“Do you see what I see?” Geronimo queried.
“I sure do, pard,” Hickok said, then reached out and grabbed Geronimo’s right elbow. “Listen!”
Geronimo heard it too. Sporadic gunfire splitting the morning air.
“Let’s do in these wimps so we can go lend a hand to the others,” Hickok suggested.
Geronimo nodded. He hurried to the back door and tried the knob. To his surprise, the door opened. Together, the two Warriors entered and Geronimo closed the door behind them. They found a flight of stairs at the other end of a narrow kitchen and ascended to the second floor.
“I kind of like this spread,” Hickok commented. “It’s a lot bigger than the cabins us hitched types get to live in at the Home.”
Geronimo hastened to the window he wanted. He discovered a latch in the center of one side and slid the window open.
In unison, the Warriors dropped to the carpeted floor and crawled out onto the wooden balcony. They eased to the railing and peeped between the rails, which were spaced about six inches apart.
There was no sign of pursuit.
“Where are they?” Geronimo inquired in a soft tone.
“Maybe they’re takin’ a potty break,” Hickok replied.
Geronimo reached down and removed a bundle of dynamite from his pillowcase. “I’ll do the honors. We might be able to get them all at once.”
“Here they come!” Hickok warned.
Geronimo looked up. He began counting, but gave it up when he reached 31. There were more of them than he had thought! They were moving forward very slowly, searching every nook and cranny, their eyes alertly scanning the terrain.
But very few of them were bothering to glance up.
Geronimo extracted his pack of matches from his right front pants pocket. He studied the bundle of dynamite. Rudabaugh had instructed them in its proper use, and had cautioned them they would have about half a minute between the time they lit the fuse and the charge going off.
Not much time.
Hickok nudged Geronimo.
The troopers and G.R.D.’s were only 15 yards from the balcony.
Geronimo quickly lit one of the matches and applied the flame to the fuse. It sputtered and crackled as it caught on fire.
Move! his mind screamed.
Geronimo rose and threw back his right arm, intending to lob the charge directly at the group nearing the house.
Hickok, on his stomach at Geronimo’s feet, detected a motion out of the corner of his left eye. He twisted, surveying the yard below, and even as he did he heard the crack of an M-16.
There was a trooper not more than five yards from the house!
Geronimo felt the bullet rip into his left shoulder, and he was slammed backward by the impact, crashing into the window and tumbling to the balcony.
Hickok aimed the Henry and fired, putting a slug into the soldier below.
The other troopers began shooting at the balcony.
Geronimo, his senses swimming, gaped at the charge in his right hand.
The fuse was continuing to crackle and sparkle.
Dear Spirit!
Geronimo struggled to rise, to get rid of the dynamite. His body refused to cooperate with his dazed mind.
Hickok was conducting a raging gun battle with the enemies below.
Geronimo shook his head to clear it, and managed to laboriously lift himself to his knees. The strain of his exertion prompted a surge of dizziness to engulf his consciousness. Unable to control his equilibrium, he pitched forward, the fuse over half gone.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Lordy! What in the world is that thing?” Bertha exclaimed in alarm.
Blade, squatting alongside of her behind a low stone wall not far from U.S. Highway 85, recognized the vehicle from photographs contained in several of the military history books in the Family library. “It’s called a half-track,” he told her.
“I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it!” Bertha declared nervously.
“The Doktor’s pulling out all the stops,” Blade commented.
Bertha was gawking at the green half-track. “I think we’d best go get the SEAL!”
The armored half-track was slowly proceeding north on U.S. Highway 85 toward Catlow. Its rear caterpillar treads were clanking and creaking.
At least six soldiers were riding in the open back section, one of them manning a mounted machine gun.
“We’ll try and take it out with our charges,” Blade stated.
Dozens of troopers and G.R.D.’s were following the half-track on foot.
“It ain’t gonna be easy,” Bertha predicted.
“You never know until you try,” Blade declared.
The stone wall was 20 yards to the west of the highway.
Bertha removed a bundle of dynamite from her pillowcase. “It’s kind of far to throw one of these suckers, isn’t it?”
Blade frowned. She was right. The bundles weren’t very heavy, but they were ungainly and would be difficult to pitch any great distance with any degree of accuracy. What else could they do? He stared at the half-track, at least 400 yards from their position.
“I still think we should get the SEAL,” Bertha stressed.
Blade gazed over his right shoulder. A yellow wood frame house was 15 yards behind them. He shifted his attention to the north. There were two more homes between the stone wall and the downtown business district of Catlow, a collection of a dozen or so brick buildings including a small store, a pharmacy, a clothing establishment, and other retail enterprises.
The small store caught his eye.
The structure was two stories tall, with the bottom half devoted to perishable foodstuffs and the upper portion, according to a large sign on the building, a hardware emporium with the “greatest selection in Catlow.” Of course, the sign neglected to mention it was the only hardware selection in Catlow.
“Follow me,” Blade directed. Keeping low, stooped over at the waist and ignoring the agony lancing his left side, Blade ran in the direction of the business district.
“Not so fast!” Bertha complained. “You know I got a bum leg!”
Blade mentally chided his stupidity and slowed.
“That’s better,” Bertha whispered. “You don’t want me to get any madder at you than I already am!”
Blade waited until they were out of sight from the highway and moving down an alley behind the stores before he asked the obvious question.
“Why are you mad at me?”
Bertha snorted. “Don’t play innocent with me, turkey! You knew I wanted to pair off with White Meat! But, no! I get stuck with you!”
Blade grinned. “You have only yourself to blame for not being with Hickok right now.”
They reached the rear of the establishment Blade had been heading for.
“How do you figure?” Bertha challenged him.
There was a wooden door before them.
Blade drew up his right leg and lashed out with his foot, striking the door near the doorknob. The oak splintered and shattered and the door swung open several inches. He pushed the door aside and walked into a dark hallway leading to the front of the building.
“How do you figure?” Bertha repeated.
Blade moved along the hall until he came to a flight of stairs leading up to the second floor. “We’re friends, Bertha,” he said as he started up the steps. “I don’t want to see you killed.”
“Oh? I’d have a better chance of gettin’ racked with White Meat than I do here with you?” Bertha asked, disputing him.
“Yes,” Blade stated frankly.
“How so?”
They reached the top of the stairs and found aisle after aisle of merchandise.
Blade gazed at the ceiling, wondering if the structure would have the feature he required.