Kill or Die (23 page)

Evangeline toyed with the boiled trout on her plate and then laid down her fork and said, “Senator Boatwright, I don't think that I've thanked you enough for taking an interest in Sam Flintlock and O'Hara.”

Boatwright had stuck a huge white napkin into his shirt collar that was already stained with gravy from the roast beef he was devouring.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. The president was most insistent that I do all in my power to help the friends of you and your husband. Cornelius is quite the hero in Washington, you know, and his book—what is it called again?”

“
The Flora and Fauna of the Texas and Louisiana Swamps,
” Evangeline said.

“Ah yes, that is it. Well, it's very popular in some circles, though I'm very much a city animal myself. Penny dreadfuls are my meat, and the bloodier the better. Ah, this roast is very rare, the way I like it.”

“About Sam Flintlock, Senator, he is accused of robbing the Budville bank, but he was trying to make Mathias Cobb break his cover.”

“And he returned the money,” Cornelius said.

Boatwright nodded and studied his plate. “The advantage of having one's own dining car is that one can set the menu. Meat and potatoes are what I'm all about, and plenty of gravy. Gravy is a must in any civilized society. Cornelius, please set your mind at rest. I've ordered a full government investigation into what happened in the swamp, and the cypress trees have been placed under the protection of the great state of Texas.” He poked his fork in the other man's direction. “There were many redskin deaths and the Bureau of Indian Affairs is deeply concerned.”

“And what about Flintlock?” Evangeline said.

“He and what's-his-name will be freed pending the result of my investigation. Since that might take years, eventually no one will even remember Flintlock's involvement.”

“He'll be free to go?” Evangeline said.

“Yes, just as soon as I speak to the authorities in Austin.”

“We can't thank you enough, Senator,” Evangeline said.

“Think nothing of it. Cornelius, are you going to eat that meat you left on your plate?”

“No, sir. I've had enough.”

“Then scrape it onto my plate, man. We can't let good beef go to waste.”

 

 

The train journey to Austin was uneventful though Senator Boatwright checked on his steam car often and his cook became concerned at Evangeline's lack of appetite. “I swear, child, what you eat couldn't keep a bird alive.”

After the car was unloaded at the Austin station, Evangeline and Cornelius read magazines and newspapers in the waiting room while the boiler built up steam. Lucas Bardwell had elected to return to Washington and had left the train earlier.

“Look at this,” Evangeline said, handing Cornelius a newspaper she'd folded to reveal only a single column under the headline:

And then:

“Miss Ivy didn't get the names right,” Cornelius said.

“No, she didn't, but it seems like we got here just in time,” Evangeline said. “September seventh is tomorrow.”

“We'd better tell Senator Boatwright,” Cornelius said. “There's not a moment to lose.”

Sam Flintlock thought that the first meeting between Senator Jeffrey Boatwright and resident jurist Judge Jeptha Hyde went very well. They had served in the 5th U.S. Cavalry during the war, and both had been wounded at Gaines Mills. They greeted one another like old friends.

Hyde, a solemn, gray-haired man with a saber scar on his left cheek, listened in silence, his eyes straying now and then to savor Evangeline's dazzling beauty. The story, told in episodes from Evangeline, Cornelius and Boatwright with asides from Flintlock and O'Hara, was long in the telling.

Finally Judge Hyde seized on one point. “The same alligator killed both Cobb and Ritter?”

“Yes, his name is Basilisk and he looks out for me,” Evangeline said. “At least that explains his attack on Ritter. Why he decided to kill Cobb I don't know.”

“How can a cold-blooded creature look out for you? It defies logic.”

“I know it does. But I shot him once and now he plans to kill me,” Evangeline said. “I believe he saw Ritter as a threat and got rid of him. Basilisk wants me for himself.”

Hyde shivered then said, “Young lady, if I were you I'd stay away from the swamp.”

“I'm needed there, your honor, and in fifty years Basilisk will be dead.”

Hyde's face revealed that he saw no logic in that statement either, but he let it go. “Major Boatwright—I'm sorry, Senator Boatwright—you've given me a great deal to think about,” he said. “Perhaps you and Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius would care to dine with me tonight and I'll give you my decision then.”

“I'd be honored.” The senator smiled. “Captain Hyde.”

This occasioned mirth and both Boatwright and Hyde grinned as they left the judge's chambers. A frowning Flintlock was taken back to his cell in chains.

 

 

“Well, what do you think, Sam?” O'Hara said.

The Rangers, much addicted to the smoking habit, had supplied Flintlock with tobacco and papers and now he carefully built a cigarette, concentrating on not spilling a single shred.

He lit the smoke and said, “I don't know. But Hyde sure looks like a hanging judge.”

“Hard man to read,” O'Hara said.

“You're right there. His face isn't exactly an open book.”

“Well, as you said, Sammy, we can always escape from Huntsville.”

“Wes Hardin is still there. He tried to escape, got his ribs kicked in and landed in solitary. When he gets out of prison he won't be half the man he was and somebody will put a bullet in his back. Pity, I knew none faster than Wes with a Colt's gun.”

“You went after him once, didn't you?”

“Yeah, I went after the reward on his head. On the trail he rode rings around me, shot my horse, put a bullet in me and then gave me ten dollars to pay for a doctor.” Smoke trailed from Flintlock's mouth. “Say what you want about Wes, but he was true blue, a white man.”

“Did you get a shot off?” O'Hara said.

“Sure I did. I missed and he didn't.”

“Think he'll recognize you when we get to Huntsville?”

“O'Hara, be damned to you for a wet-blanket Injun. We're not going to Huntsville. I'm surprised how much influence Cornelius has in Washington. Hell, he's on first-name terms with the president. Why—”

The key clanked in the cell lock and the door screeched open. The old Ranger with the shotgun stepped inside. “You boys come with me,” he said.

“What for?” Flintlock said.

“I don't know, but sure as hell you two are going to help me find out.”

“Listen, after whitewashing your damned wall we don't like you much,” Flintlock said. “In other words, we're not inclined to be helpful.”

“You're all I got,” the old man said.

Flintlock read something in the Ranger's face, a vulnerability that hadn't been there before. “What do you want us to do? If it's cleaning outhouses we're not interested.”

“Right now there's only three prisoners in the jail,” the Ranger said. “You boys and August Bambara. Tell you something?”

“Tells me you got a mighty dangerous outlaw on your hands,” Flintlock said.

O'Hara said, “Is he the one who wiped out a settlement on the Brazos that time?”

“He sure is, sonny,” the Ranger said. “Killed every man and half-grown boy in the town so he and his gang could rob the bank and outrage the woman at leisure. That was back in eighty-two and he's done a sight worse since. Now come with me. We got work to do.”

“What kind of work?” Flintlock said.

“I think his gang plans to bust him out of jail tonight. And I'm the only Ranger on duty. One thing you two should know—Bambara doesn't leave any witnesses behind.

“Name's Coon Grogan, by the way.” The Ranger handed Flintlock and O'Hara a couple of Henry rifles he took from the gun rack by the front door. “They're loaded, but if I see you boys make a fancy move, I'll gun you both. Now douse that oil lamp there.”

Once the office was dark, Grogan motioned Flintlock to come stand by him at the window. “Look over there,” he said. “See them shadows moving over there by the corral?”

Flintlock said, “Yeah, I do. Hell, there must be a couple dozen of them working themselves up to attack us. Where are the other Rangers?”

“Out on the trail of outlaws, sonny, where they should be.”

“Well, they've left us to buck some mighty long odds here, Coon,” Flintlock said.

“Seems like,” the Ranger said. “Ol' August has a big gang. But it all might come to nothing. I'll go out and see if I can talk some sense into them.”

“Yeah, and get your head blown off, old man,” Flintlock said.

“It's my duty, sonny,” Grogan said. “I knew there would be times like this when I signed on. Well, wish me luck, boys.”

“Git back here,” Flintlock said. “They haven't even stated their intentions.”

“I know what their intentions are. They want to spring their boss and then shoot any witnesses left behind. That's their intentions, all right.”

Flintlock took time to glance out the window. A single lantern at the side of a barn cast a dull orange glow on the open ground in front of the corral. The outlaws had shaken themselves out into a line and stared at the jail. All twenty of them carried rifles.

“I'm not letting you go out there, Coon,” Flintlock said.

“Sonny, I done palavered with Comanche, Apache and outlaws afore you were born,” Grogan said. “Now stand aside and give me the road.”

“You walk to your destiny, old warrior,” O'Hara said.

Grogan nodded. “Maybe so, sonny. Maybe so.”

The old Ranger opened the door and stepped outside. “You boys hold up,” he yelled to the outlaws. “This here is Texas Ranger Coon Grogan and I want to talk with you.”

Grogan took a step toward the outlaws . . . then another...

“We'll talk this thing through,” he said.

The old man's body looked as though it was being torn apart by the volley of lead that punched great holes though him. He teetered for a moment on rag-doll legs and then fell flat on his face.

Flintlock watched the old Ranger fall and his rage flared. He threw open the door and worked the Henry from his shoulder. One of the outlaws dropped and the rest scattered. But they soon settled down and returned a steady fire. Bullets thudded into the door and splintered wood. Windows shattered under the hail of lead and O'Hara yanked Flintlock back and kicked the heavy oak door shut.

“Are you crazy?” he said. “We got to find a back door out of here.”

“No,” Flintlock said. “I can hold them for a few minutes. Go find Bambara and bring him here. Hurry!”

“I don't have a key to his cell,” O'Hara said.

“Then find it!”

Flintlock fired a couple of fast shots out a broken window, then ducked as bullets drove past him and crashed into lamps, chairs and desks, shattered shards of glass and wood exploding around him.

A glance out the window told him all the bad news he needed to know. Wary of his rifle fire, the outlaws advanced slowly, firing as they came, and were now only twenty yards away.

Flintlock fired, fired again. But again a hail of shot forced him to the ground. He cursed under his breath.
Where is that damned Injun?

He moved back in the smoke-streaked gloom to the potbellied stove that stood in a corner and squeezed behind it. The stove was small and didn't offer much cover, but cast iron would deflect at least some of the rifle bullets. Flintlock hefted the Henry and prepared to charge a high price for his life.

Moments later the door opened slowly, creaking on its hinges. The corner where Flintlock forted up lay in darkness, but the part of the room near the door and windows was bathed in faint light. He reckoned he could get three or four of them before they found him and killed him. Flintlock smiled. He was no bargain.

The door pushed open again. Then stopped. And then silence.

Flintlock waited for long seconds and then left the shelter of the stove and walked slowly in the direction of the door. With every wary step a floorboard creaked and his big Texas spurs chimed. Then, from outside, a babble of raised voices. He moved to the window, stood a ways back in shadow and listened into the night.

“Are you all right, boss?” a man yelled.

And then an answering cry, “Hell, no, I'm not all right. I'm on the roof with a rope around my neck and a man's boot ready to push my ass off a ledge.”

“What do you want us to do, boss? We can't even see the son of a bitch.”

“He's a crazy Indian and he's right behind me, damn it. He wants you to mount up and clear out, all of you.”

“You want us to do that?”

“Damn it, yes. If you don't he'll stretch my neck.”

“Should we call his bluff, boss?”

Now Bambara's voice rose in a screech. “Nooo, you fool. He'll kill me. Just get the hell out of Austin.”

But the man, whoever he was, wouldn't quit. “Hey, you up there. Injun.”

“What the hell do you want?” O'Hara's voice.

“Let Bambara go and you got five hundred dollars coming. That's enough to keep you in firewater and split-nose squaws for a six-month.”

“Go to hell,” O'Hara said. “Now you can watch this piece of human garbage swing.”

“No!” Bambara yelled. “Do as he says, Evans. Get out of here.”

Flintlock watched as the man who'd been doing all the talking conferred with the others. After a couple of minutes he looked up at the roof and said, “All right. We're going. But we'll be back.”

The shooting had begun to attract a crowd and now armed men stood in the shadows, trying to puzzle out what was happening. One townsman, quicker on the uptake than the rest, cut loose with a probing revolver shot. The outlaw named Evans took that as his cue to leave and he and his men mounted up and rode away in a hurry.

Only the bodies of Ranger Grogan and two of the outlaws lay in the open ground, barely visible and still as stones in death.

Flintlock stumbled around in the dark for a spell and finally found a stairway that led to the second story, one large room the Rangers used for storage. Here and there iron staples were bolted to the floor to secure chained criminals in an emergency. Despite the darkness, Flintlock knew this because he painfully stubbed his toe on two of them.

At the far end of the room a set of pine steps led to a trapdoor that opened onto the roof. Flintlock took the stairway and discovered what had caused all the yelling among the outlaws. August Bambara, a tall, slim mulatto dressed in the finery of a Mexican vaquero, stood on a ledge, a noose around his neck. The other end of the rope was tied to a steel lightning rod fastened to a wall. The rod was an inch thick and well enough secured to take a man's weight. O'Hara stood behind Bambara, the muzzle of his Colt pressed into the man's lower back. When the outlaw heard the chime of spurs he turned his head, saw Flintlock and said, “You! Get this lunatic Indian off me.”

“You're August Bambara, ain't you?” Flintlock said, his voice pitched low, menacing.

“I am Bambara. Now get me down from here.”

“Can you see the ground? Of course you can't,” Flintlock said. “Well, let me tell you about it. A Texas Ranger lies dead down there. In his day he fit Comanches, Apaches and lowlife scum like you. I didn't like him much, but I respected him.”

“What the hell do I care?” Bambara said. “I know my rights, so get that Indian away from me and get me off this damned ledge.”

“What rights did Texas Ranger Coon Grogan have?” Flintlock said.

He stepped to Bambara and said, “Mister, you should have been hung a long time ago.”

A gentle, one-fingered push and the mulatto screamed. The rope went taut and then vibrated like a fiddle string as Bambara kicked his legs as he strangled to death.

When it was over, Flintlock said to O'Hara, “He took a nasty fall, didn't he?”

“I think he jumped,” O'Hara said. “Killed himself. That's what I think.”

“Maybe so,” Flintlock said. “You got your knife?”

“Coon Grogan took it. But I saw an axe knife in the storeroom.”

“You'd better get it, O'Hara, and we'll cut him down. He makes the place look untidy hanging there.”