“What the…!” Geronimo declared.
Blade fell onto the ground, his powerful legs braced for the impact, and stumbled a few feet before he caught himself. “The vines won’t hold,” he informed them.
“No foolin’,” Hickok said, rising to his knees. “You could have yelled or something. We were almost squished into pancakes.”
“Sorry. It all happened so fast.”
Geronimo stood. “No harm done.”
The giant regarded the window, scowling, and walked to the right.
“We’ll keep searching until we find a way in.”
“And what if we don’t?” Geronimo inquired.
“Then I vote we stay here overnight and try again in the morning.”
The gunman snickered. “Now you want to have a democracy, huh?”
“What do you guys say?”
“If you want to stay, it’s fine with me,” Geronimo said.
“Good,” Blade stated. “I’d really like to get to the bottom of this.”
“Where you guys go, I go,” Hickok said. “Count me in.”
They rounded the southeast corner, passing a compact jumble of vines, and worked their way back to the front entrance without discovering a means of getting in.
“Now what?” Hickok asked.
“We’ll patrol the ground, then make camp,” Blade answered.
“I have a better idea. There are a lot of big trees in these woods. Why don’t we chop one down and use it as a battering ram?” the gunfighter submitted.
“How many times must I tell you that we’re not going to damage the property?”
“Listen to you. You’re the one who said we shouldn’t go bargin’ in on them, and yet you were all set to climb up to a window just because you saw a pretty woman.”
“I have no way of knowing whether she was pretty or not,” Blade responded.
“Listen,” Geronimo interrupted.
“What is it?”
“The little plane.”
Sure enough, Blade heard the unmistakable buzzing of the tiny aircraft and peered skyward to observe it flying in a wide circle above the castle.
“A woman in white, some horse’s butt who likes to laugh to himself, tombs decorated with space cadets who fought bulls for a living, and a midget plane.” Hickok listed their finds. “This is too weird for words.”
“It beats fishing in the moat,” Blade said. “Besides, look at the bright side. Except for the mutates, we haven’t been in any danger.”
“There’s plenty of daylight left, pard.”
Blade headed toward the trees, intending to prowl the area, and was halfway there when the buzzing grew in volume. He gazed upward and saw the plane sweeping toward him. Amused rather than disturbed, he watched the craft dive closer and closer, puzzled by its performance. What purpose did it serve? Was someone foolishly attempting to drive them off using such a toy?
“Can I plug that contraption?” Hickok requested. “It annoys me.”
“No.”
Geronimo raised his hand over his eyes and squinted. “What are those small things attached to the bottom of its wings?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Blade said, as he saw the aircraft arc into the heavens again. As it did, a small spherical object dropped from the right wing directly toward them. Blade’s intuition flared, and he gave his friends a shove. “Into the forest! Move!”
Confused, Geronimo and Hickok nonetheless trusted the giant’s judgment enough to obey him instantly and without question. They darted to the northwest.
Blade raced on their heels, his gray eyes glued to the spherical object.
When it was 15 feet from the soil, he threw himself to the ground and bellowed, “Get down!”
Again the pair complied, and not a moment too soon. For when they hit the ground, a blast with the force of a quarter-stick of dynamite rent the air and rocked the ground, sending a shower of dirt upward like an erupting geyser.
Blade was on his feet and running for the trees before the thunderous detonation died away. Clods of earth rained onto his head and shoulders.
He glanced around for Hickok and Geronimo, but both were lost in the grimy cloud.
The miniature plane droned somewhere overhead.
Unslinging the rifle, Blade gazed upward, hoping for a shot. He emerged from the dust into the bright light, spied the aircraft off to the right, and snapped the stock to his shoulder.
Its wings tilting, the plane abruptly banked and flew toward the castle.
Blade tracked the craft, tempted to try even though the odds of hitting it were miniscule. In frustration he lowered the Marlin just as two hacking forms hurtled into the open.
“Where’s the plane?” Hickok asked, his hands on the Colts.
“That way,” Blade disclosed, pointing. “Follow me.” Wheeling, he jogged into the woods and took shelter behind a trunk.
“What the dickens did that thing drop?” the gunfighter asked, halting next to an oak.
“A bomb of some sort,” Geronimo said.
“A couple of feet difference and we would have been goners.”
“I had no idea planes that size could do such a thing,” Blade observed.
“How did it know exactly when to release the bomb?”
“Someone must be controlling it,” Geronimo said.
“Whoever it is, they’re worm food when I catch up with them,” Hickok vowed.
Blade didn’t argue. Whoever lived in the castle clearly wanted them dead. By all rights he should hasten to the Home and report the incident to Attila. But he was a Warrior now, and it wasn’t fitting for a Warrior to let someone else do his fighting. If he wanted to be worthy of the distinction bestowed on him by the Elders, he must prove their judgment to be sound.
Then there was another angle to consider. If the three of them departed, whoever lived in the castle would be free to conduct unwarranted attacks on others who might wander by. Because of the castle’s remote location, such a likelihood was remote. He couldn’t ignore the possibility, though, and still uphold his pledge to safeguard human lives.
“So what now, fearless leader?” Hickok inquired.
“We carry on as planned,” Blade proposed. “First we’ll scour the area, then make camp for the night far enough away to be safe.”
“How far is that?” Geronimo asked. Lacking a definite answer, Blade straightened and moved to the west, conducting a search of the forest. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he knew he’d recognize it when he saw it. When he bisected a well-worn trail, he nodded in satisfaction.
There were many prints in the soft soil. “What do you make of these tracks, Geronimo?”
Again the Blackfoot youth examined the ground. “It’s the same as before. Lots of footprints, most naked, indicating regular, daily travel.” He paused. “Something else also uses this trail.”
“An animal?”
“If it is, it’s unlike any animal I know of. I’d say these belong to a mutation.”
Blade stepped over to inspect the tracks in question, and one look sufficed to prove Geronimo correct. The tracks were immense, 15 inches long and five wide, and were further distinguished by having only three large, oval toes. From their depth in the soil, the creature must be extremely large.
“Imagine the size of that sucker,” Hickok said.
“Let’s hope we don’t run into it,” Blade commented.
“Makes no nevermind to me,” the gunman responded. “I can always use a little target practice.”
Turning to the left, Blade stuck with the trail, curious about where it might lead. He wasn’t curious long. In no time at all the trail brought them to the edge of the yard, but from the west. He stayed in the trees and stared at the mausoleums, reflecting on their possible significance.
To the north, faint but distinct, was the buzzing of the tiny plane.