's happened here. Tell him we need an engineer, all the hired guns he can find and tell him . . . yeah, tell him we need immediate cash to pay bonuses to the loggers and the guns we have left or we'll lose them all.”

“Anything else?” Toohy said.

“Yes and this is urgent. We need whores and whiskey.”

“How do you reckon Cobb will take this?”

“He'll have to take it and like it. It's his money that's at stake.”

“All right, boss, I'll go talk with him, tell him how things are with us.”

“And tell him we have a good idea where the bank money is and we'll get it back soon.”

“Well, that ought to put him in a good frame of mind. If he believes it.”

“Make him believe it, Toohy,” Ritter said.

 

 

When Toohy rode into Budville a wedding party was spilling out of the church, a pretty young bride, a handsome groom and a score of noisy well-wishers. He drew rein and watched the fun for a while. The bride smiled at him and he smiled back, tipped his bowler hat and rode on.

After he gave his name to a teller he was ushered almost immediately into Mathias Cobb's office. The fat man did not look well, ashen gray with large purple pouches under his eyes.

After telling Toohy to take a seat, Cobb settled his hands across his great belly and said, “Good news, I hope. I could use some.”

“I've got news, Mr. Cobb, all of it bad,” Toohy said.

“I thought so,” Cobb said. “I read it in your face as soon as you stepped through the door. Go ahead, Mr. Toohy.”

Toohy's cold eyes lifted to the young, fox-faced man who stood behind and to the left of the banker's chair. “Get rid of the gun,” he said.

Before Cobb could speak the man said, “I'll leave when I feel like it.”

“Now, now, Rolfe, don't take that tone,” Cobb said. “Mr. Toohy, this is Mr. Val Rolfe, my bodyguard.”

“He isn't a patch on Seb,” Toohy said. “I can tell that just by looking at him. I never met a man who wore two guns that amounted to a hill of beans.”

“Mr. Cobb, do I have to take this?” Rolfe said. Again and again he flexed his gloved right hand, as though getting ready to draw.

“Yes, you do, Mr. Rolfe,” Cobb said. “Probably for the first and last time. Now, Mr. Toohy, tell me what's happening with my associate Mr. Ritter.”

Toohy cut to the chase, told about the disasters that had befallen Ritter and his men and then gave the list of his demands. Cobb made no immediate reply, but he buried his face in his hands and his massive body shuddered.

Rolfe inserted himself into the silence. “Hell, send me down there and I'll get it sorted out, Mr. Cobb. I may have to kill a few men, but I'll get the tree saws started again.”

Toohy's eyes locked on the young gunman's face, but he said nothing.

Cobb dropped his hands. In the space of just a few seconds he looked ten years older. “From the very outset of this undertaking Brewster Ritter has been guilty of gross mismanagement,” he said. “He must be replaced by someone who knows how to handle men, money and materials.”

“In fairness to Ritter, there was no accounting for Indians taking a hand,” Toohy said.

“A good manager must adapt to adverse circumstances, turn them to his own advantage, Mr. Toohy. He had plenty of men to take care of a few savages if they'd been handled right. And he still hasn't recovered my money and yet you say he had the culprit in his grasp and then let him escape. Why, sir, that is blatant incompetence at its very worst.”

Rolfe had been building a cigarette and now his hand blurred as he brought up the lighted match, letting Toohy know how fast he was.

“Send me down there, Mr. Cobb,” he said again, smoke trickling from his nose. “I'll get it running right.”

Cobb ignored that. He met Toohy's eyes and said, “Did you see the wedding as you came into town?”

“Sure did. I thought the bride was real pretty.”

“She's Rose Stothard's sister and she holds me responsible for the woman's suicide and the killing of her husband,” Cobb said. “She's trying to get the whole town to take a set against me and people are talking.”

“Want me to take care of that little problem?” Rolfe said.

“No, I don't. At least not yet,” Cobb said. “Mr. Toohy, I have a competent manager who can take charge of the bank while I'm gone. I think I should leave Budville for a while to let the idle talk die down.”

“You mean replace Ritter yourself?” Toohy said.

“Yes. I think I should be there to look after my investment and future profits. And unlike Ritter I am a competent manager.”

“He'll take it hard,” Toohy said.

“I know. That's why Rolfe will be with me. I'm told he is the best there is and he came highly recommended.”

Toohy was appalled. “Ritter's Landing is—”

“Is that what they're calling my operational headquarters?” Cobb said. At Toohy's nod he said, “Well, now it will be known as Cobb's Landing.”

“What I was trying to say is that it's a place for a young man,” Toohy said. “Mosquitoes, living in tents, alligators, bad food . . . and now hostile Indians. Are you sure you want to be there?”

“I'm tougher than you think, Mr. Toohy,” Cobb said. “I believe I will thrive in such a rugged environment. I will leave it to my manager to supply the money, foodstuffs and yes, whores and whiskey as needed.”

“What we need is a steam engineer,” Toohy said. “And more hired guns.”

“And both those prerequisites will be met in due course,” Cobb said. “All we have to do is hang on until they arrive. Ruthlessness is the key to this affair, Mr. Toohy, the willingness to use violence to realize our ends. By God, sir, I'm willing to kill every living creature in the swamp to get my trees cut. Hundreds of thousands of dollars are at stake and I'll let nothing stand in my way of getting them. We must pursue this great, decisive aim with all the force and determination we can muster.”

Cobb turned his attention to Rolfe. “Take Mr. Toohy to the saloon and buy him a drink while I brief my manager on what has to be done in my absence,” he said.

The young gunman didn't like it but he peeled himself off the wall, motioned to Toohy and stepped to the door.

Cobb said, “Remember, Mr. Toohy, we live in a pitiless world and we must be pitiless to cope with it.”

 

 

For fifteen minutes Bonifaunt Toohy and Val Rolfe drank in silence at the saloon bar, then the young gunman opened a conversation. “Tell me about Seb Lilly.”

“What do you want to know?” Toohy said.

“Was he fast on the draw?”

“He was good with a gun.”

“How good?” Rolfe's Colt suddenly appeared in his hand. “As good as that?”

“Hard to tell. It would be a close run thing.”

“How about you, Toohy? How good are you?”

“Oh, fair to middlin', I guess.”

“As fast as me?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then remember that when we get to where we're going. I like to be top dog, cock of the walk, understand?”

“I surely do,” Toohy said.

“One thing I will tell you, don't cross me. Don't ever cross me,” Rolfe said.

“I won't,” Toohy said. “You scare me too much.”

The irony in Toohy's voice went right over Rolfe's head and he smiled and looked mighty pleased with himself. “Hell, Toohy, I like you,” he said. “I'm right partial to a man who knows his place.”

“Me too,” Toohy said. “It's good for a fellow to know the order of things.”

“That fancy hat of yours, Toohy, I'll want that one day when I dress up to go sparking a gal,” Rolfe said.

“Sure,” Toohy said. “Come see me any time you feel like taking it.”

For a second time Toohy's irony was lost on Rolfe. The young man slapped Toohy on the back and said, “Hey, you're all right. Have another drink.”

“I don't mind if I do,” Toohy said. His eyes were as cold as iced-over bullets.

 

 

An hour later Mathias Cobb stopped his surrey outside the saloon, a good-looking black mare in the traces. Toohy and Rolfe stepped outside and Cobb said, “Mr. Toohy, you ride alongside. Rolfe, tie your horse at the rear and come up on the seat beside me. Bring your rifle.” Cobb held up some kind of machine part. It was made of brass and had a white dial about the size of a pocket watch. “And Mr. Toohy, did you leave this behind on my desk by any chance?”

Toohy shook his head. “No. What is it?”

“Some kind of steam pressure gauge, I think,” Cobb said.

“I never saw it before now,” Toohy said.

“Ah well, then a depositor must have left it behind. They leave all kinds of things, gloves, umbrellas, even baskets of groceries. I'm sure the owner will return for it.”

When Toohy was mounted and Rolfe took his place in the surrey, Cobb said, “Well, Mr. Toohy, are you ready to embark on our great undertaking?”

“You can depend on me,” Toohy said.

“He knows his place, Mr. Cobb,” Rolfe said.

“Excellent. Let us be off then and turn a pestilent morass into money for all of us.”