when they send out an order, you carry it out without question.”
“A small army began searching the deep jungle, half of them bonos out of Zavia, the rest were already part of the Brotherhood,” he continued. “One by one the men started disappearing. Sometimes lions or leopards got them. Other times fights in camp ended in bloodshed. Still other times, there was no telling what had happened.
“One of the camp guards, a native, said he was sure that the Ghost Who Walks crept around the camp at night and was responsible for the disappearances. Whenever our numbers dipped too low, reinforcements were sent in. It went on like that for several weeks.
“Finally one day two of the toughest men who had the most jungle experience raced into camp. They’d found the Phantom’s hideout, but before we could set out, a purple-clad giant charged into camp on a great white steed with a vicious wolf at his side. Some of the men were trampled, others were shot, and others were ripped apart by the wolf. Gunfire and smoke filled the air. The camp was in complete chaos.
“Then the wolf was chasing me, snapping at my heels. I dove into the thicket, rolled over, and shot the wolf dead. It dropped in front of me, hanging over the limb of a tree. Blood was pouring from the wound in its forehead.”
He had her full attention now; she seemed fascinated by the story and he rushed on.
“Then I saw a flash of purple, and the Phantom leaped in and saw the wolf, saw me, and went mad. He aimed both his guns at me, but I was ready for him. I fired first and got him right between the eyes. It was great.”
“That’s something,” Sala said.
Quill nodded, and chewed on his cigar, pleased that she was taking a new look at him—as if she hadn’t really seen him until now. “We even cut off his head and took it back to the boss as a prize trophy. There were only a few of us who survived.”
That was the story he liked to tell. He’d heard it from another member of the Brotherhood, an older man who claimed that he’d killed the Phantom twenty-five years earlier. The old man just couldn’t understand how the Phantom could still be alive.
Quill had killed him, too, and he didn’t understand, either. Only his story wasn’t as exciting. He’d been attacked by a rabid monkey while panning for gold in a stream, and the Phantom had nursed him back to health in his hideout. In return Quill told him that he would show him where the Sengh hideout was located.
Quill was blindfolded before they left so that he wouldn’t remember how to find the Phantom’s Skull Cave. When they stopped and the Phantom removed the blindfold, Quill stabbed him in the back. Then he had taken the Phantom’s gunbelt as proof. The Brotherhood was grateful and made him a member. They’d wanted the Phantom dead because he was getting too close to unraveling their secrets. But Quill had never been able to find Skull Cave, which he was sure was filled with treasures.
“But you said you killed him again today. How could that be?” Sala asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t really him. Doesn’t matter, he’s dead. You want another drink?”
“Why don’t we go up to your room and I’ll take care of your injuries?”
Quill smiled. “I’ll take a bottle of whiskey along to help clean out the cuts.”
Just as he ordered the bottle, two uniformed men from the Jungle Patrol walked into the bar. Everyone turned and stared at them. One of them was the same chunky fellow who had given him a ride to the main road. He didn’t recognize the other one. The men carefully looked over everyone in the place.
“We’re looking for the guy who saw a truck go down in the gorge today,” the skinny one said. No one moved, no one said a word. Quill figured they’d found Breen and Morgan. If they took him in for questioning, they’d find the skull and take it away from him.
The chunky guy looked right at Quill, then he turned to his partner. “Naw, he’s not here,
“A small army began searching the deep jungle, half of them bonos out of Zavia, the rest were already part of the Brotherhood,” he continued. “One by one the men started disappearing. Sometimes lions or leopards got them. Other times fights in camp ended in bloodshed. Still other times, there was no telling what had happened.
“One of the camp guards, a native, said he was sure that the Ghost Who Walks crept around the camp at night and was responsible for the disappearances. Whenever our numbers dipped too low, reinforcements were sent in. It went on like that for several weeks.
“Finally one day two of the toughest men who had the most jungle experience raced into camp. They’d found the Phantom’s hideout, but before we could set out, a purple-clad giant charged into camp on a great white steed with a vicious wolf at his side. Some of the men were trampled, others were shot, and others were ripped apart by the wolf. Gunfire and smoke filled the air. The camp was in complete chaos.
“Then the wolf was chasing me, snapping at my heels. I dove into the thicket, rolled over, and shot the wolf dead. It dropped in front of me, hanging over the limb of a tree. Blood was pouring from the wound in its forehead.”
He had her full attention now; she seemed fascinated by the story and he rushed on.
“Then I saw a flash of purple, and the Phantom leaped in and saw the wolf, saw me, and went mad. He aimed both his guns at me, but I was ready for him. I fired first and got him right between the eyes. It was great.”
“That’s something,” Sala said.
Quill nodded, and chewed on his cigar, pleased that she was taking a new look at him—as if she hadn’t really seen him until now. “We even cut off his head and took it back to the boss as a prize trophy. There were only a few of us who survived.”
That was the story he liked to tell. He’d heard it from another member of the Brotherhood, an older man who claimed that he’d killed the Phantom twenty-five years earlier. The old man just couldn’t understand how the Phantom could still be alive.
Quill had killed him, too, and he didn’t understand, either. Only his story wasn’t as exciting. He’d been attacked by a rabid monkey while panning for gold in a stream, and the Phantom had nursed him back to health in his hideout. In return Quill told him that he would show him where the Sengh hideout was located.
Quill was blindfolded before they left so that he wouldn’t remember how to find the Phantom’s Skull Cave. When they stopped and the Phantom removed the blindfold, Quill stabbed him in the back. Then he had taken the Phantom’s gunbelt as proof. The Brotherhood was grateful and made him a member. They’d wanted the Phantom dead because he was getting too close to unraveling their secrets. But Quill had never been able to find Skull Cave, which he was sure was filled with treasures.
“But you said you killed him again today. How could that be?” Sala asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t really him. Doesn’t matter, he’s dead. You want another drink?”
“Why don’t we go up to your room and I’ll take care of your injuries?”
Quill smiled. “I’ll take a bottle of whiskey along to help clean out the cuts.”
Just as he ordered the bottle, two uniformed men from the Jungle Patrol walked into the bar. Everyone turned and stared at them. One of them was the same chunky fellow who had given him a ride to the main road. He didn’t recognize the other one. The men carefully looked over everyone in the place.
“We’re looking for the guy who saw a truck go down in the gorge today,” the skinny one said. No one moved, no one said a word. Quill figured they’d found Breen and Morgan. If they took him in for questioning, they’d find the skull and take it away from him.
The chunky guy looked right at Quill, then he turned to his partner. “Naw, he’s not here,
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