The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [208]
Miss Howard just nodded once, and then we moved on back outside, the Negro woman closing the door on us silently.
I moved for the buckboard as fast as I could, and was surprised when Miss Howard didn’t do the same. She was staring in the direction of the river and puzzling with something.
“Didn’t we pass a ferry station on our way into town?” she asked quietly, wandering toward the rig.
“Oh, no,” I answered quickly, fear making me a bit uppity. “I ain’t crossing that river tonight, Miss Howard—no, ma’am.” Then I remembered myself as I fumbled for my packet of cigarettes: “I’m sorry, but there just ain’t no way—”
Suddenly, I heard a very disturbing sound: footsteps, plenty of them, shuffling through the dry dust of the road. Both Miss Howard and I stepped away from the rig and stared into the darkness to the north, which soon belched out about ten of the men from the tavern. They were moving our way—and they did not, to put it mildly, look like they were interested in talking.
“Aw, shit,” I said (my general reaction to such situations); then I glanced around quickly, trying to figure out what to do. “We can still get away to the south,” I decided, not seeing anything in that direction what would indicate trouble. “If we move fast enough—”
The sound of a spinning revolver cylinder caused me to jerk my head back around. Miss Howard had her Colt out, and was checking the chambers with a look what said she meant business. “Don’t worry, Stevie,” she said quietly, as she hid the gun behind her back. “I have no intention of letting people like that push us around.”
I looked at the approaching band of drunken, sullen men, then at Miss Howard again, and realized I was on the verge of watching something truly ugly take place. “Miss Howard,” I said, “there ain’t no reason for this—”
But it was too late: the locals had reached us, and fanned out in a line across the road. The man we’d spoken to when we first hit town stepped out front.
“We figured maybe you didn’t get our point,” he said, stepping closer to Miss Howard.
“What’s there to get?” Miss Howard answered. “You’re a mob of grown men, afraid of a single woman.”
“You’re not just dealing with us, lady,” the man answered. “When it comes to Libby Fraser, you’re dealing with this whole town. She’s done enough damage here. Nobody wants to have anything to do with her, nor with nobody that’s got any interest in her. And if that ain’t clear enough …”
The whole bunch of them took a few steps closer. I don’t know what it was that they intended to do to us, but they didn’t get the chance: Miss Howard produced her revolver, and leveled it at the lead man.
“You just back up, mister,” she said, her teeth clenched. “I warn you, I will have absolutely no difficulty putting a bullet in your leg—or something more vital, if you force me to.”
For the first time, the man smiled. “Oh, you’re gonna shoot me, are you?” He turned to his friends. “She’s gonna shoot me, boys!” he said, getting the usual variety of stupid laughs from his pals. Then he looked at Miss Howard again. “You ever shot anybody before, missy?”
Miss Howard just stared at him hard for a few seconds, then said, very quietly, “Yes. I have.” As if to punctuate the statement, she pulled the hammer of her Colt back quickly.
The sincerity of the words and the cocking of the gun were enough to wipe the smile off the man’s face, and I think he was about to turn around and call the whole confrontation off. But then a small, hissing sound cut through the stillness, and the man cried out, clutching at his leg. Yanking something out of his hamstring, he looked back up at Miss Howard, then slowly crumpled to his knees. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he keeled over onto one side, his hand out in front of him.
In it was a plain, ten-inch stick, what was sharpened at one end.
CHAPTER 37
Miss Howard and I gave each