The Lawless (20 page)

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-THREE

Marco Salas and his cannon were positioned a hundred yards in advance of Mrs. Kerrigan and her engine. He heard the crash of rifles and saw puffs of smoke, but the terrible machine came on at speed. It was less than a mile away and closing fast.

The cannon had a short fuse that Marco would light when the machine was almost abreast of it. He figured that a broadside hit might hit something vital and stop the machine in its tracks. The trick was to know just when to light the fuse.

He crouched behind the shallow rise with his matches at the ready. He knew he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

 

 

The riflemen were kneeling, taking their shots, but the machine seemed impervious to their fire. It seemed like an inexorable force of nature that nothing could stop.

Cobb didn't like it. “Kate, run back to the cabin, saddle a horse, and get the hell out of here. Look for Moses and the girls.”

Kate snapped off a shot, racked the lever. “I most certainly will not. My place is here, defending my ranch.”

“Damn it, woman. There's no stopping that thing. It will soon roll right over us.”

“Then we'll all die together, Frank. I'm not leaving.” She looked around her. “Where is the Count?”

Cobb grimaced. “He ran away. If I survive this, I'll kill him.”

But Andropov had not made a run for it. He returned mounted on one of Kate's best horses, a stick of dynamite in his hand. “It's the only one I have,” he yelled at Kate. “But it will get the job done.”

Before anyone could object, Andropov yelled something in Russian, kicked his horse into motion, and charged directly for the oncoming
Emperor
.

He had covered half the distance when disaster struck. His horse wanted nothing to do with the noisy, smelly machine and reared, throwing Andropov from the saddle. For long moments, the Russian lay still on the ground as the
Emperor
drew closer to him, its enormous studded wheels throwing up massive clods of dirt.

But Andropov rose unsteadily to his feet and charged directly for the machine, lighting the dynamite as he ran.

“Get back here!” Cobb yelled.

But the Russian couldn't hear him. He ran directly for the driver's cabin, tossed the dynamite underneath, then tried to jump clear. His coat caught on a projecting steam valve and he fell heavily on his right side.

An instant later two things happened. The dynamite exploded under Marmaduke Tweng's cab and the front left wheel of the
Emperor
rolled over Andropov's chest and crushed it to a scarlet, jellified nightmare of blood and bone. Killed instantly, Count Ivan Boleslav died without sound, far from his native Moscow.

The dynamite didn't even slow the
Emperor
. Remorselessly, the snarling machine came on as though no mortal power on earth could stop it.

Kate Kerrigan witnessed the count's terrible death and whispered, “Oh my God in heaven, help us.” Her hand left her rifle and took her rosary from her pocket.

Cobb saw and quickly said, “Later, Kate. When the shooting is done.” He rose to his feet and yelled, “Everybody aim for the cab. Shoot the driver. Kill the son of a gal!”

 

 

Bullets rattled against the reinforced glass of Marmaduke Tweng's windshield and one well-intentioned round actually starred the glass, but none penetrated. Tweng grinned. He'd spotted another target . . . and it was out in the open. He swung the
Emperor
into a turn.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-FOUR

Marco Salas was horrified. The devil machine was driving straight at his cannon. He stood and tried to wave the monster away, but it didn't waver or slow its speed. Wearing goggles and a top hat, the little man in the cabin was hunched over the controls. On his present course, he'd mangle the cannon into a pile of scrap iron in just a couple minutes.

Marco was fast running out of time, but he took one of his matches from his pocket and struck it on the filed chunk of iron he kept for that purpose. The wood was thin and brittle, and the match broke. He was stricken.
“Madre de Dios!”

He glanced fearfully at the looming machine, so close he saw the driver's bared teeth. He tried a second match, holding the stick close to the blue head. It fired and he quickly lit the fuse. To distract the driver, Marco jumped to his left, away from the cannon, and waved his arms. He saw the grinning driver make a slight adjustment to a set of levers and the
Emperor
moved away from the cannon, bringing it almost on top of him. The roar of the machine deafened Marco. He felt its heat and smelled its stinking breath . . . the rank odor of death.

Marco jumped for the rise. Too late! The same bloody wheel that had crushed Andropov to death caught the blacksmith's left leg and pulped it flat from the knee down, grinding bone and muscle deep into the earth.

Kate Kerrigan and the others ran toward Marco Salas.

The machine began to drive past him and Marco realized he'd failed. The cannon had not fired.

A wave of terrible pain hit the little Mexican . . . just as the cannon roared and jumped three feet into the air.

The iron cannonball took an errant course. It shot high, missed the side of the
Emperor
and veered right. For a few moments, it seemed that the machine had again escaped unscathed as it rolled onward, seeking other victims. In fact, the tiny ball had caused massive, unseen destruction, like an insignificant iceberg tearing out the bottom of a great steamship.

The range was short and the cannonball had retained most of its velocity. It punctured the bottom of the front plate of the furnace, dangerously thin to save weight. The cannonball deflected upward and punched another eight-inch hole in the metal just above the original damage. A jet of red-hot flame immediately shot into the interior of the
Emperor
and an instant later the boiler exploded, blowing out the walls and roof of the quarters that had once housed Leah. Everything in the living areas of the
Emperor
—furniture, wall panels, flooring, and ceiling tiles—burned readily. Scarlet lance-heads of fire and clouds of boiling hot steam ravaged through the great machine from stern to stern, setting alight everything in their path.

The
Emperor Maximilian
shuddered to a halt . . . and Savannah St. James began to burn.

 

 

Kate ran to Marco.

The little blacksmith's left leg was crushed, and he was in excruciating pain but still conscious. He smiled as he said, “I done for it, didn't I, Miz Kerrigan?”

Kate smiled and pushed Marco's hair from his forehead. “You surely did. You were very brave.”

 

 

Marmaduke Tweng knew the
Emperor
had suffered a mortal wound.

The array of dials in front of him fluctuated wildly, the pointers moving like wagging fingers. The steam valves above his head hissed like snakes and dripped hot water when they should have carried cold.

Suddenly, the speaking tube squawked to life and Savannah's hysterical voice screamed, “Mr. Tweng, let me out!”

“Right away, Miss St. James.” Tweng jerked on the small lever that locked and unlocked the doors. Nothing. The lever moved slackly in his hand.

“Please Mr. Tweng!” Savannah shrieked. “Unlock the doors.”

Unnerved, Tweng opened his door and jumped. When he got up he ran . . . into the lowered rifle of a man with cold eyes and his finger on the trigger.

Tweng raised his hands and yelled, “Please don't shoot! I'm an engineer!”

The fire found Savannah and she began to scream.

 

 

Behind Kate, Cobb watched. “Oh, my God.” Red flames reflected on his face. Beside him Trace looked horrified.

Kate looked at the burning
Emperor
and saw what Frank and Trace saw. She gently laid Marco's head on the grass and rose to her feet.

Savannah stood behind the glass, her face close to the pane, long fingernails tearing at the unyielding reinforced surface in futility. She had always envied Kate's red hair but no longer had cause for envy. Her hair was red as it burned away on her scalp.

Kate made to move closer to the window, but Cobb stopped her. “No. It's too dangerous.”

She had no option but to stand and watch the woman burn.

Just before the end, Savannah pushed her blackened face close to the glass and stared out, her face twisted, her teeth still white in her mouth.

At first, Kate thought the expression was one of pain. She realized she was wrong and saw it for what it was . . . a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. It was the face of a demon one could expect to meet in the lower levels of hell.

Kate crossed herself, and then Savannah St. James was gone. A sudden flare of fire marked the spot where her body fell.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-FIVE

That afternoon, Dr. Mary Fullerton, who'd never attempted such surgery before, amputated what remained of Marco Salas's leg below the knee. She used all the morphine she had for the operation and had none left.

“Marco will have to depend on whiskey to ease his pain during his recovery,” Mary said to Kate. “We'd better lay in a good supply.”

“Yes . . . yes, I'll see to that,” Kate said distractedly.

Mary put a hand on Kate's shoulder. “Don't let that awful woman still torment you after her death, Kate. You must let it go.”

Kate looked at Mary with haunted eyes. “You didn't see her face. Even as she burned to death, she hated me.”

“Well, she doesn't hate you now, does she?” Mary pointed out somewhat carefully.

Kate shuddered. “I close my eyes and still see her face. She looked evil, like a devil.”

“Hate is an evil emotion, and most times it destroys the hater, just as it destroyed Savannah St. James.” Mary smiled. “Soon you'll see your daughters again and the faces of Ivy and Shannon will be the ones you see when you close your eyes at night.”

They heard a short knock and the door to the doctor's tiny cabin opened.

Pete Slicer stepped inside, smiled at Mary, and touched his hat. “Good evening, doctor.”

“Have you come to see me, Pete?” Mary asked.

“Unfortunately, no. I have a question for Mrs. Kerrigan.”

“Ask away, Mr. Slicer,” Kate said.

“I'm the one that captured the driver of that damned—beggin' your pardon, Dr. Fullerton—machine. Do you want I should shoot him?”

Kate smiled. “No, leave him for the Texas Rangers.”

Slicer frowned. “He says he's an engineer. Is that a good thing?”

“I suppose there are good engineers and bad engineers,” Kate said. “Marmaduke Tweng happens to be a bad one.”

Slicer was puzzled. “But you don't want me to plug him?”

“No, Mr. Slicer. I don't want you to plug him,” Kate repeated.

Slicer looked as though he was about to leave, but he hesitated. “I'm sorry about the count, Mrs. Kerrigan. I know you set store by him.”

“Yes, he was a nice man. He made me laugh, especially when he proposed marriage to me every other day.”

“Me and your son Trace and Frank Cobb made a box for him. It's not much, but then there's not much of him left to bury.”

Dr. Fullerton said, “Yes, thank you, Pete. You can leave us now.”

After Slicer left, Mary produced a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “I don't know about you, Kate, but I could use a drink.”

“I think I could use two or maybe three. I'd like to forget this day ever happened.”

 

 

“Why didn't you shoot me, Mr. Slicer?” Marmaduke Tweng asked.

“Because Mrs. Kerrigan told me not to. She says to keep you for the Rangers.”

Tweng was chained to one of the blacksmith shop's roof supports. He shook his manacles. “Is this really necessary?”

Slicer nodded. “It sure is. Mrs. Kerrigan says you're a bad engineer.”

“On the contrary, I'm a fine engineer. That's why I won't hang, Pete. In these modern times, good engineers are hard to find. The whole world runs on steam and I'm one of the few who know how to tame it. The government will not stand idly by and see me hang.”

“You killed a man, Tweng, and crippled another,” Slicer said. “You'll swing all right.”

“I wouldn't be too sure about that,” the little man said. “This great nation of ours needs steam-powered airships, steam-powered underwater craft, steam-powered horseless carriages. Only engineers like me can supply those things.”

Slicer shook his head. “Airships and horseless carriages. You talk a lot of nonsense, Tweng. If the Rangers hear you speak like that, they'll string you up for sure.”

 

 

Frank Cobb and Trace Kerrigan stood outside the burned-out hulk of the
Emperor Maximilian
in the waning day. A scorched door hung open on its brass hinges and from inside the stench of burned flesh was a palpable thing.

“It's still too hot, Frank.”

Cobb shrugged. “It's got to be done. Kate will expect a coffin.”

“I don't want to do this, Frank.” Trace's face bore an expression of trepidation and horror.

“I don't want to, either. But we can't leave it to the womenfolk.” Cobb smiled briefly. “This is what your mother calls men's work.”

Trace frowned. “She says that about cowpunching.”

“She says that about a lot of things. Tighten your belt a notch and let's get it done.”

Perhaps to make up for his hesitation and lest Frank think him a coward, Trace stepped through the open door first. The heat was intense, the odor rank.

Having nothing to prove, Cobb stood outside the door and said, “What do you see?”

Trace made no answer.

“Move aside there, Trace. I'm coming in.” Cobb stepped inside.

A slender column of carbonized flesh and white bone lay on the floor. The skull was intact; its empty eye sockets revealed nothing, but the white, perfect teeth grinned.

Cobb grimaced. “This is what hell must look like. I'm going to start saying my prayers.”

“I-think-that's-another-one-over-there,” Trace said then he bent over and vomited violently.

Cobb gave him a push. “Go outside, Trace. Get some fresh air.”

Trace wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I'll stick.”

“It's a body all right.” Cobb nodded. “Hard to tell, but I think it's another woman.”

“Who was she?”

“I don't know. Maybe Kate can tell us. We'll make a pair of small coffins and come back and shovel this up.”

“I'm going out.” Trace hurried outside.

Cobb lingered a little longer. He would not have wished a death like this on anybody, even Savannah St. John.