Geronimo realized he’d never reach his foe before he managed to draw his pistol. The Arminius was empty, so there was only one thing to do.
He threw the tomahawk.
Rory was already bringing the pistol up.
All action seemed to revert to slow motion, as Geronimo watched the tomahawk flip end over end. He plainly saw the sweat on Rory’s strained face; he could see the stark fear in Rory’s wide eyes as he pointed the pistol; he observed, as if from a distance, the keen edge of the tomahawk bite into Rory’s forehead, splitting the skin and penetrating the bone, crimson spurting over Rory’s face, blood covering his eyes, as Rory’s head jerked backwards from the impact.
The pistol discharged, the shot plowing into the ground at Geronimo’s feet, and suddenly the world was operating at normal speed again.
Rory opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out except for a dribble of red over the right corner. He gasped, a vastly protracted sound, seemingly striving to inhale all the air in the atmosphere. Then his entire form quivered violently for several seconds before falling to one side. He landed on his left shoulder, rolled slightly forward, and lay still.
Dead.
Geronimo sighed and wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his right hand. He felt so weary, so tired of all the conflict. All he wanted was to get to the Home, to see those he loved, to relax and enjoy life again.
What was that noise?
The horsemen were giving him a thunderous ovation.
Geronimo slowly walked to Rory’s body. He bent over, placed his right hand on the tomahawk handle, and pulled. There was a sucking sound and the blade popped free of the forehead, dripping blood on Geronimo’s pants.
Footsteps pounded on the ground behind him and arms encircled his waist.
“You did it! You’re alive!”
“How about letting me turn around?” he proposed.
She released her hold on him, and he twisted and smiled, delighted at the affection reflected in her admiring eyes.
“I thought I’d have a heart attack!” Cynthia exclaimed.
“You?” Geronimo laughed. “I did have one!”
“You did all right,” stated the deep voice of Kilrane.
Geronimo glanced around.
Kilrane, Boone, and Hamlin were standing behind him, Hamlin gaping at Rory’s body.
“I never would of believed it!” Hamlin said in awe. “If I hadn’t of seen it with my own eyes, I’d never believe it was possible!”
“Remember the technique in case you’re ever in a lance duel,” Geronimo suggested.
“I’ll remember it, all right,” Hamlin promised. “It’s something I’ll tell my grandkids about.”
“How’s your side?” Boone inquired.
Geronimo looked down, surprised to observe a rip in his green shirt and blood trickling over his pants.
“You’re hurt!” Cynthia cried.
“Just a scratch,” Geronimo remarked.
“You let me be the judge of that,” Cynthia said. “Sit down,” she ordered him.
Geronimo complied, grinning.
Cynthia looked at Kilrane. “Can you get me some cloth and a canteen?”
“You got it.” Kilrane strode toward the horsemen.
“Take your shirt off,” Cynthia directed, crouching next to Geronimo.
“You seem to enjoy bossing me around,” Geronimo observed wryly.
Cynthia stared fondly into his eyes. “You better get used to it.”
“I’ll try.”
Boone stepped closer. “I’ve never seen anyone use a hatchet like you.”
Geronimo held the tomahawk aloft. “It’s not a hatchet,” he informed Boone. “It’s called a tomahawk.”
“You reckon you could teach me how to toss that thing sometime?”
Boone asked. “A talent like that could come in mighty handy.”
“Whenever you want,” Geronimo told him.
“Well, it sure isn’t going to be right this minute,” Cynthia let them know. “He’s not tossing anything for a while. Not until he heals.”
Boone winked at Geronimo. “Ain’t true love wonderful?”
Cynthia smacked Boone on the left shin. “Don’t you have something else you can do besides bother an injured man?”
“I can take a hint,” Boone stated, smiling. He nodded at Geronimo and departed, just as Kilrane arrived with a canteen and a blanket. Hamlin waved and strolled off too.
“Here,” Kilrane said, offering the items to Cynthia. “You can cut the blanket into strips if need be.”
“Thank you,” Cynthia responded as she took the blanket and the canteen. “Now why don’t you run off and water your horse or something?”
Kilrane grinned. “Will do. But first I have something to say to Geronimo.”
“It’s not necessary,” Geronimo informed him.
“Yes, it is. By taking care of Rory for me, you’ve evened up the score.
You’ve also given my people a new lease on life, for which I can’t thank you enough. We’ll be able to unite the two factions again, and it will be just like in the old days. The Cavalry rides again!”
“I’m glad I could help,” Geronimo mentioned.
“You’re pretty anxious to get home, aren’t you?” Kilrane asked.
Geronimo nodded.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do. I’m going to dispatch riders to Pierre. If they ride all night, and borrow mounts as they need them from the farms and ranches they’ll pass along the way, they should deliver my message to Rolf sometime tomorrow. I’ll tell him to come to Redfield on the double. The election won’t take that long, and once that’s over I’ll get you to your family safe and sound. Okay by you?” Kilrane concluded.
Geronimo glanced at Cynthia and she nodded.
“If it’s not an imposition,” Geronimo said, “there is one more thing you could do for me.”
“True friends will do anything for each other,” Kilrane stated. “What do you need?”
“I need you to send out some riders,” Geronimo revealed.
“Where to? Your family?”
“No.” Geronimo looked at Cynthia. “You tell him.”
So she did.
Kilrane smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Hot damn! Are we gonna have one whopper of a wingding! I may have a hangover for a week!”
“Me too,” Geronimo commented.
“Over my dead body,” Cynthia vowed.
“Oh. Why not?”
“Because you’ll be too busy doing something else.”
Kilrane’s laughter filled the valley.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Can I tell you something, pard?”
“Of course.”
“You promise not to tell anyone?”
“I promise.”
“Are you sure you won’t tell anyone?”
Blade sighed. “Nathan, if you’re that worried about it, then don’t tell me.”
Hickok was nervously rubbing his hands together. “But I’ve got to tell someone.”
“Then tell me.”
Hickok scanned their immediate vicinity to insure they were alone. The two Warriors were standing near one of the few trees in the commons area, attired in their best clothes. Hickok wore a new set of buckskins and new moccasins, his Pythons were polished, the pearl handles gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, and his hair was neatly combed. Blade wore clean fatigue pants confiscated from the Watchers, a white shirt stitched together from the remnants of an old sheet, and his black vest. His Bowies were strapped around his waist.
The Family was assembled twenty yards from the Warriors, every member wearing their finest clothes. Omega Triad was on duty on the walls, but Spartacus and Seiko were temporarily relieved from guarding the prisoners for this special occasion after first binding the two soldiers and Ferret with so many loops of rope only their faces and feet were visible.
“Don’t let this get around,” Hickok said quietly, “but for the first time in my entire life, the very first time, I am so scared I could pee my pants!”