A Time to Slaughter by William W. Johnstone Page A

around him. “I’ll go talk to him.”
    â€œMiles,” Tweedy said, “tell him about my intended. If he sees her leaving the saloon with Zeb Moss he’s got to come a-runnin’ to us right quick.”
    â€œI’ll make that plain to him, Uriah. Just make sure you’re ready to move when he gits here with news.”

Chapter Sixteen
    â€œI don’t much care for a night action, Mr. Wilson,” Commander John Sherburne commented. “What does she have in hand?”
    â€œHalf a league, sir,” Lieutenant Wilson answered. “She’s a fast ship, like all damned slavers.”
    Sherburne slanted his second-in-command an irritated don’t tell me what I already know look. “Then steady as she goes, Mr. Wilson,” he said finally, his brass telescope to his eye. “We’ll catch her soon enough.”
    â€œSir, perhaps I could do something with the long gun forward.” Wilson was young, eager, with a round, open face.
    â€œWe’ll get a little closer, Mr. Wilson.” Sherburne smiled. “And then you can have at it.”
    Apart from the helmsman, a stoical, weather-beaten old hand, the two officers were alone on the quarterdeck. The sloop of war Kansas battled an oncoming sea, and great breaking waves crashed over her bow. The ten carronades on each side of the ship were lashed down tight, but their well-drilled gun crews could clear for action in less than two minutes.
    Sherburne reached into the pocket of his peacoat and produced a silver flask. “A brandy with you, Mr. Wilson?”
    The lieutenant shook his head. “Regrettably, I must refuse, Captain. Before I left for sea, Miss Edna Coffin, my betrothed, bade me promise that my lips would ne’er touch strong drink, nor would I indulge in the sinful pleasures of loose women.”
    â€œYou weren’t on the beach today, Mr. Wilson.”
    â€œNo, sir. On your orders I remained on the ship.”
    â€œTrust me, if you’d seen what I saw, you’d want a drink.”
    â€œYes, sir. Perhaps, sir.”
    Sherburne sighed and tilted the flask to his mouth. After a hearty swallow, he put the flask away and returned the ship’s glass to his eye. “She has every scrap of sail set, Mr. Wilson, but God willing, we’ll catch the rogues before nightfall.”
    â€œThe long gun, Captain?”
    â€œSoon, Mr. Wilson.” Sherburne stroked his black, spade-shaped beard. “It won’t be long now until we’re in range.”

    â€œShe’s a sloop of war, great lord,” Hassan Najid said, his black eyes troubled. “An American steamship. Allah curse it to Hades.”
    Sheik Abdul-Basir Hakim glanced at the billowing sails and realized he could get no more speed out of his schooner.
    â€œTen carronades a side,” Najid said as if his thoughts ran parallel to his master’s. “She can stand off and blow us out of the water, damn her.”
    â€œAye, and they’ll have a long nine forward.” Hakim studied the sloop through his glass and nodded. “She’ll be in nine-pounder range soon.”
    Najid thought for a moment, then said, “We can throw the women overboard, lord. The sloop will stop and try to save them.”
    â€œWill they?”
    â€œThey’re Americans. They won’t sail past drowning women in a shark-infested sea.”
    Hakim nodded. “You’ve given me an idea.”
    â€œWhen do we toss them into the sea, lord?” Najid grinned.
    â€œWe don’t, but bring the women on deck. I have other plans for them.”
    â€œBut . . . but my lord . . .” Najid said hesitantly.
    â€œYou’re right about Americans, a soft people. Will they loose a broadside on us with captive women lined along the deck?”
    Najid’s expression changed from doubt to glee. “A fine plan, great lord.”
    â€œThen let it be done.” Hakim stared across a mile of churning gray