"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 141 - Satan Black" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

The last question, did they know Jones?, was a master touch, a belt-punch.

“Jones!” Joe said hoarsely. “You mean it's Jones?”

“That's right.”



THEY knew Jones. One or another of them had had Preach Jones in his hair at some time, but it was
startling to discover, out of a clear sky, that they were to murder him. Preach Jones was not an invested
minister of the gospel, nor even a preacher at all, so far as any organized religious group was concerned.
He was merely a little man, with big soft eyes behind spectacles, who was always trying to carpenter
other men's lives into a godly shape.

Oil pipeline construction is a hairy-chested job. This present Colbeck Construction Company project
was no exception; tougher, if anything, because mostly there were old-timers on the job. The armed
services had the young men. The fellows Colbeck Construction had hired were of the tough old school,
from the days when pipe-joints were put together with threads, and tongued in place with brute sweat,
when the men lived in tent camps and there were fights every night and a killing every week or so. The
nice men, the engineers and the college products, were away fighting Japs and Germans.

Preach Jones was a saintly little nuisance with the ability to make you feel ashamed for saying a mouthful
of cusswords. But he was nice. Somehow it inspired you to talk to him. You liked to talk to him; you
found yourself telling him things that were close to your heart. He was a sympathetic listener.

Pack knew what the others were thinking.

“There is no other way out of it,” Pack told them grimly. “So don't start thinking up arguments.”

No one spoke.

Pack added, “The story is a long one, and we're not too sure of the details. All we know is that Preach
Jones talked to Carl Boordling one time when Carl was sloppy drunk. You know how Carl was-when
he got sloppy, he would get to thinking about his past, and it would scare him. Well, Jones happened to
get hold of Carl, and out came the whole story.”

Pack paused for emphasis.

“There was enough in what Carl told Jones to hang all of us and wreck everything,” he added.

The fourth man whose name had not yet been used swore deeply and viciously. “Carl would do that!
Damn a man who slops when he's drunk!”

Pack said, “Time is getting short. Jones is going to go along the hill road about nine o'clock. We can head
him off there.”

“We haven't more than a half hour,” Joe said. “It's nearly eight-thirty.”

“That's right,” Pack agreed. “Joe, you and Dave will hide in the brush alongside the road. Guernsey, you
stop Jones. I'll come up behind Jones and blackjack him. If he yells, Joe and Dave will close in quick.