“I bet you wouldn’t.” Watson beamed, relishing his verbal victory.
Hickok noted the friction between the two and filed it for future reference.
“So what’s your bright idea?” Goldman asked in an annoyed tone.
“See those bushes?” Watson pointed at a thick stand of tall bushes fifteen yards away, at the perimeter of the forest.
“Yeah. So?”
“So I take one of them over there at a time. They undress, I examine them, and they put their clothes back on. This way, we avoid bloodshed.”
Goldman snickered. “What a dumb idea!”
“Why?” Watson patiently inquired.
“What’s to stop them from taking off once they’re in the bushes?” Goldman demanded.
Watson frowned and sighed. “With the guards so close? How far do you think they would get? Besides,” he added, “I doubt one of them would run if you keep the other one here.”
Goldman stroked his hairy chin. “I guess you’re right. Go ahead. But you’re responsible.”
“Fine.” Watson faced Hickok and Sherry. “Which one of you wants to be first?”
“I’ll go,” Hickok volunteered. He smiled reassuringly at Sherry and followed Watson to the forest. They found a small open space in the center of the bushes, wide enough to accommodate two people and shielded from prying eyes in the clearing. “Turn your back,” Hickok directed.
Watson’s eyebrows raised, but he complied with the request.
Hickok quickly removed his clothes and the backups, hiding them in the pile of buckskins at his feet. “You can examine me now.”
Watson performed his examination in silence. As he replaced his instruments in the black bag, he glanced at Hickok. “I wish everyone in the Mound was as healthy as you are. There’s no evidence of malnutrition, a common malady these days. Except for a few bumps and bruises, and a lot of scars, you’re one of the fittest specimens I’ve ever seen.”
“You think I’m fit?” Hickok motioned for the physician to turn around.
“You should see a friend of mine named Blade. He has so many muscles, he makes me look like a ninety-eight-pound weakling.”
Watson, absently staring at the vegetation, shook his head. “I wish everyone here would follow the dietary advice and hygienics guidelines I’ve established. It would drastically reduce many of our health problems.”
Hickok, his eyes on Watson’s back, dressed, reattaching the Derringer and the C.O.P. and their respective holsters and leather straps. Satisfied the hideouts were safely concealed, he patted Watson on the right shoulder. “I’m ready.”
“Funny. I didn’t take you for the bashful type,” the Mole observed as they moved through the bushes to the clearing.
Hickok declined to comment, wondering if Watson’s suspicions were aroused.
Goldman was visibly relieved when they appeared. “Okay,” he barked at Sherry. “Get it over with.”
Hickok winked and grinned at Sherry as he passed her.
“Take a good look around,” Goldman gloated as Hickok stopped near Silvester. “It’s the last daylight you’re ever going to see!”
Chapter Twelve
In the middle of the afternoon, with the sun high overhead, she finally found him standing on the bank of the moat, all alone, in the southwestern corner of the Home. His long brown hair, the same shade as his eyes, was blowing in a stiff breeze. Although, at sixteen, he was two years her junior, since the death of their father he had adopted a paternal attitude toward her, an unexpected protectiveness and intense loyalty. She suspected the realization they were the last members of their family left alive had something to do with the change in his behavior.
“Hi, Tyson,” Cindy greeted him. “What are you doing?
Tyson, startled, glanced around until he saw her approaching from his rear. “Oh. Hi, Cindy. I didn’t hear you,” he said.
“I asked what you’re doing out here,” she repeated.
Tyson stared into her deep blue eyes. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” Cindy leaned against a tree and watched his face as he spoke, striving to detect signs of possible stress.
“About us,” Tyson responded.
“What about us?”
Tyson faced her, placing his hands into the pockets of his camouflage pants. The pants and the matching shirt he wore were gifts from Nadine, Plato’s wife. Both garments were worn and faded, but after Nadine had hemmed them and patched the holes and rips, repaired the frayed sections and completely cleaned them, they were almost as good as new and the best clothes Tyson had ever owned. He frowned as he gazed at the moat. “Are you happy here, Sis?”
“Of course I am,” Cindy affirmed. “What kind of dumb question is that to ask?”
“Are you sure?” Tyson pressed her. “I mean, is there anything about this place you don’t like? Would you like to leave the Home?”
“Leave the Home?” Cindy straightened, shocked by the query. “Be serious!”
“I am,” Tyson emphasized.
“Why would I want to leave the Home?” Cindy demanded. “The safest, happiest place we’ve ever been! Of course I want to stay right here, dummy!”
“Even with all the things that’ve happened to you?” Tyson inquired, his expression somber.
“What’s happened to me?” Cindy countered, perplexed by his conduct.
“You tell me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Cindy could tell something was really bothering him, eating at her brother’s insides. But what?
“Has anyone been bothering you?” Tyson asked, confronting her.
“Bothering me? In the Home?” Cindy shook her head. “Of course not.”
“These people aren’t the angels they like you to think they are,” Tyson said bitterly.
“The Family members are the nicest people we’ve ever run into, Ty,” Cindy said, disagreeing. “How can you make such a claim?”
“And you’re sure no one has been bothering you?” Tyson asked.
“No.” Cindy laughed, finding the suggestion ludicrous. The Family members were moral to a fault, and most of their energy was devoted to loving their Maker and one another as perfectly as possible. “Who would bother me?”
Tyson sighed and crouched, absently plucking blades of grass and tossing them aside.
“Answer me,” Cindy ordered him. “Who would bother me?”
“Drop it,” Tyson said. “I didn’t think you’d tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Exasperated, Cindy moved away from the tree and positioned herself directly in front of her brother, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “Tyson, I want you to tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Why should I?” Tyson snapped. “You won’t tell me who’s bothering you.”
“No one is bothering me!” Cindy exploded.
“He said you wouldn’t tell me,” Tyson muttered.
“Who said…” Cindy began, then stopped, insight dawning. “Was it Napoleon? Did he tell you something about me?”
“Napoleon is our friend,” Tyson stated.
“Tyson…” Cindy crouched and gently took his rough hands in hers. “I want you to listen closely to what I’m about to say. We are brother and sister, the last of our family. You know I love you and would never lie to you, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Tyson grudgingly admitted. “I guess so.”
“Then believe me when I tell you Napoleon isn’t our friend.”
Tyson went to protest, but Cindy quickly placed her left hand over his mouth.
“Don’t interrupt!” she directed. “Just listen. I overheard Napoleon plotting a rebellion. He mentioned your name. How do you fit into his scheme?”
“What do you mean, a rebellion?” Tyson asked after she removed her hand.