Kings Will Be Tyrants by Ward Hawkins

Author:Ward Hawkins [Hawkins, Ward]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Criminals & Outlaws, Rich & Famous, Social Science, Ethnic Studies, Native American Studies, History, United States, 19th Century
ISBN: 9781787208018
Google: LNwuDwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Pickle Partners Publishing
Published: 2017-07-31T04:21:07+00:00

8

JILL CORBY saw the murder....

She had been watching through half-closed eyes, wondering what purpose O’Brien might have in talking to Cordova. She had seen the sending away of the guard, the small amount of talk, the looking about to see who might be watching, then the agreement and the walking away. O’Brien’s purpose had seemed perfectly clear to Jill: he was going to let Cordova escape. And Jill had felt a sudden rush of warm feeling for O’Brien, an admiration for his courage and his humanity.

But it had been a lie!

It had been a trap, nothing more, a device which would provide O’Brien with an excuse for murdering a helpless man...needless, merciless, wanton. Jill Corby would not have believed a human capable of such an act. She had seen Alfonso Corrales killed, but that had been an impersonal thing, an act of war. This had been a personal thing, a horrible thing, done to satisfy some inner craving. Jill turned her face away and was sick on the ground beside the tree.

O’Brien was waiting for the others.

And they were coming. The soldiers spilled out of the near building, fumbling with weapons, to gape at O’Brien and the dead captain with astonishment. Vilar yelled first, then came charging around the corner of the near building. He did not have his machine pistol, his face was loose with drunken alarm, but he came. And Angela Díaz, her face greatly concerned, came after him.

If Vilar had expected to find they were attacked, the mistake was instantly corrected. O’Brien was standing erect in the open, his gun holstered, the captain was lying dead a few meters away. Still, it was several moments before the full truth worked through Vilar’s sodden mind. He looked stupidly at O’Brien, and at the captain, his mouth hanging open. Then a certain sobriety returned to him.

He screamed, “What have you done?”

“I have killed him,” O’Brien said. “I was interrogating him, I turned my back for a moment, he attempted to escape—I was forced to shoot him.”

He told this lie quickly and quietly, with no special effort to be convincing, and then he said no more. He waited, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his lean, beaked face expressionless.

Vilar stared at him, outraged.

Angela said, worriedly, “If it was necessary——”

Vilar yelled: “It was not!”

“But, Vilar——”

Vilar was still staring at O’Brien. “Cordova could not run!” he said, yelling again. “Cordova could hardly walk—a turtle could have run him down. This was deliberate!”

O’Brien said nothing.

Angela said, “Vilar, listen——”

Vilar turned to her suddenly. “Give me a gun!” he yelled. She did not move. He yelled at the soldiers, “Give me a gun! At once!” And they did not move.

Pleading, Angela said, “Vilar...you are drunk!”

Vilar struck her across the face. “A gun!”

“No....” Angela kept a small distance from him, so the blow could not be repeated. Her pleading had turned to anger. “Vilar, you are drunk! We are under orders to permit you nothing harmful when you are drunk—your orders!”

“A gun!” Vilar raged.

“No!”

“This is

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