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

expect—to return to my earlier remarks—witches to be wizened old ladies who ride around on broomsticks and cackle. This bunch seems, so far, to have a membership made up exclusively of heavies with guns.”
    “Dick’s probably right about them being into something else besides mumbo-jumbo, like maybe espionage.”
    Cole bobbed into the clear for another shot.
    This one felled no one.
    He said, safe behind the tree, “I’m growing increasingly curious about how they’ve been able to lay these traps for us.”
    “Yeah, they sure know everywhere we’re going,” said the giant.
    “Very few people knew we were en route to the picturesque Old Fiddler’s Inn.”
    “Nobody but the legal guy.” Smitty flattened out on the mossy ground. “Keep diverting those mugs, Cole. I’m going to try a little something.”
    Cole grinned at the giant and flashed from behind his tree to fire again at the stalking gunmen.
    Three slugs came whispering up in his direction. One dug into the trunk of his tree, but none hit him.
    Smitty, though a huge man, was able to move as stealthily as a jungle cat. He worked his way downhill now, making no sound.
    Two of the gunmen were crouched at the lower edge of the woodland area, shielded by a high mound of rocks and boulders. Two others were already in among the trees, intending, probably, to sneak up on the Justice, Inc., teammates.
    There might be, for all Smitty knew, even more armed men around than he’d been able to spot. He’d have to take a chance on that.
    Up above him, Cole was carrying on a conversation, giving the impression that they were both still up there. “. . . can’t see how you prefer the work of Amy Lowell to that of Emily. Dickinson, Smitty. Take the question of imagery alone, why . . .”
    The giant was only a few yards from the two men behind the rocks.
    “What say we charge them?” said one, a porky fellow in a checkered overcoat.
    “Charge them?” asked his associate, a tiny hairless man. “This ain’t up front, Patsy.”
    “You don’t have to rub it in I’m 4F, Nat. I feel lousy enough without you—”
    “I don’t care if you’re 4F or 1A or 26Q,” said the hairless Nat. “I just don’t want to go charging up there into the woods. They already winged Willy.”
    “We could sit here all day and get sopping wet,” complained Patsy. “And pretty soon some rube is going to come along the road and raise a squawk about that hay wagon.”
    “Relax, Charley and Bert will of snuck up on them by then.”
    Smitty rose up and, taking careful aim, flung one of the glass pellets.
    It landed on a rock near Patsy’s feet. “Hey!” he exclaimed.
    Before either of them could do anything a cloud of blackness enfolded them. The gas in the pellet mixed swiftly with air to produce a nightlike pall which covered several square feet to a height taller than the tallest of the gunmen.
    Smitty dived right into the black cloud. In his mind’s eye he saw the men as they had been standing at the instant he threw the pellet. Reaching out, he grabbed.
    And got his huge fingers around the throat of the hairless Nat.
    “Jeeze, it’s—”
    Smitty applied pressure to a nerve in the little gunman’s neck, and he passed out.
    The giant went for Patsy.
    But Patsy wasn’t where he was supposed to be.
    Smitty got hold of nothing but black air. Then a bullet zinged by his head.
    “Got you now,” said Smitty to himself. He hunched low, made a flying tackle.
    He was right. He got Patsy around the knees and brought him down, hard, to the ground.
    Before the porky gunman could use his gun again, Smitty knocked him out with two short, intense, jabs to the chin.
    Very carefully he began to circle the rocks. He didn’t know what he’d meet when he stepped out of the black cloud.
    There was gunfire up in the woods.
    The giant dashed out into clear air. Shielding his eyes from the hard-driving rain, he looked uphill.
    There was no sign of anyone up there.
    Head tucked down, Smitty