Read Online A Time for Vultures by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B

this town is getting unbearable. I can scarcely stand it any longer.”
    Flintlock nodded. “Bodies are rotting. It will get worse before it gets better. Come tomorrow, we’ll be well gone from this hellhole.”
    â€œI hope you find your ma, Flintlock. You’re a rootless man and the wind blows you. Maybe when you find her, you’ll settle.”
    â€œMaybe so. What about you?”
    â€œI thought whoring would be my life and then I’d grow old. Men wouldn’t want me any longer and I’d take to laudanum and gin and then die. But I think I’ve found a purpose in my life.”
    â€œYou mean taking care of the crazy lady,” Flintlock said.
    â€œYes, watching over Lizzie. But she’s not crazy. She honestly believes she’s been alive since the time of Christ.”
    He shook his head and initially said nothing. But after a few moments he found words enough to say, “The lady is sick in the head, Biddy. She needs help.”
    â€œAnd I’ll see she gets it. Maybe we’ll head east and I’ll see if I can find one of them doctors that treat Lizzie’s kind of sickness.”
    â€œIt’s a thought,” Flintlock said.
    Biddy looked at him as though she expected him to say more, but when he remained silent, she said, “Margie has a skillet of canned beef and beans cooking on the saloon stove. You and the Indian are welcome to come eat, if the stink hasn’t taken away your appetite.”
    â€œIt hasn’t,” Flintlock said. “And thank you for the invite. We’ll be over in a few minutes.”
    She grinned. “Don’t forget to bring candy and flowers, big boy.”
    * * *
    In the echoing emptiness of the saloon, Flintlock and O’Hara ate beef and beans with the four women. It was not yet dark, but to keep out the stench of rot and decay Biddy had closed the storm doors behind the batwings and shuttered the windows. The place was lit by oil lamps that smoked badly and cast shadows that brought furtive life to the walls, so many dancing phantoms seeking partners for a devilish cotillion. She had liberally sprinkled lavender water around the saloon floor to cut the odor from outside, but the smell still leaked into the building like a poisonous gas.
    Marge Tott laid down her fork and said, “Am I the only one who hears that?”
    â€œHears what?” Flintlock made an effort to appear relaxed, but the fact that he’d charged his Hawken with powder and ball and kept it close gave the lie to that. In times of trouble the trusted old rifle was both wife and child to him.
    â€œThat strange noise,” Margie said.
    â€œI don’t hear it,” Flintlock said. “Maybe it’s the wind.”
    O’Hara said, “There is no wind.” Then to Margie, “You have good ears, woman.”
    â€œYou hear it?” the woman said.
    â€œYes, for the past hour or so. It surges like waves on a shore.”
    â€œThen what is it?” Margie said.
    O’Hara shook his head. “I don’t know.”
    Flintlock pushed his plate away, sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “You make good beef and beans, Margie.” He rose to his feet and picked up the Hawken. “I reckon I’ll take a stroll outside, look at the stars for a spell.”
    â€œAnd listen to the strange sound,” Margie said.
    Flintlock nodded, grinning. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    The strange sound worried the hell out of Sam Flintlock.
    A dull, pulsing roar, it came from east of town somewhere out in the flat. Is it a steam locomotive? No, impossible. Happyville was miles from the nearest railroad. More important, did whatever caused the damned noise pose a danger?
    He stared at the sky. A halo surrounded the horned moon. Is that a bad omen? He remembered a line he’d read. Here there be dragons . Where had he read that? He couldn’t remember. In a storybook