The Warrior called Sundance shrugged. “What did you want me to say?”
“Anything would’ve been nice,” Bertha remarked. “You sure ain’t the talkative type, are you?”
“Guess not,” Sundance responded in his low voice.
Bertha pointed at the Grizzlies. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask you. Are you any good with those pistols of yours?”
“Fair,” Sundance laconically answered.
“You as good as Hickok?” Bertha inquired.
“Maybe,” Sundance said.
Bertha threw back her head and laughed. She reached over and tapped Blade on the shoulder. “Did you hear this idiot? He thinks he’s as good as White Meat!” White Meat was her pet term for Hickok.
“I’ve seen Sundance practice,” Blade mentioned. “He’s real fast, Bertha.”
“Maybe so,” Bertha stated, “but there ain’t no way he could beat White Meat, and you know it.”
“That depends,” Blade said.
“On what?” Bertha retorted.
“On how you mean it,” Blade explained. “If you mean fast on the draw, then I’d have to agree with you. I’ve never seen anyone who can draw as fast as Hickok. But, on the other hand, if you mean fast in firing a gun, then Sundance might have the edge.”
“What?” Bertha said skeptically.
Blade nodded toward Sundance. “He uses automatic pistols, Bertha, Hickok prefers his Colt Pythons, and they’re revolvers.”
“So?” Bertha responded.
“So have you ever compared a pistol and a revolver?” Blade asked.
“No,” Bertha admitted.
“You should sometime,” Blade recommended. “We have a lot of books in the Family library on guns. Dozens and dozens of books, covering everything from bullet-making to replacing busted stocks. We know pistols and revolvers were popular before the Big Blast, and we also know there was considerable controversy over whether a pistol or a revolver could fire faster.”
“What do you think?” Bertha queried.
“I’m getting to that,” Blade said. “The experts debated the pros and cons of both types. Automatic pistols, as a rule, hold more rounds than a standard revolver. Sundance’s Grizzlies, for instance, hold seven rounds in the magazine, while Hickok’s Pythons usually hold five.”
“Five?” Bertha said, surprised. “But the cylinders in the Pythons can hold six bullets.”
“True,” Blade conceded, “but Hickok seldom keeps a round under the hammer. Most professionals don’t. Less chance of an accident that way.”
He paused. “The revolver is normally thicker and slightly bulkier than a pistol. But in reliability, when it comes to things like jamming and dud rounds, the revolver is considered superior. In the accuracy department, both are even when used by a skilled gunman. Revolvers can handle broader load ranges than most pistols, and that’s a plus.”
“But what about bein’ fast?” Bertha interrupted impatiently.
“I’m getting to that,” Blade reiterated. “When it comes to speed, you have to keep in mind the type of revolver we’re talking about. With a single-action revolver, you have to pull back the hammer before squeezing the trigger, and that definitely slows you down. Hickok’s Pythons, on the other hand, are double-action, meaning he can fire either way, by squeezing just the trigger or by pulling back the hammer and then shooting. Double-actions have an edge over single-actions in that respect.”
“But what about bein’ fast?” Bertha asked, sounding peeved.
“I’m getting to that,” Blade repeated again.
“This year or next?” Bertha rejoined.
Blade grinned. “In our last trade exchange with the Civilized Zone, we received two stopwatches.”
“Two what?” Bertha inquired.
“Stopwatches,” Blade said. “You know what a watch is, don’t you?”
“Of course!” Bertha stated. “Do you think I’m a dummy? I saw a lot of watches on the Watchers…” She stopped, then laughed. “Watches on the Watchers! Get it?”
Blade sighed. “I get it.”
“I know the Family didn’t use watches years ago,” Bertha mentioned.
“But I’ve seen a few around since you started tradin’ with the rest of the Freedom Federation. So what’s a stopwatch?”
“It can measure how fast someone moves,” Blade detailed.
“Really?”
“Really,” Blade affirmed. “And Geronimo used one to time Hickok, to see how fast Nathan could draw and fire five shots.”
“How did White Meat do?” Bertha asked him.
“Hickok drew and fired all five shots in his right Python in two-fifths of a second,” Blade answered.
“Is that fast?” Bertha asked.
“Let me put it to you this way,” Blade said. “If you’d blinked, you would have missed it.”
“That fast, huh?” Sundance interjected.
“Yep,” Blade confirmed.
Bertha smiled triumphantly. “So that means White Meat would beat Sundance’s cute butt no problem, right?”
“Not necessarily,” Blade said.
“Cute butt?” Sundance interjected again.
“Now what the hell does that mean?” Bertha demanded of Blade.
“Cute butt?” Sundance repeated.
“It means,” Blade said, “Hickok can draw his Pythons faster than Sundance can draw his Grizzlies.”
Bertha stuck her tongue out at Sundance.
“…but I don’t think Hickok can empty his guns faster than Sundance can empty his,” Blade concluded.
“What?” Bertha stated. “But you just said—”
“I wish you would listen to me,” Blade said, cutting her short. “Yes, Hickok is faster on the draw, but only by a fraction. And yes, his double-action revolvers are the equal of most pistols. But I’ve seen both men shoot, and I believe Sundance can empty his Grizzlies a teensy bit faster. Does that answer your question?”
“It doesn’t answer mine!” Lieutenant Lysenko snapped.
Blade turned in his seat. “You have a question?”
“Yes!” Lysenko snapped. “When the hell are you going to turn off the overhead light and let me sleep in peace and quiet? All this babble is extremely annoying!”
Bertha looked at Blade. “Please let me bop him in the head!”
“We need him,” Blade told her.
“Need me?” Lysenko said. “For what? You won’t get any more information out of me, not after the way you tricked me. I don’t see why you brought me along!”
“Consider yourself our tour guide,” Blade commented.
“You made the biggest mistake of your life when you screwed me over,” Lysenko warned.
“Oh!” Bertha exclaimed. “Somebody catch me! I think I’m goin’ to faint from fright!” She tittered.
“Have your fun while you can,” Lysenko said. “What goes around, comes around.”
“Blade,” Sundance said.
“Yeah?”
“Can anyone see inside when the overhead light is on?” Sundance inquired, staring out his side of the SEAL.
“No. No one can see inside, no matter what. Why?” Blade replied.
Sundance motioned with his head. “Because we have company.”
Blade stared into the night. “Where?”
“At the edge of trees. Keep your eyes peeled,” Sundance said. “You’ll see them moving from trunk to trunk.”
Although he knew they were invisible inside the transport, Blade reached up and switched off the overhead light anyway. If they had to open the doors, the light would reveal them to any foes outside. He scanned the row of trees on his side of the transport. The SEAL was parked on the shoulder of U.S. Highway 65 two miles south of Mason City.