Read Kill or Die for Free Online

It’s on the shelf beside the cornbread. And there’s also a cartridge belt. O’Hara said the cantina proprietor took a heap of convincing to part with Plume’s revolver. He said you’d know what he’s talking about.”
    â€œI know what he’s talking about and I know how O’Hara convinces a man. It ain’t a pretty thing to watch.”
    â€œI’m sure it isn’t, Sam. Now I must change.”

    Compared to the Colt he’d lost, the balance of the new revolver was all wrong. Sam Flintlock decided it needed two more inches of barrel and the front sight filed down. But beggars can’t be choosers and he stuck the piece into his waistband and buckled the belt lower on his hips.
    Evangeline, as darkly beautiful as a fallen angel, had changed into a split canvas riding skirt, boots and a boned corset of scarlet leather over a black shirt with a high collar. She dropped an engraved Remington derringer into a pocket and said, “Are we ready?”
    Flintlock, his hands filled with a coffee cup and wedge of cornbread, swallowed what he was eating and said, “Yup, I’m ready.”
    â€œThen let’s go. Sit in the front of the canoe and I’ll paddle. By the way, you look much better this morning. You need a shave and a bath, but we’ll take care of that later,” Evangeline said.
    Flintlock stuffed what remained of the cornbread into his mouth, set his cup down on the rail around the deck and climbed into the canoe after Evangeline. Old Barnabas, squatting on top of a cypress, glared down at him, shook his head, and disappeared.
    Flintlock didn’t know if the old man disapproved of him or Evangeline.
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    A fleet of pirogues and canoes had gathered around the Gantly cabin. As Evangeline paddled closer Flintlock heard the wailing of women and the hard, quick talk of angry men. Evangeline’s status as a swamp witch and dazzling beauty parted the crowd after she and Flintlock stepped onto the deck. A few of the black folks averted their eyes, but most did not. The bodies had been taken inside, but dry, crusted blood still stained the rough timbers of the floor.
    â€œNo need to ask who done this,” a man in a worn homespun, butternut shirt said. “It was that devil Brewster Ritter and his gunmen.”
    Evangeline nodded but said nothing. She stepped into the cabin and came out again a few minutes later, her cheeks pale.
    â€œCan you resurrect them, swamp witch?” a woman asked.
    Evangeline shook her head. “Only God has that power.”
    â€œWell, where was He when this happened?” the man in the butternut shirt said. He looked around at the crowd. “I say we arm ourselves and go wipe Ritter off the face of the earth.”
    This drew growls of approval from the menfolk and an alarm bell rang in Flintlock’s head. Sheep walking to their own slaughter would suit Ritter’s purposes just fine.
    He wanted to ask if anyone knew the whereabouts of his mother, but heading off an armed mob must come first.
    â€œYou men listen up,” Flintlock said. “How many of you have been in a shooting scrape?” He waited and, as he’d expected, got no answer. “How many of you here have killed a man?” Again, no one spoke up. “Ritter has hired gunmen, Texas draw fighters who’ve been in many a gunfight and have killed men. Sure, you can go up against a score of professional guns, but after the first volleys you’ll trip over your own dead trying to get away. You women, let me ask you a question: Are you willing to become widows with orphans to raise?”
    The woman exchanged worried glances, but none of them spoke up.
    â€œWho the hell are you, mister?” Butternut shirt said. “You don’t belong here in the swamp.”
    â€œI’m here to find my mother,” Flintlock said. “She’s hiding out in the swamps somewhere.”
    â€œWhat’s her