Jubal cade 06, p.12
Jubal Cade 06, page 12
Inside the pilothouse Duval was fumbling fresh cartridges into the Derringer, haste making him clumsy. He snapped the chamber closed as Jubal appeared in the doorway and squeezed the trigger. Pure cat-fast reflex sent Jubal flying to one side as the gun exploded past his face. He felt the muzzle-flash singe his hair and the acrid reek of cordite burn his nostrils, then he had Duval’s wrist caught in a steel-tight grip.
He let his body continue on in its dive, yanking the Creole off his feet. Savagely he drove his right fist into the man’s face, grinning with raw, animal satisfaction as he felt bone crunch under his knuckles.
Duval spat blood from a broken nose and tried to knee Jubal in the groin. Jubal turned the blow with his hip, feeling his left leg go numb as the nerve centers in his thigh absorbed the impact, and punched the Creole again. Duval grunted and tried to force the Derringer around to point at Jubal’s head. Jubal rolled, carrying the bigger man with him so that they came up against the steering wheel. He grabbed Duval’s arm with both hands, ignoring the blows that pounded against his head and chest, as he battered the Creole’s gun-hand against the spokes. Suddenly Duval screamed, dropping the gun as his wrist broke. Jubal brought his right leg up against his chest and, using Duval’s stomach as a springboard, powered himself backwards across the floor.
The Creole screamed and vomited over his bloodied shirt front as the crushing force of the kick ruptured internal organs.
Jubal rose to his feet, hauling Duval upright with one hand, whiplashing the other back and forth across his face.
‘Sabine. Where is she?’
‘I don’t know.’ Duval’s answer was a pain-racked sob. ‘I swear I don’t know, Cade.’
Jubal tattooed his open palm across the bloody mess of the man’s face.
‘Think harder, Klansman. Where is she?’
‘Below, somewhere. With Lenz.’ He lost a tooth as he mumbled the words.
‘With Lenz? He’s on board?’ Jubal’s urgency communicated itself in a series of open-handed blows. ‘Where?’
‘He was in the slave hold,’ gasped Duval. ‘For God’s sake, Cade, you’re killing me.’
Jubal could feel the skin stretched taut over his bruised cheek-bones. His eyes blazed above his tightly compressed lips and the scar tissue across the bridge of his nose stood out white against his tan.
‘That’s right,’ he grunted. ‘I’m killing you.’
As he spoke he swung Duval around so that the Creole’s back was to the open doorway. Abruptly, he punched the man hard in the lower abdomen and pushed him out and away.
Duval screamed, clawing at the empty sky with his one good hand as he arched out over the deck. The force of Jubal’s blow hurled him far out above the deck housings, carrying him over Tully Bulmer’s engine house. He landed on the big sternwheel, his spine snapping as he hit one of the broad leaves. Like a broken doll, he swung across the wooden slat, rising up into the air as the wheel turned, giving him a final glimpse of life. His mouth moved, but he was too far away, or too hurt, for Jubal to hear what he said. Then the wheel completed its revolution and carried his body down into the Mississippi. Jubal watched, breathing heavily, as the sternwheel turned. Duval hung, soaked and broken, for several more revolutions, then the slat came up empty and Jubal began to climb back down the ladder.
He retrieved his gun from the deck and methodically loaded all six chambers. His face was still set in the mask of fury that transformed his features when the killing rage took over as he headed for the slave hold.
Warily, he dropped down into the dark bowels of the riverboat, rolling as he landed, keen eyes probing the darkness. Across the hold he could make out the shape of a moving figure, robed in white.
‘Damn you, Cade!’ The voice was husky, deep-throated and mellow even through the overtones of hatred. Jubal knew he had found the Grand Dragon. ‘You spoiled it all.’
‘Sabine!’ Jubal shouted. ‘You spoiled it when you put that robe on and started killing.’
‘Killing.’ Her voice was full of scorn. ‘Burning Negros isn’t killing. It’s doing people a favor.’
‘Lady, you’re for burning,’ Jubal shouted, ducking as a shot cracked over his head.
‘You’ll be the one to burn, you little bastard,’ she screamed.
Then the hold erupted in flames. Sabine fired the rifle she was holding directly into a drum of kerosene stacked with several others at the end of the hold. Her body was outlined against the flames, the firm contours standing out through the flimsy material of the Ku Klux Klan robe she wore. It was obvious that beneath her Klan trappings she was naked, and now she flaunted her body in defiance of Jubal.
He sighted the Colt on her magnificent breasts, then lowered the gun. This time he would let the law do the killing; much as he despised Sabine Lagrange and everything she stood for, he wanted her alive in order to claim the reward.
Whether he could take her alive was another matter. The fire had seized upon the William M. James like the hand of some ravenous demon hungry for a sacrifice, and Sabine was moving towards him, firing the rifle as she came.
‘Die, Cade, die!’ she screamed, ignoring the little flames that were licking across her robe.
Jubal took cover behind a pillar as the demented woman moved in on him, wondering if he could get close enough to disarm her. The voice of Erich Lenz solved his problem.
‘For God’s sake get me out of here.’
Jubal recognized the clipped tones immediately and spotted the professor in the same moment. The little German was lying close to the burning drums, his arms and legs trussed together so that he rested in a bow shape, his face towards the flames.
Jubal forgot about Sabine as he powered himself across the hold at Lenz. The Winchester cracked as he ran, but he ignored the bullets that ricocheted around him in his desire to save the man who might give Andy back his sight. Instinctively he fired back at Sabine as he moved, but the shots were intended to upset her aim rather than kill her. They succeeded, for Jubal saw the Grand Dragon race up the ladder leading out of the hold as he fetched up beside Lenz.
He grabbed the professor by the shoulders and began to drag him away from the consuming flames. Until Lenz interrupted his efforts.
‘Mein Gott, Cade. Cut me free and I’ll walk out.’
‘Sorry, professor, but I don’t have a knife,’ Jubal grunted.
‘In my pocket. I have a knife there,’ Lenz snapped tetchily.
Jubal found the small clasp-knife and cut the ropes holding the German. The older man was stiff from his long confinement but, spurred on by the danger, hobbled after Jubal. He pushed Lenz bodily up the ladder onto the deck, noting that Sabine was nowhere in sight. All around them the crew was diving into the river; the fire had a firm hold, blazing across the deck housings and stacked cargo, licking around the engine room and over the planking of the deck. The William M. James was finished, already sinking lower into the Mississippi as the flames ate into her bodywork, raising a great cloud of steam from the river as the great sternwheel, still turning, pushed her north.
‘So, Cade.’ Lenz was as grouchy as ever. ‘Are you planning to stay on board or shall we swim ashore?’
‘Professor,’ grinned Jubal, ‘I got something to tell you: I can’t swim.’
‘Ach, du lieber Gott!’ Lenz’s irritation seemed more suitable to the drawing-room than the blazing deck of a burning riverboat. ‘Jump, man. In Heidelberg I was a swimming champion; I’ll keep you afloat.’
Jubal took a deep breath and launched himself over the side. Lenz followed a fraction of a second later, cleaving the water in a dive that bore out his boast. He grabbed Jubal by the collar and began to pull him ashore. All around them the river was full of men, limned starkly against the water by the red glow of the burning boat. Jubal tried to keep his head above water and help Lenz in his efforts to get them both safely ashore. Ellis Harlan lent a hand by throwing them a rope; he had come up along the bank with the posse and his men were now busy rounding up the bedraggled Kluxers. Gratefully, Jubal allowed the fat sheriff to haul him ashore and turned to watch the riverboat.
The William M. James was foundering, flames wreathing her in a rosy glow from stem to stem. The big paddle wheel kept on turning, pushing the boat northwards towards St. Louis. He could see nothing of the deck or lower superstructure under the blaze, but the pilothouse still stood high above the river.
Then, framed in the doorway, outlined by the flames, he saw a solitary figure. Sabine had ripped the burning robe from her body and now stood naked, except for the scarlet hood. That, too, was smoldering, and she tore it free, permitting her blonde hair to cascade over her shoulders. Her skin was tinged pink against the glow, her teeth flashing white as she threw back her head and laughed, wild and crazy.
‘Hell of a good-lookin’ woman,’ said Harlan.
‘Yeah.’ Jubal’s reply was tinged with a strange degree of sadness. ‘Too bad she was rotten.’
‘Was Eve fed Adam the apple,’ grunted Harlan.
‘I wonder,’ mused Jubal, ‘who the serpent was in her garden?’
His sentence was punctuated by a devastating explosion. The fire had hit the boilers of the William M. James, transforming Tully Bulmer’s beloved domain into a gigantic fireball. The riverboat was lifted bodily out of the water as a great incandescent column illuminated the banks on both sides of the Mississippi. Sabine disappeared as the explosion smothered the pilothouse in a red ball of fire, the river hissed and splashed as chunks of wreckage hurtled through the air, trailing sparks across the sky.
The watchers on the bank lifted arms to protect their faces from the heat and when Jubal looked up all he could see was the sternwheel, still revolving as it sank into the river.
‘Like I said, lady,’ he murmured, ‘you’re for burning.’
Chapter Fourteen
WHEN THEY GOT back to St. Louis Jubal found a message from Agnew waiting for him; the rancher wanted to see him. Accompanied by Sheriff Harlan, Jubal made his way to the St. Charles House, the luxurious gaming establishment where he had first encountered Agnew. The same surly doorman stood guard beneath the high-arched entrance and from the curl of his lip it was clear that he remembered Jubal; and not with affection. This time, however, he made no move to bar the smaller man’s path. Instead he forced an unwilling smile onto his face and ushered Jubal inside.
‘Mr. Agnew is waiting for you in the Lafayette Room, Dr. Cade. Straight ahead and left.’
‘Thanks,’ said Jubal with a grin; he enjoyed the doorman’s discomfort.
He crossed the thick-piled carpet and located the room, entering with Harlan at his back. Inside seven middle-aged to elderly men were busy filling the atmosphere with the rich aroma of expensive cigars. As Jubal closed the door Agnew emerged from their midst, a smile that looked almost genuine decorating his face.
‘Well, Cade.’ He extended his right hand, and Jubal shook it. ‘You did it.’
He turned to the others and clapped his hands for silence. ‘Gentlemen. May I introduce the man who rescued Professor Lenz and broke up the Ku Klux Klan. Dr. Jubal Cade.’
A burst of applause followed the announcement and Jubal found himself surrounded by the St. Louis Citizens’ Council, each man eager to shake his hand, clap him cheerfully on the back and offer their congratulations. He accepted a cigar and a glass of excellent French brandy.
‘The finest the St. Charles has to offer, my boy,’ announced the corpulent oldster who thrust the glass into Jubal’s grateful hand.
‘C’mon, Ben,’ urged another whom Jubal recognized as Gilman, ‘let’s get down to the real business.’
A chorus of agreement followed this suggestion and Jubal was suddenly left facing the seven dignitaries. Agnew stepped forward, a slip of paper in his hand.
‘Dr. Cade,’ Agnew said in an overloud, speechifying voice, ‘the Citizens’ Council posted a reward of $5,000 on the Grand Dragon of the St. Louis Klan.’
‘Hell, Ben,’ interrupted Gilman, ‘get on with it. Give him the money.’
‘And I am delighted,’ Agnew went on hurriedly, ‘to present you with a cheque for that amount. Drawn rather fittingly on the First Bank of St. Louis.’
Jubal remembered the demented Lagrange crashing through the bank’s window as he accepted the cheque.
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ he murmured. ‘I appreciate the gesture, but I’d like to ask one favor of you.’
‘You name it,’ Gilman shouted.
‘I’d like this money to be passed over to the Lenz Clinic.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Agnew, memories wiping the smile from his face. ‘Andy Prescott.’
‘That’s right,’ Jubal replied. ‘Andy Prescott. He needs that operation.’
‘Cade,’ muttered Agnew, drawing Jubal to one side, ‘leave it to me. I’ll see the money gets there, and what’s more I give you my word that our truce will continue until the operation is finished.’
‘And then?’ queried Jubal.
‘And then I’ll kill you.’ Agnew smiled again, as though reassuring St. Louis’ new hero. ‘That promise stands, too.’
‘Fair enough,’ Jubal grinned. ‘If you can. So far you haven’t been too successful.’
Agnew spluttered into his glass and moved away as his fellow councilors descended on Jubal, firing questions like buckshot at a pigeon shoot. It was a couple of hours later before Jubal had satisfied their interest and was able to drift away. Harlan went with him, back across town to the livery stable.
‘I still don’t know what gives between you an’ Ben Agnew,’ grumbled the obese lawman, ‘but watch him. He’s mean.’
‘Private quarrel,’ Jubal said evenly. ‘He tried to take something away from me and lost something himself.’
‘Ben Agnew don’t like losing,’ said Harlan.
‘Then that makes two of us,’ grinned Jubal.
He had lived too long with the threat of death hanging over his head to lose any sleep at the renewal of Agnew’s threat. And, in any event, he was too pleased with having gained the money for Andy’s operation to worry about the blacker side of his life. A swift mental calculation told him that the reward money added to what he had picked up on board the William M. James and around St. Louis, put a little over six and a half thousand dollars in his pocket. Sufficient to cover the cost of the operation with enough for at least one full month’s clinic fees over to allow for recuperation.
When they reached the stable, Harlan grabbed Jubal’s hand, pumping it up and down between his sausage-like fingers. ‘Good luck, Cade. If you need help come runnin’.’
‘Thanks, Ellis,’ Jubal returned the fat man’s grip. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘See you around.’ Harlan turned to leave and Jubal went inside the stable, looking for a horse.
A while later he was sitting across a table from Erich Lenz. The dapper little German seemed totally unaffected by his recent ordeal, indeed it was not until after Jubal had explained about the reward and spread a pile of miscellaneous bills representing the additional thousand dollars across the table that Lenz made any mention of the kidnapping.
‘Dr. Cade.’ His accent was as clipped as ever. ‘I appreciate the efforts you have gone to in order to obtain this money. Even more, I appreciate the fact that you saved my life. What that is worth I should not like to guess.’ He paused to blow his nose noisily into a billowing handkerchief: the rescue had at least given him a cold. ‘But in recognition of what you have done for me, I should like to offer my services free.’
Jubal looked up in surprise, opened his mouth to speak, then stopped as Lenz, obviously somewhat embarrassed by his atypical generosity, waved him to silence.
‘Of course, Professor Klaus will still require a fee, as will the additional staff. Nonetheless, the overall fee should be reduced to about $4,500.’ He paused, watching Jubal with careful eyes. ‘In addition, I am prepared to offer the boy one month’s free board.’ His eyes became less calculating, a dreamy quality entering the black pupils. ‘It should be most interesting to observe his progress. Most interesting indeed.’
Not for the first time Jubal felt a tinge of anger at the professor’s calm objectivity. The man was undoubtedly the greatest expert in his field of science, but he seemed to regard it as a test bed for experiments rather than a means of helping live, warm-blooded human beings. Then Jubal reminded himself of his own dispassionate ability to forget his doctor’s promises and kill without qualms of conscience. He nodded his head. ‘Thanks, Professor. I appreciate that.’
‘Good, good.’ Lenz was rubbing his hands together in the irritating gesture Jubal had noticed before. ‘I have already taken, the liberty of sending for the people we shall need. Fortunately most of them live in the South, so they should not take longer than two or three days to get here. Professor Klaus will prepare the surgery and we should be ready to operate by the end of the week.’
Jubal had lost all track of time and had no idea what day it was; he made a mental note to check a calendar back at his hotel and asked to see Andy.
‘Only briefly, I fear,’ said Lenz, pulling a bell rope to summon a servant, ‘the boys will be preparing for bed. But I think we can allow you a few minutes.’
He ordered Andy brought down to the study and left Jubal alone to wait for the boy.
He exploded through the door like a human cannonball, erupting into Jubal’s arms with pure joy transparent on his face. Jubal caught him up, hugging him, ruffling his hair with a love he thought had been lost a long time ago.
‘Jubal!’ The voice was muffled against his dusty jacket. ‘You been away so long I thought you was never comin’ back.’
‘Were never.’ Jubal’s correction was automatic. ‘Didn’t your pa tell you that it’s better late than never?’
‘Pa allus said if you’re gonna be too late don’t bother goin’ in the first placed snuffled Andy, ‘but you ain’t ever too late, are you, Jubal?’
‘I hope not, son,’ murmured Jubal, lifting Andy’s head. ‘You want some good news?’
Once again the youngster demonstrated his uncanny ability to anticipate statements. ‘I’m gonna have the operation! Ain’t that right, Jubal? You got the money, ain’t you?’
