The Avenger 29 - The Nightwitch Devil by Kenneth Robeson Read Free Book Online

“We haven’t had such a wet spring since before the war.”
    The young attorney nodded as he checked his watch.
    “Your friends a mite late?”
    Yes, they certainly were. Standing up, Gil said, “In case a Mr. Wilson comes in, tell him I went out to look for him.”
    He strode to the door, trotted over to his car, and got in. He didn’t know what Wilson looked like, or what kind of automobile he was driving, but he thought he’d better go looking for him. There was a possibility he’d taken a wrong turning at the crossroads.
    “A strange car, maybe out-of-state, shouldn’t be too tough to spot.”
    As he drove away from the Old Fiddler’s Inn, Gil thought about Anne. Mrs. Waxman, with her complaints and the infinite little changes she was considering for her latest will, had rattled him. “Should have gotten more information out of Wilson,” he told himself.
    Still, maybe he was worrying about nothing. Anne was pretty damn independent. It could be she’d simply gone off to dig into some story and not bothered to tell anybody. That was one of the things he liked about her, her independent approach to things. Sometimes, though, he thought it might be better if she were a little more dependent, on him, anyway.
    “She’s all right,” he said to himself. “You’re letting all this talk about witches and warlocks get to you.”
    You couldn’t deny the fact, however, that Dr. Ruyle had disappeared. And, apparently, this fellow MacMurdie, whoever he was.
    “What was that outfit Anne said he worked for?”
    The rain was coming harder, almost too much for the worn windshield wipers.
    “Oh, yeah, Justice, Inc. I heard something about them, read an article somewhere. Wait a minute . . . that’s the crime-fighting group headed up by this fellow they call the Avenger.”
    The attorney shook his head. It all sounded too melodramatic. Especially for a quiet one-horse sort of place like Nightwitch. Witches, sorcerers, the Devil, and now the Avenger.
    “Everyday people, and I’m sure as heck one of those, don’t get mixed up with such things,” Gil told himself as he scanned the road for some sign of Wilson’s car.
    “One of the reasons I’ve stayed here is that Nightwitch is such a peaceful place. Even since the war started, not much of that has touched us. It’s not as—”
    A large hay wagon blocked his progress.
    Gil rolled down his window to get a better look at the obstruction.
    That was when he heard the gunshots.

CHAPTER XII

Roadwork
    “I suppose this is good exercise,” said Cole Wilson, diving behind a maple tree.
    A bullet came whistling up through the rain. The slug thunked into the bole of a maple tree.
    “Maybe we’ll get some maple syrup for our troubles,” Cole said, “if these chaps keep drilling holes.”
    Smitty was hunched behind another wide maple. “We should be able to hold off those bozos from here.”
    Cole and the giant had managed to get clear of their car and hightail it for this wooded hillside before the surrounding gunmen had reached them.
    Another slug bit into a tree.
    “How many of these rascals do you calculate there are, Smitty?”
    “I counted at least five while we was hotfooting it up here.”
    “Five, or possibly six, to two,” reflected Cole. “That’s not bad odds.” He eased a revolver out of a shoulder holster. “In a way, I regret that I’m not wearing my bullet-proof vest, but when spring approaches I always take the thing off.”
    “Don’t worry, they ain’t going to get close enough to nail you.”
    A bullet whizzed by, chattering through the branches overhead.
    “This witch cult,” said Cole, “is unlike any other I’ve ever heard of or encountered.” He popped out from his protective tree for a few seconds, long enough to squeeze off a shot.
    Downhill, someone howled in pain.
    “You got one,” announced Smitty. He fished a handful of glass pellets out of his pocket.
    “Four, or possibly five, to go,” said Cole, grinning. “I always