Flintlock by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online

asking.”
    Pagg scraped his eyes away from McCarty, but they were still burning with black fire as he looked at Flintlock and said, “A business opportunity.”
    Flintlock was aware of Roper and Fong exchanging glances.
    â€œWhat kind of business?” Flintlock said. “Anything that might ring a bell with me?”
    The expression on Pagg’s face didn’t change. “Still a questioning man, ain’t you, Sam? Well, my business here is confidential.” Then, a nod to Flintlock’s own commercial interests. “I’m not hunting a bounty on this trip.”
    â€œGlad to hear that, Asa,” Flintlock said. But Pagg was already talking over him. “Abe, you the feller that lives in a cabin here at the fort?”
    â€œSure do, Asa, me and Charlie and Flintlock,” Roper said. “We’ll be moving on in a couple of days.”
    â€œThe captain feller told me I could have that there cabin,” Pagg said. “Me and the boys need a place to bed down, like.”
    Like a man stands on his porch and sees the lightning coming, Flintlock was suddenly wary. If Pagg pressed a claim to the cabin, Roper would resist and guns would be skinned.
    Mentally, Flintlock calculated what could happen next.
    The sutler’s store was small, close and windowless, lit by three oil lamps that hung from the ceiling. If shooting started the concussion of the guns would blow out the lamps and six men would gunfight in pitch darkness.
    If there was anybody left standing after McCarty opened his door to let the smoke clear, it would be a miracle.
    But Asa Pagg was no fool. He knew as well as Flintlock did what pushing a gunfight might mean.
    Abe Roper was good with a gun, Flintlock better, and the Chinaman could be sneaky. All three had sand and there was no back-up in any of them.
    â€œWell, hell, we got an empty old fort here,” Pagg said, smiling, as though he was everybody’s friend. “I’m sure the captain can find us another place to bunk.”
    Roper, a thinking man, figured that for now at least he should extend an olive branch. “You’re welcome to bed down with us, Asa,” he said. “But six men in my small cabin could be a crowd.”
    â€œNah, I’ll talk to the officer.” He drained his glass. “Let’s go, boys.”
    Pagg stepped to the door, then turned. “Hey, Sam,” he said, grinning, “I ain’t near as stupid as you think. Anything that might ring a bell with me, you said. Well, that tickled me. The story of the golden bell is just that, a story, and only a rube would fall for it. If you boys reckon you’ll find it, think again. The army and every damned gold hunter in the West has searched for the bell for years and nobody’s found it yet.”
    Pagg grinned. “And you know why? Because it ain’t there.”
    He followed Dean and Harte out the door, but before slamming it shut behind him he turned his head and threw over his shoulder, “Go home, boys. You’re wasting your time.”

CHAPTER NINE
    The boy led the old man to the cave entrance where the woman waited.
    When the man appeared, the woman bowed low and extended the round loaf of bread she held.
    â€œFor you, great lord,” she said. “It is but a small offering.”
    The boy took the bread and placed it in the old man’s hands because he was nearly blind and his eyes were the color of milk.
    After a while the man smelled the bread and he smiled. “It is a fine gift,” he said.
    â€œThe loaf is made from the finest wheat flour and I baked it myself, great lord,” the Mexican woman said. She bowed again. “I hope you will enjoy the bread, lord, and I ask that you do not enter my home where my husband lies very sick.”
    â€œWhy do you ask me this thing, child?” the old man said.
    â€œBecause you are the Angel of Death sent by the holy Santa Muerte to collect the souls of those