“No,” iM-97 answered. “The craft was serviced by the technicians before our departure.”
“They may have miscalibrated,” AS-1 stated. “Concentrate on Blade and Hickok. We must monitor them and wait for Hickok to leave, or for them to separate.”
“And then we pounce?” OV-3 interjected.
“And then we pounce,” AS-1 affirmed.
Chapter Two
Blade circled to the west, his black leather vest and green fatigue pants blending into the inky vegetation. His Bowies snuggled in their sheaths, one on each broad hip. The night air was cool, and there was a faint breeze from the west. His massive muscles rippled as he skirted a tree and reached a low rise. He crouched, grinning. The longer he took, the more irritated Hickok would become, and he needed an edge if he was to beat the gunman the third time around. The exercise was simple, yet markedly effective. One of the Warriors, in this case Hickok, acted as if he was on guard duty, standing or strolling in the open, alert for any attack. Blade’s task was to sneak up on the gunfighter undetected. If he succeeded, he won. If Hickok heard him or spotted him, the gunman would win.
Seemingly childish, the maneuver served to sharpen their senses. It was one of many exercises designed to keep all of the Warriors at peak effeciency. In addition to comprehensive weaponry training and advanced instruction in the martial arts, every Warrior was required to cultivate skill in the use of stealth and night combat.
The sky was a panorama of celestial lights.
Blade idly glanced up, marveling at the heavenly vista, at the magnitude of creation. He was thankful the night was moonless. It was hard enough to catch the gunman unawares as it was. A large dark cloud was floating far overhead, blotting out a cluster of stars.
Someone began whistling.
Blade flattened. He could hear someone clumping through the woods toward him. Three guesses who it was. But why, he asked himself, was Hickok making so much noise? It sounded as if the gunman was deliberately stepping on every twig and brushing against every bush in his path! What was Hickok up to now? Was the gunfighter so eager to get back to his cabin, he was intentionally making it easy for Blade to win? Or was there an ulterior motive? Blade chuckled. You could never tell with Hickok. And Blade wouldn’t have it any other way. Hickok’s unpredictability was a valuable asset, contributing to his sterling record as a Warrior, and had saved his life and benefited the Family in many a critical situation.
Hickok was slowly ambling to the northwest, whistling “Home on the Range.”
Blade crawled behind a log, then cautiously raised his eyes above the top.
Hickok was 20 yards away, his buckskin-clad form a light patch against the dark background of the forest.
Blade’s eyes narrowed. The gunman would pass ten yards from his position, and was coming around the far side of the low rise. Blade’s fingers probed the ground around him, and his left hand closed on a jagged piece of stone. He swept his hand up and back, and hurled the stone in a wide arc, over the low rise, over the advancing gunman and into the trees beyond.
There was a muffled crackling and thumping as the stone crashed through the leaves and bounced from limb to limb.
Hickok stopped and spun, facing the forest, his back to the rise.
Blade was up and running, his powerful legs churning, sprinting up the rise and reaching the top in four mighty strides. He launched himself into the air, his muscular arms outstretched, certain of victory. But even as his moccasined feet left the ground, he saw Hickok starting to turn, saw the gunman’s right hand flashing toward his right Python. Hickok wore a matched pair of pearl-handled Colts strapped around his waist, and his prowess with the irons was legendary.
Hickok almost won.
The right Python was just clearing leather when Blade tackled his friend, his arms encircling the gunman and pinning Hickok’s forearms, the force of his leap bearing them to the dank earth. He landed on top, astraddle the gunman.
Surprisingly, Hickok was taking his defeat calmly. He was on his left side, neither protesting nor squirming.
“Looks like I won this round,” Blade commented, smirking.
“I don’t know about that, pard,” Hickok responded. “I think this is a draw.”
“How do you figure?” Blade asked.
“Let me put it to you this way,” Hickok said. “How do you feel about partin’ with your family jewels?”
Blade glanced down.
Somehow, even as he fell, even with his arms pinned, Hickok had twisted his right hand, had angled the Python barrel around and in, the .357 Magnum pointing directly at Blade’s gonads.
“I wouldn’t sneeze if I were you,” Hickok joked. “My hardware has a hair trigger.”
Blade stood, smiling. “Not bad. But I still beat you to the punch. You fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book.”
Hickok rose, holstering his right Colt. “Let me guess. You tossed a rock into the trees?”
“You got it,” Blade said.
Hickok shrugged. “Well, you win some, you lose some. That’s life.”
“I never would have won,” Blade stated, “if you hadn’t cheated.”
Hickok stared at his giant companion. “Let me get this straight. You won, and I cheated?”
“Don’t play innocent with me,” Blade said. “You were making enough noise to wake the dead. You wanted me to win. You wanted to get this over with so you can get home.”
Hickok grinned sheepishly. “I figured if I made enough noise, you’d get overconfident, get careless, and do something stupid.”
“I don’t buy it,” Blade told him.
“You don’t?” Hickok responded. “Why not?”
“How long have I known you?” Blade queried.
Hickok frowned. “It’s bad enough bein’ second-guessed by my missus all the time! Don’t you start too!”
Blade smiled. “Being outfoxed by your better half is normal in any marriage.”
“Don’t I know it!” Hickok exclaimed. “They’re tricky, them female types! Before you tie the knot, they act so sweet and innocent. But after you’re hitched, watch out! If you ask me, women make better drillmasters than men!”
Blade nodded. “Tell you what. Let’s head on back. We can finish this tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?” Hickok responded in surprise. “Why are we comin’ out here tomorrow night?”
“To make up for your lack of cooperation tonight,” Blade informed him, grinning.
“You mean just ’cause I fudged a mite on one of the drills, we’re goin’ to do it all over again tomorrow night?” Hickok asked.
“You catch on real quick.” Blade turned, walking to the northwest.
Hickok fell in alongside the head Warrior, grumbling.
“What did you say?” Blade asked.
The gunfighter glanced at Blade. “You are gettin’ worse than my wife! You’re turnin’ into a real hardass.”
“You think so?” Blade questioned.
“I know so!” Hickok stated. “And I ain’t the only one who’s noticed either. Geronimo, Rikki, and a few of the others have commented about it.”
Now it was Blade’s turn to display surprise. “You’re serious?”
“You bet I am,” Hickok said, looping his thumbs in his gunbelt. “You’ve changed, pard. I don’t rightly know how best to describe it. You’re more hard-nosed than before. Don’t get me wrong. You were never exactly Little Bo Peep. But you changed after that business in Colorado. At least, you started to change. Everybody saw it. And it was confirmed on the last run you took, the one with Sundance and Bertha to Philadelphia.”
“The trip to Philadelphia wasn’t any different than any of the missions we’ve been on together,” Blade said.