Kill or Die (24 page)

“It is my opinion that August Bambara committed suicide rather than face a legal hanging,” Judge Jeptha Hyde said. “I very much regret the death of Ranger Coon Grogan, a fine officer of the law, but I commend Mr. Flintlock and Mr. O'Hara for their gallant defense of the jail against overwhelming odds, as has been already noted by this court. When the vile monster August Bambara swung from a rope justice was done and was seen to be done. I will therefore order the immediate release of Mr. Flintlock and Mr. O'Hara into the custody of that fine statesman and gallant soldier Senator Jeffrey Boatwright.”

This brought a mild round of applause, but Judge Hyde rapped his gavel and looked around his well-attended court with the piercing hazel eyes of a hawk. “Do I hear any objections to my decision? No? Then what about you, Captain Fleet?”

The Ranger shook his head. “No objection, your honor. Them two boys did well.”

“Then it's settled,” Hyde said. He banged his gavel. “This court is dismissed.”

As Flintlock and O'Hara received congratulations from Senator Boatwright, Evangeline and Cornelius, Hyde tapped Flintlock on the shoulder and took him aside. “It's too bad that August Bambara missed a legal execution, but a hanging is a hanging. Of course we'll never know for sure if he fell, jumped or was pushed. Will we?”

“I guess not, Judge,” Flintlock said.

“Then will you do me a favor, Mr. Flintlock?”

“I sure will, your honor. Just mention it.”

“At the earliest opportunity I want and you and O'Hara to leave Texas. Will you do that for me?”

“We're headed for the Arizona Territory,” Flintlock said.

“Glad to hear it. We don't want your kind in our great state.” Judge Hyde smiled. “By the way, Mr. Flintlock, I think Bambara was pushed.”

 

 

Senator Boatwright insisted on a celebratory dinner at the best restaurant in Austin. Since appropriate dress was required a tailor was summoned to the hotel and off-the-peg suits were quickly altered to fit Flintlock and O'Hara.

Stiff and uncomfortable in a high-button suit, Flintlock wore a celluloid collar to conceal his tattoo that bit into his neck like a blunt razor. O'Hara tied back his hair and suffered every bit as much as Flintlock did.

But every eye in the restaurant was turned to Evangeline. She wore a ball gown of iridescent gold taffeta, gathered at the front, a steel-boned corset of the same color accented with leather straps and gold buckles and around her neck a thin gold chain with a cameo of Hera, the Greek goddess of womankind. He swept-up hair was adorned with a cascade of gold ribbons. She was the most beautiful woman in the restaurant that evening and probably in the whole state of Texas.

Like his collar, Flintlock's pants were too tight, his broken ribs ached and the handle of his Colt gouged into his belly. He'd just finished an appetizer of poached trout when Senator Boatwright said, “Evangeline has some good news to impart.”

“Indeed I have,” Evangeline said. She'd just eaten a little of the trout and now delicately dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Sam, do you remember Lady Esther Carlisle telling us about the treasure hidden in the swamp by Vera Scobey? The one her husband hunted for all his life?”

Despite his discomfort Flintlock smiled and said, “Yes, Vera Scobey, the pirate called the Blue Fox. She stole a treasure from the British after the Battle of New Orleans and hid it in the swamp.”

Evangeline smiled. “It's been recovered, or at least some of it. The storm uncovered the chest but broke it into pieces and most of the coins were lost in the swamp. But here is something wonderful. Lady Esther found it, she and Ahmed! Isn't that just too exquisite?”

The combination of looking into Evangeline's beautiful eyes and his crucifying collar made Flintlock even more uncomfortable. But he managed, “That is real great. It's just a pity all those golden guineas were lost.”

“Not all of them, Sam,” Cornelius said. He looked cool, comfortable and handsome in black broadcloth and frilled linen. “Ahmed recovered enough to pay an excellent team of lawyers should anyone like Ritter again try to cut down the cypress.”

“And he'd also have the federal government down on him in a trice,” Senator Boatwright said. “Washington always stands eager to help.”

Evangeline raised her champagne glass. “Here's a toast to Lady Carlisle.” After the “hear hears” had died away, she again raised her glass. “And a toast to the two bravest, most enduring men I have ever had the honor to know. I give you Sam Flintlock and O'Hara.”

A few of the diners had been in the courtroom earlier and they joined in the applause with Senator Boatwright and Cornelius.

To his surprise Flintlock realized he could still blush, and O'Hara looked as though he was about to dive under the table at any moment.

There were more toasts, to Evangeline, to the senator and to Cornelius. Flintlock, deciding he was quite good at it, even toasted O'Hara, who withdrew his head into his collar like a turtle and squirmed. He would later tell Flintlock that if he ever toasted him again in front of a roomful of people he'd shoot him dead on the spot.

Sam Flintlock decided to make the next morning's farewells as short as possible. He knew parting from Evangeline would tear his heart out, and when the moment came she seemed to understand how he felt.

Kisses were exchanged and Flintlock vowed to come back one day and visit the swamp. It was an empty promise and Evangeline knew it, but she and Flintlock went through the pretense that this was not good-bye but a mere “so long for now.”

Then the men shook hands and it was over.

Evangeline and Cornelius were returning to Washington with Senator Boatwright for a series of receptions, and then she and her husband planned to visit Salem, Massachusetts, where Evangeline had relatives.

The senator's parting words to Flintlock were, “Remember, Sam, you're now my ward, so let me hear nothing but good of you.”

“That meant don't rob any more banks, Sammy,” O'Hara said.

“I'm done with that,” Flintlock said, his eyes on the steam car as it headed for the railroad station. “Right now I feel like I'm done with everything.”

“You'll get over her,” O'Hara said. “There will be other women.”

“None like Evangeline,” Flintlock said.

“You're right about that,” O'Hara said. “None of them will ever be like Evangeline.”

Flintlock, restored to his buckskin shirt, baggy pants, battered hat and scuffed boots, had been told by the Ranger captain that he and O'Hara should drop by the jail and collect their guns and horses.

As they turned to head in that direction, a desk clerk hurried out of the hotel, something dark blue in his hand. “Mr. Flintlock, hold up,” he said.

Flintlock stopped and the clerk said, “Mrs. Cornelius left this for you.”

“What is it?”

“Well, sir, it looks like a silk scarf to me. And there's a note with it.”

The clerk shoved the scarf and note into Flintlock's hand and hurried back to the hotel. He read the note first:

Flintlock smiled and put the scarf to his nose. “It smells like an angel wore this.” He placed the scarf around his neck, the fringed ends falling over his chest. “Evangeline wore it.”

O'Hara said, “Sure ain't an angel wearing it now.” Then, “Don't you think a silk scarf is a tad dainty on a man, Sammy?”

“Any ranny who calls me dainty will get a bullet,” Flintlock said. “I ain't mentioning names, but that includes a certain Injun feller standing close.”

O'Hara smiled. “I'll never mention it again.”

“Yes, you will because that's the way you are, O'Hara. You get jealous about stuff. Now let's go see that Ranger.”

 

 

Captain Fleet gave Flintlock his Hawken and Colt and O'Hara got his knife and gun rig. “I think you should have this,” Fleet said to Flintlock. “It's Ranger Grogan's Winchester.”

“Captain Fleet, I think his rifle should stay with the Rangers,” Flintlock said.

“We all have Winchesters. You don't. I know Coon would want you to have it.”

“I'm not too sure about that,” Flintlock said. But he accepted the well-worn Winchester and said, “Thank you, Captain, I surely do appreciate it and I'll treasure this gun. I don't know what else to say.”

“Well, I got something to say,” Fleet said. “Don't disgrace that rifle. Don't surrender it to an enemy. Don't ever use it to kill an unarmed man. Don't use it to scare anyone weaker than yourself and I include women and children in that. And whatever you do, don't fail to live every day of your life with courage, like Ranger Grogan did.” Fleet smiled. “Think you can handle that?”

“That's pretty much how I try to live my life, Captain,” Flintlock said. “I'll do my best to live up to Coon's example.”

“And there's one more thing, Flintlock,” Fleet said. “Quit robbing the banks, will ya?”

“O'Hara already told me that this very morning.”

“Then he's one wise Indian,” Captain Fleet said. “Heed his advice.”

 

 

O'Hara led both horses out of the barn and told Flintlock he'd saddle them. Old Barnabas took advantage of his absence and called Flintlock over to an empty stall. He still wore his top hat and goggles but this time he held a cannonball as big as a man's head in his hands.

“You-know-who is ordering us to make these now,” he said. “They're the best cannonballs ever made. Perfectly round and cast from the finest iron to be found in Hell's fire.”

“You don't need cannonballs in Hell, old man,” Flintlock said.

“I know, but we give them to the Chinese, drop them out of the sky, like. The Celestials appreciate fine workmanship in cannonballs and they're mighty grateful.” Barnabas tossed the ball into the air and caught it. Then he said, “Headed for the Arizony Territory, huh? Going to find your ma and have her give you your rightful name. Ain't that so?”

“It's the general idea, Barnabas,” Flintlock said.

“Well, you ain't gonna get there anytime soon, sonny boy.”

“How come?”

“Because you're an idiot and get involved with all kinds of folks. There are some mighty bad times lying ahead of you, Sam, lay to that. Here, catch!”

The ball hurtled toward Flintlock with so much speed it was as though he stood at a cannon's mouth. But at the last moment the heavy iron ball popped like a soap bubble and vanished.

Suddenly angry, all his pent-up frustration coming to the fore, Flintlock yelled, “Next time I see you, Barnabas, I'll . . . I'll . . .”

“Hollering at your old grandpappy, huh?” O'Hara said.

“If that old coot could die all over again, I'd like to put a bullet into him,” Flintlock said.

O'Hara nodded. “Yeah, well I can understand that. But you got to admit, Barnabas sure makes a fine cannonball.”

“No! You're crazy, Sammy,” O'Hara said. “Hell, we're not going back to that damned swamp.”

“He's still alive,” Flintlock said. “He will always be a danger to Evangeline unless we kill him.”

“Damn it, Sam, he's too smart for us. The Great Spirit appointed the alligators and the crocodiles to be the keepers and protectors of all knowledge. Basilisk is probably two hundred years old and he's learned a lot more in that time.”

“He means to kill Evangeline one day. I can't let that stand.”

“What about your ma? What about Arizona?”

“That can wait. We can ride the rails from here to Budville. It won't take too much time.”

“How do you plan to find him?”

“He'll find us.”

“Damn right he will.”

Flintlock swung into the saddle. “I have enough money for two fares, O'Hara. But if you're not willing to go with me I'll understand.”

O'Hara shook his head. “I was once told that Great Spirit made all white men crazy, now I believe it. The white half of me wants to go kill an alligator because it's just as crazy as you are.”

“Well? State your intention.”

“The white half of me wins every time.”

Flintlock nodded. “And that's how it should be. Now let's go catch a train.”

 

 

There was still a place on the map named Budville, but people lend a soul to every settlement, be it a hamlet or a great city, and when the people leave the town dies and only its ghost remains.

Budville wasn't yet dead but the death shadows were gathering when Flintlock and O'Hara rode into the town. The doors of the
Budville Democrat
were closed and shackled with iron padlocks and the saloon had put up a
FOR SALE
sign, bleak omens of what was to come.

It was still early in the morning and Flintlock decided not to linger. He and O'Hara rode directly for the swamp under a black sky, the smell of an approaching thunderstorm sharp in the air. By the time they reached the landing rain was falling and out in the Gulf the thunderstorm gathered its strength for its trek northward.

They found a place on dry ground to tether their horses and O'Hara said, “As you also say, Sammy . . . state your intentions.”

“See any sign of Basilisk?” Flintlock said.

“Hell, no. We just got here.”

“Do alligators like rain?”

“I don't know.”

“I think maybe they do. Grab your rifle and we'll find a spot to stake out the bayou.”

“And Basilisk, as obliging as you please, will swim right past us.”

“Maybe so. Got a better idea?”

“Yeah, let's head back to Budville.”

“We're not leaving here until we kill him, O'Hara. Damn, but you're a complaining Injun. And remember, you're not doing this for me, you're doing it for Evangeline. Now let's go.”

Flintlock turned west, away from the landing, then swung through the trees until they found a patch of dry land overlooking the bayou. They got behind the cover of some willows and waited . . . and waited . . .

After an hour O'Hara said, “He ain't going to show, Sammy.”

Rain ticked through the pines and fell heavily on the water. Thunder rumbled and every now and then the bayou glimmered white in the lightning flashes. There was no sign of a V-shaped ripple on the surface that would denote the passage of an alligator, large or small.

“Damn him,” Flintlock said. “He knows we're here.”

“I told you Basilisk was smarter than us,” O'Hara said.

“This is his ground. He has an advantage over us.”

“We're getting mighty wet.”

“Wait just a while longer. If he doesn't show we'll come back tomorrow in better weather.”

“Maybe we'd do better in a canoe,” O'Hara said.

“If Basilisk is as smart as you say he'd know we were hunting him. He'd bite a canoe in half and us along with it. We'll stay where we are for another hour or so.”

“Be really wet by then,” O'Hara said, a comment that Flintlock chose to ignore. But he said, “I could sure use some of Evangeline's fried fish and cornbread, and then maybe some honey spread thick on the cornbread for dessert.”

“Dessert? Where did you pick up that ten-dollar word?” O'Hara said.

“At dinner last night. The flunky said, ‘Would sir care for dessert?' I said I would, not knowing what the hell he was talking about. Then he put a slice of steamed pudding in front of me with sweet yellow stuff all over it and I knew what the word
dessert
meant. Cornelius said the pudding was called spotted dick and that it was Queen Vic's favorite.”

“Why do they call it spotted dick?”

“Because it's got raisins in it.”

“Oh,” O'Hara said. Then, suddenly alert, “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I thought I heard something rustle.”

“Must have been the wind,” Flintlock said. Thunder roared, closer now, and lightning glittered and he thought he caught the sound of a sapling breaking. He did. And it was right behind him.

 

 

The monstrous form of Basilisk crashed through the undergrowth among the pines and charged directly at Flintlock and O'Hara. Among the confines of the slender willows he looked as big as a steam locomotive and as fast.

Flintlock dived to his left, rolled and fetched his head up hard against a pine trunk, losing his rifle in the process. He heard O'Hara roar in pain, followed by a shout. “Sam!”

Rising groggily to his feet, Flintlock pulled his Colt from his waistband. He staggered toward O'Hara in time to see the man's left arm in the alligator's jaws. Basilisk, his reptilian eyes emotionless, dragged O'Hara toward the swamp. At a range of just a few feet, Flintlock emptied his Colt into the alligator's side. Basilisk bellowed and thrashed and released O'Hara. But then the alligator swung toward Flintlock, its jaws gaping. Flintlock stumbled back, fell and immediately with incredibly savage violence Basilisk clamped onto his booted right ankle. The crushing pain made Flintlock cry out and he felt himself being dragged toward the swamp. He reached out for his fallen Winchester but both his hand and the rifle were wet and muddy and it slipped through his fingers.

Then he was in the water and the alligator went into its death roll. Flintlock turned with Basilisk, but even so it felt as though his leg was about to be wrenched from his body. He steeled himself for some moments of tearing, searing agony and hoped that his death would be quick.

But then . . . nothing.

Basilisk, as huge around as a cypress trunk, lay on his back, his white belly turned to the rain and black sky. Blood stained the water around him. Flintlock heard a splash and then strong hands grabbed him and pulled him back to shore. O'Hara looked down on him, his face close. “How bad are you hurt?” he said.

“Bad,” Flintlock said.

“Me too,” O'Hara said. “Can you walk?”

“I don't know.”

“Then try.”

“I killed him, O'Hara,” Flintlock said. “I got five shots into him.”

“Next time bring a bigger gun,” O'Hara said. “He could have torn you apart before he died. Now, let's see if I can help you get to your feet.”

“He got your arm,” Flintlock said.

O'Hara looked down at his shredded and bloody left arm. “Seems like,” he said.

“Does it hurt?”

“Of course it damn well hurts. Are you crazy?”

“Sorry,” Flintlock said. He checked to make sure that Evangeline's scarf was still in place and then climbed to his feet. He couldn't put any weight on his mangled ankle. “I don't think I can make it to my horse.”

“You'd better. I'm sure as hell not carrying you and I'm not bringing the horses over here. I'd make it once, maybe, but not twice.”

Flintlock turned his face to the pounding rain. Then he sighed deeply and said, “All right, let's try.”

“I got a bottle of Old Crow in my saddlebags,” O'Hara said. “It's yours when you get there. A prize for being brave.”

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“I stole it from the hotel kitchen before we left.”

“Damn it, O'Hara, sometimes you act the white man and make me real proud of you,” Flintlock said. “Shall we proceed?”

“We'd better,” O'Hara said. “When them little alligators get through eating the big alligator they might look at us as dessert.”

Flintlock groaned as he took a step, then said, “You like that word, don't you, O'Hara?”

“Sure do. It's the kind of word can take a man far, help him make a name for himself and be somebody.” Flintlock cursed his pain and O'Hara said, “But he won't get real far with that word, Sammy.”

“Well, I only want that word to get me as far as my horse,” Flintlock said. He grimaced. “Now you're gonna hear some more of them words. Air out your lungs, O'Hara, we'll have at it together.”

The two bloody, battered men turned the air around them blue with string after string of curses . . . it took them awhile, but they made it to their horses.

 

 

The storm hadn't yet played out its string. In crashing thunder and pounding rain, Flintlock and O'Hara found shelter of sorts in a hole created by the roots of a toppled pine. They passed the whiskey bottle back and forth and gradually began to feel better, but O'Hara's tattered arm streamed blood and rain and Flintlock's ankle swelled inside his tooth-scarred boot, causing him considerable suffering.

“That's got to come off, Sammy,” O'Hara said.

“I tried to pull it off but it's impossible. Hurts like hell.”

“I'll cut it off,” O'Hara said.

“It's the only boot I own.”

“You got a second one.”

“Damn it, O'Hara, it's on my other foot.”

“It's got to come off, let your ankle swell,” O'Hara said. “Besides, you may have wounds that need cleaned.”

“You'll need to cut it. Damn, I've had that there boot for years.”

“Seems like,” O'Hara said, his face straight.

It took a lot of pain, a lot of cursing and a lot of wild accusations from Flintlock that O'Hara was an Apache in disguise and a lot of desperate swigs from the Old Crow bottle, but the boot finally came off. “Broke, I think,” O'Hara said.

“Broke, I know,” Flintlock said. “And you made it worse. Look at the size of the swelling. Hell, how's your arm, O'Hara? Your blood is all over me.”

Thunder crashed and O'Hara waited until the sound rolled away and then said, “We both need a doctor, Sammy. Once the storm passes we'll mount up.”

“That's going to be a sight to see,” Flintlock said.