“You,” Blade affirmed.
Bertha leaned down and kissed Blade on the left cheek. “You adorable hunk, you!”
“Uh-oh,” Hickok said.
“Don’t worry,” Bertha said to Hickok. “I ain’t about to fall for him. Not like I did for you, before you went and got yourself married to someone else.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” Hickok corrected her. He pointed toward Catlow. “Look.”
A pair of headlights was just leaving the outskirts of the town, bearing north on U.S. Highway 85.
“Damn!” Blade cursed his carelessness. “Move it!”
The three of them raced down the rise to the SEAL. The rise and a slight curve temporarily blocked their view of the town and the approaching vehicle.
Blade grabbed Bertha’s right elbow and pushed her to the center of the road. “Lay down,” he ordered.
“What?”
“Lay down!” he directed.
Bertha dropped to the tarmacadam, lying on her stomach, with her arms outspread.
“Hickok!” Blade said, pointing at a cluster of boulders and rocks at the side of the highway only ten feet away.
Hickok ran to the boulders and disappeared from sight.
Blade quickly clambered into the SEAL, into the driver’s seat.
“What’s going on?” Geronimo asked.
The interior of the SEAL was spacious. There were two bucket seats in the front, one for the driver and the other for a passenger, with a console between them. A comfortable long seat ran the width of the transport right behind the bucket seats. The rear section of the SEAL was utilized as a storage space for their provisions. Two spare tires and tools were stocked in a recessed compartment under the rear storage area.
“Company,” Blade said. Geronimo was in the other bucket seat.
Rudabaugh and Orson sat in the wide seat behind them, and Lynx was reclining on top of the pile of supplies.
“What kind of company?” Orson questioned.
Blade hastily placed the key in the ignition and gunned the motor. He kept the lights off and carefully backed the vehicle from the highway, into the cover of the rise. He stopped the SEAL 20 yards from the road and switched off the engine.
“What kind of company?” Orson impatiently repeated.
“Don’t know yet.” Blade glanced at Geronimo. “Stay put and watch the SEAL.”
Geronimo nodded his understanding.
Blade climbed from the transport and sped to the boulders Hickok was hiding behind.
The gunfighter spun at his approach.
“I want them taken out quietly,” Blade said as he crouched near Hickok.
“You got it. Mind if I borrow one of your knives?”
Blade raised his right pants leg. A stiletto was strapped to his calf below the knee. Another stiletto was secured to his left leg. He gripped the hilt and handed the weapon to Hickok.
“Thanks, pard,” Hickok whispered. “I hope you won’t fuss if I get it bloody.”
“Be my guest.”
Further conversation was terminated by the appearance of headlights coming around the curve.
Blade recognized the vehicle as a jeep, alleviating his concern it might be civilians. Traffic in this area was sparse, almost all of it comprised of military conveyances. Jeeps were exclusively used by the Army of the Civilized Zone. The garrison commander had undoubtedly sent a patrol to check on the missing work detail.
The jeep was traveling at a sedate speed, not more than 30 miles an hour, when the lights illuminated Bertha’s prone form. The driver promptly slowed to a crawl.
Bertha didn’t move a muscle.
The jeep drew to a stop about eight feet from Bertha. A door on the passenger side slowly opened and a soldier cautiously stepped out, his M-16 at the ready. He carefully walked to Bertha and nudged her with his right foot.
Bertha lay still.
Two more soldiers emerged from the jeep, one of them the driver. They also carried M-16s.
The first trooper, a sergeant, put the barrel of his M-16 on Bertha’s head. With his right hand on the trigger, he used his left to reach down and touch her cheek.
“Is she dead?” one of the others asked.
The sergeant straightened. “I don’t think so.”
Blade hesitated in making his move, hoping the troopers would spread out a bit more or turn their bodies in another direction. As it was, the three were practically facing the boulders.
“I think she’s faking it,” the sergeant was saying. “Look at the uniform she’s wearing.”
Damn!
Blade mentally lambasted his stupidity. Bertha was wearing a trooper’s uniform! Why hadn’t he thought of it before he had her lie down? Did they have female troopers in the Army?
Damn!
“If you don’t open your eyes right this instant,” the sergeant stated harshly, “I’m going to add another hole to your head.”
Bertha opened her eyes and rolled over. She grinned at the sergeant.
“Hi, there! Thanks for waking me from my nap.”
“Cut the crap, bitch,” the sergeant rejoined. “I happen to know for a fact that women aren’t stationed at outposts like Catlow. So where did you come from? And how did you get out here in the middle of nowhere?
Where’d you get that uniform?”
“My, ain’t you a bundle of questions,” Bertha said.
The sergeant jammed the barrel of the M-16 against her right breast. “I want answers, and I want them now.”
Blade detected a motion out of his left eye.
Hickok was moving to the right, crouched over, heading for the highway.
What did he think he was doing?
“I’m going to count to ten,” the sergeant told Bertha. “If you haven’t told me what I want to know by then, I’m going to ram this thing up your snatch and let you have it.”
Bertha, incredibly, smiled. “Ohhh, how kinky! I love it!”
“One,” the sergeant began.
“You sure are friendly to strangers in these parts,” Bertha quipped.
“Two.”
Blade had lost sight of Hickok. What the hell was the gunman up to now?
“Three.”
Bertha went to rise, but the sergeant shoved her down.
“Four,” he said.
“Ain’t I gonna get a last request?” Bertha demanded.
“Five.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a one-track mind?” Bertha asked.
“Six.”
Bertha glanced at the other soldiers. “Are you just gonna stand there and let him blow me away? Didn’t your momma ever tell you it ain’t polite to waste a lady?”
“Seven.”
“Seven always has been my lucky number,” interposed a new voice.
The three soldiers looked up, elevating their weapons, covering the interloper.
Hickok was nonchalantly standing in the very middle of the highway, not 15 feet from the troopers, his thumbs carelessly hooked in his gunbelt.
He began walking casually to his left, to the far side of the road, forcing the soldiers to pivot and follow his movement, compelling them to turn their backs to the near side of the road and the boulders. “Howdy, neighbors,” he said politely. “I think the lady might have a point. You guys sure don’t know how to impress a woman, do you?”
“Who the hell are you?” the sergeant demanded, flabbergasted at his audacity.
“Would you believe Little Bo Peep?” Hickok responded, still moving.
“Hold it!” the sergeant growled. “Another step and you’re history!”
Hickok stopped, his hands dropping to his sides.
“Are you with her?” the sergeant snapped.
“I got better taste than that,” Bertha interjected.
“Shut up!” the sergeant shouted at her. “You!” he bellowed at the gunman. “Unbuckle that belt!”
“What? My pants will fall down. Do you want me to expose my knobby knees to the world?” Hickok asked.