The Lawless

by William W. Johnstone

  “Yes, he could, but now he’s dead, and the only thing remaining to me is to avenge his murder. How I long to kill that Kerrigan woman.”

  Leah shook her head. “I’m not leaving you, Savannah. I love you as though you were my own child. If we die, we die together.”

  “No, Leah, you must leave. Save yourself.”

  “This is the first command from you I have refused to obey. I will not leave. I will remain at your side until the end. If we both must die of starvation, then so be it.”

  Savannah rose from her chair and took Leah in her arms. “You are all I have left. Later, we’ll talk about the old times and we’ll laugh and cry and remember.”

  “Perhaps we’ll find a way,” Leah said. “You’ll find a way to live and love again.”

  “I can’t be young again. And I won’t let you suffer with me.” Savannah reached behind her and found the derringer. “Farewell, Leah. I love you so much.”

  The derringer roared and Leah died instantly.

  Savannah lay the woman out on the couch and sat back in her chair. She sat in silent vigil over Leah’s body until sunrise, when Marmaduke Tweng called out for her.

  “I thought I heard a shot in the night, Miss St. James,” Tweng said. “Was it the Kerrigan woman?”

  “No, Mr. Tweng,” Savannah said. “Leah took her own life. I wanted to dismiss her, but she couldn’t bear to be parted from me.”

  “Where is she? Oh, I see her,” Tweng said. “She looks so peaceful lying there.”

  “Yes, she’s at peace now. We will bury her in the spot where the Kerrigan cabin stands and put Kate Kerrigan at her feet.”

  “Poetic justice.” Tweng wore his goggles. His leather coat was buckled to the neck and he wore a pair of leather gauntlets.

  “I want everyone dead,” Savannah reminded him.

  Annoyed, Tweng said, “Yes, and I assured you that the Emperor Maximilian has that capability. I have not changed my mind since. I believe that, properly handled, it will cause great slaughter.”

  Savannah went back inside and dressed for war. She wore her tight leather corset, Mexican army officer’s campaign pants, and high boots. Across her chest hung a bandolier of .44-40 rifle shells for the Henry she’d propped against her chair.

  Tweng appeared at the door again. “I will lock the doors and windows and open them again when we’re ready to finish off the wounded.”

  Savannah nodded. “Can I depend on you, Mr. Tweng? Can you kill?”

  Tweng smiled. “Dear lady, I am only the engineer. The Emperor will do the killing, and very efficiently. Remember, he is invulnerable to gunfire.”

  “Then let’s get it done.”

  A few moments later, she heard the click-click of the doors and windows locking in place and then a great bellow from the drive train as Tweng gave full throttle to the steam engines. His cabin was in front, fully enclosed by reinforced glass, and on each side of his seat was a system of heavily oiled levers that guided the Emperor.

  Marmaduke Tweng was very excited. Hitherto, he’d considered the Emperor as merely a conveyance, but finally it would prove its worth as a weapon of war.

  He smiled. Steam would see him through.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Long before dawn, Kate Kerrigan and Jazmin Salas had coffee on the boil, bacon frying, and biscuits in the oven to feed the hungry men.

  They stood around outside and ate in silence, each busy with his thoughts. Frank Cobb started out surly, still angry at being wakened by Brown when he was dreaming about Kate, but coffee helped. By the time he was ready to move onto the grass, he was almost cheerful.

  Kate wore a canvas riding skirt, then becoming fashionable, boots, and a man’s shirt. On her head was a battered hat and black gloves covered her hands to reduce the impact of the Henry’s recoil. Even at that early hour of the morning, she was dazzlingly lovely. The gallant Count Andropov declared her to be “a vision of Celtic beauty.”

  Marco Salas carried no weapon since he was proficient with neither rifle nor pistol. He wore his leather blacksmith’s apron and a pair of goggles as eye protection should his cannon decide to blow up on him.

  An unexpected recruit to Kate’s little army was Pete Slicer. Although still gaunt and in constant pain, he insisted on joining in the defense of the ranch.

  Cobb was not impressed. “Pete, I see you make one fancy move, I swear to God I’ll gun you.”

  “I’ll stick,” Slicer said. “I’m not doing this for you or for Kate Kerrigan. It’s for Dr. Fullerton. She saved my life and now I’m going to help save hers.”

  Henry Brown grinned. “Sweet on her, huh?”

  “You could say that.” Slicer glared. “But don’t say it again.”

  “You’re a mite touchy on that subject, Pete,” Cobb said.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think Mary is sweet on me,” Slicer grumbled.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Brown said. “Stranger things have happened.”

  Slicer glared again. “You’re a pushy man, sonny. It’s gonna get you shot one day.”

  Kate and the others were in position while it was still dark, strung out across twenty-five yards of prairie. The only people not in the firing line were Marco, who left to tend to his cannon, and Dr. Fullerton, who held herself in reserve to treat the wounded.

  Cobb had decided to stay on the ground and join in the rifle fire. He lay on the grass next to Kate, Trace on her other side.

  “Do you see anything, Frank?” Kate asked.

  Cobb shook his head. “Not a thing.”

  “Trace, you and Quinn have young eyes,” Kate said. “Keep a sharp watch.”

  Count Andropov turned to Henry Brown at his side. “This reminds me of the Russian 345th Regiment of Foot waiting for the French cuirassier cavalry charge at the Battle of Borodino.”

  “Did the Russians win?” Brown asked.

  “No. They were wiped out to a man.”

  Brown stared. “Count, go lie down beside somebody else, huh?”

  Marco Salas kneeled beside his cannon and for the third time in a few minutes checked that the fuse was still in place. Not trusting commercially made lucifers to light when needed, he’d made his own matches that were about as unstable as sticks of sweating dynamite.

  He could see nothing in the darkness around him but ten minutes after he’d taken up his position he heard a distant rumble. Something was coming and Marco prepared himself. He said a prayer to Our Lady of Guadalupe, then polished the iron cannon barrel with an oily rag. The cannonball nestled inside the breech ready to inflict great damage to the enemy cavalry, and Marco’s hands trembled with excitement as the hour of battle drew closer.

  “Ma, can you hear that?” Trace questioned.

  “Yes I can.” Kate pushed a wayward curl off her forehead. She turned to Cobb, “Frank, what is that?”

  “It sounds like horses. But, damn it, could Savannah St. James have that many? It sounds like a cavalry regiment.”

  “The Cossacks are drawing closer, Mr. Brown,” Andropov said. “We must meet their charge with bravery and determination before they wipe us out.”

  “Count, git the hell away from me.”

  The distant rumble became a roar and in the distance, still far off, the beams of four large reflector lamps probed the darkness.

  Kate was the first to recover from the shock. “That’s not horses. It’s a machine. It’s Savannah’s steam carriage.”

  “Traveling in style, isn’t she?” Cobb said sarcastically.

  Filled with a sense of foreboding, Kate said, “I hope that’s all it is.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Marmaduke Tweng halted the Emperor Maximilian to let the morning light catch up with him. He was well pleased with Emperor’s performance on flat ground. It was more nimble than he’d thought, with a top speed as fast as a man on a galloping horse. Fitted with fire guns, the great machine would be a formidable weapon indeed. When this nasty Kerrigan business was settled, he’d work on arming the E
mperor with guns fore and aft and perhaps on the sides.

  The speaking tube above Tweng’s head hissed into life. Savannah’s voice sounded tinny as she said, “Why have we stopped, Mr. Tweng?”

  “Waiting for the light, Miss St. James.”

  “I think we should press on, Mr. Tweng.”

  “If I can’t see ’em, I can’t mash ’em, Miss St. James. We’ll only be a few minutes. The darkness is already fading.”

  “A soon as possible, Mr. Tweng.” Thunk. Savannah replaced her end of the speaking tube.

  Tweng sighed. How little people knew about the plight of the steam engineer. Even the great, sooty ironclads that patrolled the world’s oceans did not fight in the dark. Come sundown, they were blind as bats.

  As it was, the morning light arrived with agonizing slowness and it was almost thirty minutes before Tweng drove the Emperor forward. He adjusted his goggles and settled his top hat more firmly on his head. Hissing, clanking, throbbing in every bolt, the mighty Emperor Maximilian was going to war.

  “Leah, when I kill the Kerrigan woman, I’ll prop you up at a window so you can see.” Savannah smiled. “Would you like that, dear?”

  Leah’s dead eyes stared at her, her head bobbing with every movement of the Emperor.

  “Yes, I thought you would. You’re such a treasured friend.” Savannah reached for the speaking tube and blew into the mouthpiece. “Mr. Tweng, can you hear?”

  “Loud and clear, Miss St. James.”

  “When will the killing start? Miss Leah is most anxious to know.”

  “Soon, Miss St. James. The Emperor is on the scent.”

  Savannah sang, “A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go . . .” She stopped. “The morning seems fine, Mr. Tweng. It will be a sunny day.”

  “That is also my opinion, Miss St. James.”

  Savannah’s voice continued to carry through the speaking tube. “Did you hear that, Leah, darling? It’s a fair day for killing Mrs. Kerrigan. Mr. Tweng, will she scream much when crushed under the Emperor’s wheels?”

  “That entirely depends on where she’s crushed, Miss St. James,” Tweng said. “The head now, that would kill her instantly.”

  “Well, we don’t want that, do we, Leah?” Savannah said. “Avoid the head at all costs, Mr. Tweng.”

  “I certainly will,” Tweng said. “This is proving to be a most interesting experiment.”

  As it rolled across the prairie, the Emperor Maximilian was a beautiful sight, an engineering masterpiece of steel, glass, bronze, copper, and green and gold paint. Its massive wheels, each as wide as an axe handle, were the height of a tall man and driven by massive pistons. As it neared Kate Kerrigan and her band, the Emperor looked more predator than machine, a fiery nightmare dragon from another age.

  Forward in the driver’s cabin, looking like a malevolent gnome, Marmaduke Tweng heard a Ping! as someone tried a long-range rifle shot. He immediately checked his dials and gauges and ascertained that no damage had been done. He smiled. It would take more than rifle fire to turn the Emperor from its just and rightful course.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Marco Salas and his cannon were positioned a hundred yards in advance of Mrs. Kerrigan and her engine. He heard the crash of rifles and saw puffs of smoke, but the terrible machine came on at speed. It was less than a mile away and closing fast.

  The cannon had a short fuse that Marco would light when the machine was almost abreast of it. He figured that a broadside hit might hit something vital and stop the machine in its tracks. The trick was to know just when to light the fuse.

  He crouched behind the shallow rise with his matches at the ready. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

  The riflemen were kneeling, taking their shots, but the machine seemed impervious to their fire. It seemed like an inexorable force of nature that nothing could stop.

  Cobb didn’t like it. “Kate, run back to the cabin, saddle a horse, and get the hell out of here. Look for Moses and the girls.”

  Kate snapped off a shot, racked the lever. “I most certainly will not. My place is here, defending my ranch.”

  “Damn it, woman. There’s no stopping that thing. It will soon roll right over us.”

  “Then we’ll all die together, Frank. I’m not leaving.” She looked around her. “Where is the Count?”

  Cobb grimaced. “He ran away. If I survive this, I’ll kill him.”

  But Andropov had not made a run for it. He returned mounted on one of Kate’s best horses, a stick of dynamite in his hand. “It’s the only one I have,” he yelled at Kate. “But it will get the job done.”

  Before anyone could object, Andropov yelled something in Russian, kicked his horse into motion, and charged directly for the oncoming Emperor.

  He had covered half the distance when disaster struck. His horse wanted nothing to do with the noisy, smelly machine and reared, throwing Andropov from the saddle. For long moments, the Russian lay still on the ground as the Emperor drew closer to him, its enormous studded wheels throwing up massive clods of dirt.

  But Andropov rose unsteadily to his feet and charged directly for the machine, lighting the dynamite as he ran.

  “Get back here!” Cobb yelled.

  But the Russian couldn’t hear him. He ran directly for the driver’s cabin, tossed the dynamite underneath, then tried to jump clear. His coat caught on a projecting steam valve and he fell heavily on his right side.

  An instant later two things happened. The dynamite exploded under Marmaduke Tweng’s cab and the front left wheel of the Emperor rolled over Andropov’s chest and crushed it to a scarlet, jellified nightmare of blood and bone. Killed instantly, Count Ivan Boleslav died without sound, far from his native Moscow.

  The dynamite didn’t even slow the Emperor. Remorselessly, the snarling machine came on as though no mortal power on earth could stop it.

  Kate Kerrigan witnessed the count’s terrible death and whispered, “Oh my God in heaven, help us.” Her hand left her rifle and took her rosary from her pocket.

  Cobb saw and quickly said, “Later, Kate. When the shooting is done.” He rose to his feet and yelled, “Everybody aim for the cab. Shoot the driver. Kill the son of a gal!”

  Bullets rattled against the reinforced glass of Marmaduke Tweng’s windshield and one well-intentioned round actually starred the glass, but none penetrated. Tweng grinned. He’d spotted another target . . . and it was out in the open. He swung the Emperor into a turn.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Marco Salas was horrified. The devil machine was driving straight at his cannon. He stood and tried to wave the monster away, but it didn’t waver or slow its speed. Wearing goggles and a top hat, the little man in the cabin was hunched over the controls. On his present course, he’d mangle the cannon into a pile of scrap iron in just a couple minutes.

  Marco was fast running out of time, but he took one of his matches from his pocket and struck it on the filed chunk of iron he kept for that purpose. The wood was thin and brittle, and the match broke. He was stricken. “Madre de Dios!”

  He glanced fearfully at the looming machine, so close he saw the driver’s bared teeth. He tried a second match, holding the stick close to the blue head. It fired and he quickly lit the fuse. To distract the driver, Marco jumped to his left, away from the cannon, and waved his arms. He saw the grinning driver make a slight adjustment to a set of levers and the Emperor moved away from the cannon, bringing it almost on top of him. The roar of the machine deafened Marco. He felt its heat and smelled its stinking breath . . . the rank odor of death.

  Marco jumped for the rise. Too late! The same bloody wheel that had crushed Andropov to death caught the blacksmith’s left leg and pulped it flat from the knee down, grinding bone and muscle deep into the earth.

  Kate Kerrigan and the others ran toward Marco Salas.

  The machine began to drive past him and Marco realized he’d failed. The cannon had not fired.

  A wave of terrible pain hit th
e little Mexican . . . just as the cannon roared and jumped three feet into the air.

  The iron cannonball took an errant course. It shot high, missed the side of the Emperor and veered right. For a few moments, it seemed that the machine had again escaped unscathed as it rolled onward, seeking other victims. In fact, the tiny ball had caused massive, unseen destruction, like an insignificant iceberg tearing out the bottom of a great steamship.

  The range was short and the cannonball had retained most of its velocity. It punctured the bottom of the front plate of the furnace, dangerously thin to save weight. The cannonball deflected upward and punched another eight-inch hole in the metal just above the original damage. A jet of red-hot flame immediately shot into the interior of the Emperor and an instant later the boiler exploded, blowing out the walls and roof of the quarters that had once housed Leah. Everything in the living areas of the Emperor—furniture, wall panels, flooring, and ceiling tiles—burned readily. Scarlet lance-heads of fire and clouds of boiling hot steam ravaged through the great machine from stern to stern, setting alight everything in their path.

  The Emperor Maximilian shuddered to a halt . . . and Savannah St. James began to burn.

  Kate ran to Marco.

  The little blacksmith’s left leg was crushed, and he was in excruciating pain but still conscious. He smiled as he said, “I done for it, didn’t I, Miz Kerrigan?”

  Kate smiled and pushed Marco’s hair from his forehead. “You surely did. You were very brave.”

  Marmaduke Tweng knew the Emperor had suffered a mortal wound.

  The array of dials in front of him fluctuated wildly, the pointers moving like wagging fingers. The steam valves above his head hissed like snakes and dripped hot water when they should have carried cold.