Kill or Die by William W. Johnstone Page A

the heavenly land?
I’m going up to heaven for to see my robe,
See the heavenly land.

    Mrs. Briscoe, a plump, motherly woman with a round face, caught sight of the long white bundle on the deck and wailed, beating her wrists against the sides of her head.

    Going to see my robe and try it on,
See the heavenly robe.
’Tis brighter than the glittering sun,
See the heavenly land.

    Canoes bumped against the deck and a couple of young men, Zedock’s sons, got out and reverently lifted the body. A canoe, fitted out with a lining of white muslin and strewn with swamp blossoms, was pushed closer and the body was laid out inside. Without a glance in Evangeline’s direction, the canoes turned and one by one drifted away. The singing grew fainter and then Evangeline was left alone in the silent, gathering dark.
    She turned to go back into the cabin but noticed an object shining at the corner of the deck. She picked it up, a small silver cross on a chain. Smiling through her tears, Evangeline fastened the cross around her slender neck and stepped into the cabin.
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    Flintlock and O’Hara forgot where they’d left the canoe and it took an hour of searching and cussing in darkness before they found it.
    Flintlock was scathing. “I thought Indians always knew where they left stuff,” he said to O’Hara. “The Injun part of you ought to apologize to the white part.”
    â€œAnd you were raised by mountain men,” O’Hara said. “I bet a mountain man would know where he left his damned canoe.”
    â€œYou made me nervous yelling at me to find it and that’s why I couldn’t find it,” Flintlock said.
    â€œAll I said was, ‘Can you remember a tree or any other landmark?’ That was hardly yelling, Sammy.”
    â€œYeah, well, it sounded like yelling,” Flintlock said. “Hey, you don’t suppose somebody moved it? Maybe an alligator.”
    â€œNobody moved it,” O’Hara said, looking over his shoulder as he paddled. “And it wasn’t an alligator.”
    â€œHow can you say that? How come you’re so all-fired certain?”
    â€œBecause you tied up the canoe and an alligator can’t undo knots.”
    â€œYeah, well, maybe so, but the whole thing was mighty strange all the same,” Flintlock said. He slowed his paddling. “Listen. What’s that?”
    â€œA mighty big alligator bellowing close by,” O’Hara said. “Maybe he’s mad because he heard you say he tried to steal the canoe.”
    â€œIt sounds loud enough to be Basilisk,” Flintlock said, his hand straying to his gun and his eyes searching the murky, shadowed swamp.
    â€œHell, paddle faster,” O’Hara said.
    â€œHell, that’s just what I’m doing,” Flintlock said.
    â€œOver there!” O’Hara said, stabbing into darkness with his forefinger.
    Flintlock looked . . . and saw . . . eyes.
    â€œIt’s the swamp monster,” O’Hara said. “And it’s coming our way.”
    A huge shape loomed less than a hundred yards away across open water, a pair of glowing eyes lighting its way. Flintlock heard the chunk, chunk, chunk of its passing and he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.
    O’Hara turned his head. “We’ll get into the water and let it have the canoe,” he said.
    â€œThe hell we will,” Flintlock said. “This pirogue is Evangeline’s property. Lose it and she’ll turn us into toads for sure.”
    â€œThen come up with an idea, white man,” O’Hara said. “I’m all out of mine.”
    A rifle shot slammed through the swamp. A bullet hit a foot in front of the canoe and kicked up a startled exclamation point of water.
    â€œIt’s trying to kill us,” O’Hara said.
    â€œSwamp monsters don’t shoot rifles,” Flintlock said. He’d laid aside his paddle and had his Colt in his