Free The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff by Lane Heymont

verandah. “They lay dust around their home to keep enemies from getting in,” he said with a smirk.  
    Fallon squinted, finding the horde of flickering lights came from rows of lit candles that filled the front windows. “She must be cooking someone.” He gaped at a smoke plume puffing out from the chimney. Though the hut looked normal enough, evil spirits lurked around the house, guarding their witch. Fallon just couldn’t see them yet. But he felt them—that witch was waiting for him.
    â€œWhere . . . where’s the wagon?” Fallon stuttered, trying to maintain a cool face. He moved and hid behind Percy’s round body.   Can’t let her see me!  
    â€œThere it is. On the left flank.” Percy pointed at the wagon, which protruded from the rear of the building. “I wonder how long they been here. Here, Fallon, let’s get our arms out.” He pulled the heavy sack off his shoulder, and proceeded to pull out pistols, knives, a noose, and a short sword. He slipped a Remington revolver into his belt, along with a large butcher knife. Percy handed Fallon a small, six-inch Colt pocket pistol, and Galin a large Confederate Rigdon pistol. Fallon trembled watching the two load, prepare, and secure their weapons.
    â€œWe each got forty dead men, so here’s how we’re going to do this.” Galin glanced at Fallon. “We wait for them to come out. If Narce and Grand Dragon Verdiss don’t get here before then, we’ll have to take them ourselves.” He gave Fallon a reassuring nod. “You can do this, Ghoul. We’re here with you.”
    If he hadn’t been seized with anxiety he’d be flabbergasted. Now he wants to be friends? Fallon’s face was slick with sweat. He’d never killed anyone, seen battle, or fired a gun at someone. All he’d been allow to do was take them apart, clean them, and put them back together. “How . . . how do I aim?”  
    â€œThis little tab on the top,” Percy smiled and pointed to the sight. “You’ll do fine. Trust me.” He chuckled. Then rubbed Fallon's head.
    â€œShut it.” Galin put a finger to his lips. “I can almost hear them.”
    The three sat in the mud, shrouded by foliage. Fallon listened, straining to hear but couldn’t find what Galin seemed to hear. The door opened, and Rayford stepped out onto the porch. Fallon stifled a gasp. “He’s so short.”
    â€œLooks strong though.”
    Galin gave Percy a shove and pointed to the constable climbing atop the wagon.
    At first, Fallon thought Rayford was leaving, but he didn’t move. “Is he sleeping?” He felt Galin’s glare on him. “I-uh talk when I’m nervous.”
    Galin grunted, then gave Percy a nod. “Follow me, we’ll see if we can take him quiet-like.”
    Fallon watched both men pull themselves up out of the mud. They drew their blades and started off toward the witch’s hut. A gurgle of swamp water followed each step they made, Fallon winced at each one. Be careful. They’re making too much noise! He counted the seconds as Percy and Galin circled the house. Ten minutes. Rayford’s got to be asleep. For a minute, the two men vanished in the darkness. Where are they? He wanted to call out, make sure they were all right, but thought better of it. The next minute dragged out for what seemed like centuries. Second by second, Fallon waited, shifting his eyes from Rayford to the hut to the shadows and back again. Then Galin crept out of the darkness followed by Percy.  
    Fallon watched, panicked, as the two men stalked Rayford. Percy seemed nervous, glancing back at Fallon as he moved closer. Galin moved in for the kill. Then lunged at Rayford knife first.
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    Chapter Thirteen  

    Shelves and chests filled the one-room hut. Many of the boxes overflowed with old, decrepit clothing, some covered in mold.