“It means,” Blade told him, his voice low and gravely, “you’d better not touch me again.”
“Oh?” The black smiled, his dark eyes twinkling in his handsome face.
“Is that so?” He drove his finger into Blade’s chest again. “What’s going to happen if I do, white boy?” And again. “You aim to do somethin’ about it?”
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
Blade’s right hand streaked upward and clamped on the black’s neck.
The black reacted instantly, swinging his right fist at the Warrior’s head.
Blade ducked under the blow and slammed his left hand into the black’s crotch, gripping with all of his strength and heaving, lifting the man completely over his head.
The black was struggling and gasping, striving to break the Warrior’s hold on his throat and groin.
The people in front of them suddenly backed away, pushing those behind them and eliciting curses in response.
Geronimo casually crossed his arms and smiled up at the black. “If I were you, friend, I’d apologize to Blade here before he gets mad. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to get him mad.”
“Did you say his name is Blade?” asked someone in the crowd. A man parted the front row and advanced toward them. He had an air of authority about him. His hair was brown, his eyes blue, his white skin tanned brown, and he was wearing a torn green shirt and beige pants. His black boots sported holes in their tips. He stared into Blade’s eyes. “Is your name Blade?”
Blade simply nodded.
The man looked over his right shoulder at the people behind him.
“These two aren’t spies. This one is Blade, Hickok’s friend.”
The crowd immediately started muttering and whispering.
“Blade?”
“He’s a buddy of Hickok’s!”
“But where is Hickok?”
The spokesman glanced up at the wheezing black. “I think you can let Bear down now. He’s afraid of heights, you know.” The white man grinned.
“Bear?” Blade repeated. He lowered the black to the ground. “The one Hickok installed as leader of the Porns?”
“One and the same,” said the spokesman.
Bear was doubled over, endeavoring to catch his breath and rubbing his tender throat.
“Who are you?” Geronimo asked the other man.
“I’m Zahner,” he replied, offering his right hand.
“The head of the Nomads,” Geronimo stated as he shook hands.
“Hickok told us all about you.”
“And you must be Geronimo,” Zahner reasoned. “Yes, Hickok mentioned you two a lot. But…” He paused, studying the Warriors. “Don’t take this wrong, but why aren’t you dead? Hickok left us with the impression you’d been killed by the Wacks.”
“He thought we were dead,” Blade confirmed. “We’ll tell you the whole story later. Right now, we have more important matters to discuss.” He placed his right hand on the black’s left shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Bear slowly straightened. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice a bit raspy. “Is Hickok with you?”
“He was,” Geronimo answered, “but he tried to gouge a hole in the road with his head and we haven’t seen him since.”
“Say what?” Bear said, perplexed.
Blade abruptly realized they had an audience; Captain Rice and four troopers were standing just outside the barbed wire enclosure, listening to their every word. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked Zahner.
Zahner nodded, understanding. “Follow me. There’s someone I think you’d like to see.”
The prisoners parted as the four men moved through the throng, knowledge of the Warriors’ entrance into the stockade having already been rapidly spread by word of mouth. Zahner was apparently seeking someone. He continually scanned the crowd until they were nearly in the middle of the stockade.
“There she is!” Zahner stated. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Yo! Woman! Get your big boobs over here!”
Blade and Geronimo gazed in the general direction Zahner was facing, and Blade spotted her first. A broad smile creased his features and he surged forward, his arms outspread.
There was a squeal of sheer delight and a woman hurtled through the press of people and leaped into Blade’s arms. “Blade! Blade! You big dummy! You made it back!” She gripped him by the hair and planted a moist kiss on his lips. “You made it!”
“Bertha,” Blade said softly.
Bertha was giggling, deliriously happy. Her thick, curly black hair glistened in the sunlight. Her skin was a dusky shade, not from prolonged exposure to the sun but because one of her parents had been white and the other black. Her amply endowed figure was covered with a grimy yellow shirt made from an old sheet and fatigue pants confiscated from soldiers in Thief River Falls months before. “It’s so good to see you again!”
“And you,” Blade told her. “But aren’t you forgetting someone?” He nodded at Geronimo.
“Geronimo!” Bertha screeched.
Geronimo opened his arms to embrace her and was almost bowled over by the impact.
“You too!” Bertha elated. “I knew you’d come back, no matter what the others said. I just knew it!” She released Geronimo and looked around.
“Where’s White Meat?”
“He escaped on the way here,” Geronimo revealed. “He’ll show up sooner or later.”
“Is he okay?” Bertha inquired, her agitation and concern transparent.
“Was he hurt? How’s he been? What’s he been up to since I saw him last?
Tell me everything!”
Geronimo glanced at Blade, both knowing they were thinking similar thoughts: should they tell Bertha Hickok was married to another woman?
Independently they reached concurring conclusions; Hickok got himself into this mess, Hickok could get himself out.
“Hickok is fine,” Blade stated. “Why not let him tell you what he’s been up to when you see him?”
“I can’t wait,” Bertha said enthusiastically.
“He’s all we’ve heard about for the past two months,” Bear grumbled.
“Hickok this and Hickok that! It was enough to drive you nuts!”
Bertha jerked her left thumb toward Bear. “Don’t listen to Mr. Mouth! He’s just jealous because I told him I wouldn’t be his lady, that I was Hickok’s and Hickok’s alone.”
Blade mentally constrained his emotions to avoid displaying any surprise. “You don’t say?”
“Yep. I figured it all out,” Bertha said proudly.
“Figured what out?” Geronimo questioned her.
“Well, the last time I saw White Meat he was actin’ real weird and I couldn’t figure out why,” Bertha explained.
“Acting weird, for Hickok, is normal,” Geronimo quipped.
Bertha ignored him. “I finally figured out that Hickok must of thought Bear and I were an item. That’s why he acted the way he did. Wait until he finds out Bear and I are just good buddies and nothin’ more! Won’t he be surprised!”
“That’s an understatement,” Geronimo said.
“I can hardly wait to see him again,” Bertha said with yearning.
Geronimo leaned toward Blade. “I just hope I’m around when those two meet! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
“You planning to take notes?” Blade joked.
“Now there’s an idea!” Geronimo agreed. “Why didn’t I think of it? I’ll take notes and give them to Hickok’s you-know-what after we return to the Home.”
“Let me know what type of flowers you’d prefer at your funeral,” Blade courteously commented.
“What are you two yappin’ about?” Bertha wanted to know. She’d been preoccupied with memories of her adored gunfighter: the first time she’d seen him, when he’d rescued her from the soldiers stationed in Thief River Falls; their constant bickering and his restrained affection; and the sight of him in action against the troopers, his Colts pitted against their sophisticated weaponry. Lordy, that boy could shoot!