“I’ll take it off the line,” Geronimo offered.
“There’s a better way,” Hickok said.
“There is?”
“Yep.”
Geronimo saw the gunman’s jaw stiffen and knew what was coming. He stuck a finger in each ear.
“Cover your ears too, son,” Hickok directed.
“What about my fishing pole?”
“Give it to me,” Hickok said, and took the handle in his left hand. He looked back once at Blade, who was still 20 yards distant, then faced the moat and chuckled. “This is for Blade’s dad,” he declared, and drew his right Python, his arm a literal blur, his practiced hand sweeping the Colt up and out. The .357 Magnum boomed three times in swift succession, the shots almost cracking as one, and with each squeeze of the trigger a snake head erupted in a shower of skin, flesh, and eyeballs. In the space of a heartbeat all three heads were gone and the body was sliding back into the moat. “Piece of cake,” he stated, and twirled the Python into its holster.
“Wow! You must be the fastest man alive!” Ringo said proudly.
“Is there any doubt?” Hickok replied.
“Not bad for an amateur,” Geronimo remarked, lowering his arms and standing, his left hand brushing the tomahawk tucked under his brown leather belt.
“Amateur!” Hickok said, and snorted. “I’d like to see you give it a try.”
“I can’t. You shot all the heads.”
“Can I have my pole?” Ringo asked, staring at the fish still attached to the hook. Part of its stomach was missing.
“Sure. Here,” Hickok responded, and gave the pole back. He hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt, turned sideways, and beamed at the approaching giant.
“Do you think he has another mission for us?” Geronimo wondered.
“I hope so. I’m itchy for some action.”
“The itching is from your fleas.”
“Are you going to leave the Home again?” Ringo inquired while reeling in the line.
“I don’t know,” Hickok said. “Could be.”
“Mom, Chastity, and I don’t like it when you go away so much.”
“I know, son. But it can’t be helped. I’m a Warrior, and when the Family is threatened I have to protect everyone.”
“Maybe another Warrior could go with Uncle Blade,” Ringo suggested.
“How about Rikki or Yama or Ares or Sundance?”
“The decision is up to Blade,” Hickok said. “You know that.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about your dad leaving right this moment,” Geronimo mentioned.
“Why not?” Ringo inquired.
“Because Blade is smiling.”
The giant waved at them and nodded at the moat. “What are you doing, Nathan? Shooting the fish now?”
“Everybody is a comedian lately,” Hickok grumbled, and returned the wave. “Nope. Just gettin’ in a little target practice.”
Blade reached them and halted. Every inch of his enormous frame was packed with layer after layer of rippling, bulging muscle. His dark hair hung in a comma over his gray eyes. A black leather vest barely covered his massive chest, and he also wore green fatigue pants, combat boots, and a pair of Bowie knives strapped about his slim middle. He gazed at the fish suspended from the end of Ringo’s tine, noting the hole caused by one of Hickok’s slugs, and saw entrails hanging from the cavity. “Is this a new technique for gutting a fish?”
“I was target-practicing and accidentally hit the fish,” Hickok said.
The giant glanced at the gunman. “You’ve never accidentally hit anything in your life.”
Hickok shrugged. “It happens.”
“Are you taking my daddy away from the Home again?” Ringo asked.
“Nope,” Blade replied. “I just came over to shoot the breeze.”
“Good. Mommy said the next time you take him away without giving her warning, she’s going to kick your butt.”
Blade smiled. “She did, did she?”
“Yep,” Ringo replied, nodding.
“She’ll have to wait her turn,” Blade stated. “My wife has first dibs on kicking my butt.”
“Gee. Does Aunt Jenny pick on you like my mom picks on my dad?”
“Your mother doesn’t pick on me,” Hickok interjected. “We just have a squabble every now and then when she can’t see the wisdom of my ways.”
Ringo stared at his father in evident confusion. “Do you squibble because Mommy usually knows best?”
Geronimo cackled.
“The word is squabble,” Hickok said, correcting his offspring. “And your mom doesn’t always know best. I’m right some of the time.”
“When, Dad?”
The gunman stared off into the distance, pondering.
“When?” Ringo persisted.
“I’m thinkin’.”
Geronimo continued to cackle.
“What’s so funny?” Ringo inquired.
“Ignore him,” Hickok said. “He has a corncob stuck up his butt.”
Ringo’s mouth dropped open and he gawked at Geronimo’s posterior.
“He does! Doesn’t that hurt?”
The gunman sighed and shook his head sadly. “Forget I even brought the subject up.”
“How did he get it up there?”
“Drop the subject,” Hickok said, and glanced at the fishing pole. “Why don’t you go show the fish you’ve caught to your mom.”
“But shouldn’t we take Uncle Geronimo to the Healers?” Ringo asked earnestly.
“Geronimo is just fine.”
“With a corncob up his butt?”
“That’s a figure of speech,” Hickok explained.
“A what?”
“Never mind. Now go show the fish to your mom.”
Ringo frowned and walked to the southwest. “Boy, you never tell me a thing,” he mumbled.
“I heard that. I’ll fill you in on figures of speech later,” Hickok promised.
“That’s okay. I’ll ask mom how Uncle Geronimo got the corncob up there,” Ringo said.
“No, don’t bother your mother,” Hickok said hastily.
“Why not?”
“She’s busy doing housework, and you know how crabby she can get when she’s cleanin’.”
“Mom’s never crabby. But I’ll let her know you think she is,” Ringo proposed.
“No!”
“See you later,” Ringo said, and gave a cheery little wave. The fishing pole over his left shoulder, he strolled toward the row of cabins situated in the middle of the 30-acre compound.
“Uh-oh. I’m in deep doo-doo,” Hickok commented.
“You’re always in deep doo-doo,” Blade concurred.
“I don’t know why these things happen to me all the time,” Hickok said.
Geronimo, whose fit of mirth was beginning to subside, snorted and pointed at the gunfighter. “I do.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why am I always stickin’ my foot in my mouth?”
“Because you’re an idiot.”
“Says you, you mangy cuss.”
The giant cleared his throat. “Are you two through?”
“What do you need, pard?” Hickok asked.
“I want to talk about Achilles.”
Geronimo abruptly sobered. “Him again?” The gunman rolled his eyes and sat down on the bank. “Boy, when it rains, it pours.”
CHAPTER TWO
Blade folded his steely arms across his huge chest and glanced from the gunfighter to the Blackfoot, the two best friends he had. “I didn’t expect you guys to react this way.”
“What do you want me to do? Leap for joy?” Hickok quipped.
“Haven’t we discussed the subject enough already?” Geronimo responded.
“This is a man’s life we’re talking about here.” Blade noted. “His future is at stake. How can you dismiss him so lightly?”
“Easy as pie,” Hickok said.
Geronimo turned and gazed out over the survivalist retreat. “We’re not dismissing him. It’s just that we think you’re making a mistake if you nominate Achilles to be a Warrior.”