The Fox Run

Chapter Twenty-One

“I still don’t think your friend was too bright,” Clyde asserted testily.

“Only a dummy would go into Fox alone.”

“Like I told you before, old-timer,” Hickok replied, “my pard can take care of himself.”

They were waiting at the SEAL: Hickok leaning against the transport, Clyde squatting against a nearby tree, Tyson and Cindy on the ground at his side, and Geronimo on the roof of the vehicle, keeping his eyes and ears peeled for trouble. Joan was asleep inside.

“Don’t you think he should have returned by now?” Cindy asked.

Hickok shrugged. “He’ll take as long as needs be,” he told the girl.

Inwardly, he was uneasy and worried. Blade’s plan, initially, had sounded okay; he would find a way to sneak into Fox, ascertain the location where the women were being confined, and return. Later, under cover of darkness, they would stealthily enter Fox and free the women. Now, Hickok wasn’t so certain of the scheme. Too many variables.

“That sure is some vehicle,” Clyde commented, admiring the SEAL. “I can’t thank you enough for letting us ride in it.”

“Doesn’t sound like those others, though,” Tyson absently said, engaged in poking holes in the earth with a stick.

“What others?” Hickok asked, surprised.

“Oh, must of been a year ago…” Tyson began.

“Longer than that,” Clyde corrected his son.

“It was at night,” Cindy explained. “We were spending the night in a house not far from the highway, and we heard them go by and saw lights on the front of the vehicles.”

“Are you serious?” Hickok demanded, disturbed by the implications.

“Sure am,” Clyde confirmed. “Shocked us something awful. We ran to the highway, but they was out of shouting range. There were five or six of ’em, coming from the direction of Fox. Jeeps, I believe, is what they called ’em before the war.”

Functional jeeps? Hickok glanced up at Geronimo and they exchanged puzzled expressions.

“I think I’ve finally caught up on my beauty sleep,” Joan announced, stepping from the SEAL. She stretched, yawning. “Never imagined how delicious jerky and water could taste.”

Hickok chuckled. She had consumed dozens of venison jerky strips and drunk two full jars of water since her rescue.

“Pardon my appearance.” Joan grinned, walking over to Hickok and kissing him on the left cheek. “I know I’m a sight in the morning.”

“You’re prettier than a sunrise,” Hickok flattered her, taking her right hand in his.

Tyson snickered.

“You think something’s funny, boy?” Hickok faced him.

“He doesn’t have any respect,” Clyde hastily stated.

“Never did,” Cindy added.

Tyson was smirking.

“You wipe that smug look off your face,” Hickok warned him, “or I’ll cram it down your throat, whelp!”

Tyson, duly impressed, resumed digging in the dirt.

“My, aren’t we touchy today?” Joan teased Hickok.

“It’s a rule I have,” Hickok stated, ignoring her mocking tone. “Only my friends can make fun of me.”

“Words can’t hurt you, silly,” Joan gently chided him.

“Sometimes,” Hickok stated, “words can be as deadly as my Pythons.”

“You’re just too sensitive,” she said, hugging him.

“Hickok? Too sensitive?” Geronimo had overheard. “Don’t let it get around or it will spoil his reputation.”

“As a fierce fighter?” Hickok bragged on himself.

“Nope,” Geronimo replied, shaking his head, his eyes twinkling. “As having rocks for brains.”

Tyson gave vent to uncontrollable mirth.

Hickok glared at Geronimo. “Thanks, pard.”

“Any time!” Geronimo promised.

Joan giggled. “Don’t blame him. You were asking for it.”

“Hey, old-timer.” Hickok opted to change the subject. “How many Trolls you reckon there are?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Clyde responded. “My best guess is sixty or seventy.”

“That many, huh?” Hickok nervously tapped his silver belt buckle, fretting over Blade.

“What’s eating you?” Joan asked him.

“He’s worried about Blade,” Geronimo interjected before Hickok could answer.

“Aren’t you?” Hickok queried, looking up at Geronimo.

“Of course,” Geronimo affirmed.

“I can’t stand this waiting,” Hickok stated, beginning to pace.

“There’s nothin’ you can do, son,” Clyde told Hickok. “Your friend had the right idea. We should stay here until he gets back.”

“What if he doesn’t get back?” Hickok countered. “We’d have no way of knowing if something happened to him.”

“What else could we do?” Joan asked. “We all can’t sneak into Fox.”

“I know,” Hickok muttered. He wheeled, facing them. “I don’t know why, but I feel uneasy, like something’s not right.”

“Maybe you should change your profession from Warrior to Empath,” Geronimo joked, grinning.

“I’m serious,” Hickok snapped.

“Well, if you feel that way, let’s do something,” Joan suggested.

“We have our orders,” Geronimo reminded her.

“What were our orders?” Hickok questioned him.

“You know what they were,” Geronimo stated.

“Humor me, pard,” Hickok urged. “What were our orders exactly?”

“Blade told us,” Geronimo said, sighing, “to stay with the SEAL until we heard from him. If he doesn’t return, we were instructed to go to the Home for reinforcements.”

“Ahhhh.” Hickok nodded. “But he didn’t say the SEAL had to remain here, did he?”

“What are you getting at?” Geronimo asked. “As if I don’t know.”

“Me too.” Joan grinned.

“Blade told us to stay with the SEAL,” Hickok said, hooking his thumbs in his belt. “So if the SEAL were to drive into Fox, we’d have to go along, wouldn’t we?”

“He’ll clobber you for disobeying orders,” Geronimo predicted.

“Won’t be the first time he’s been ticked off at me,” Hickok noted.

“Here’s the bottom line. I don’t believe in pussyfooting around. Every moment our womenfolk are in Fox increases the odds they’ll be harmed…”

“So you propose to waltz right in and kindly ask the Trolls to hand over their captives?” Geronimo inquired, interrupting.

“I propose we create a diversion,” Hickok replied.

“A diversion?” Clyde stood. “How do you mean?”

“We do something to attract the Trolls to us,” Hickok explained. “We divert them long enough for my pard to find our women.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Cindy commented.

“You can stay here with your father and brother,” Hickok recommended.

“Miss a chance to get even with the damn Trolls?” Clyde clapped his hands and eagerly rubbed the palms together. “No way!”

“I’m going where my paw goes,” Cindy declared.

“I think the idea is dumb,” Tyson opined, “but I’m with you.”

Hickok stared at Joan.

“Don’t expect me to stay out of this,” she told him. “I owe the Trolls. And, like I said before, I never should have left the others. I should be with them, protecting them. Let’s do it!”

“That leaves you.” Hickok gazed up at Geronimo.

“Before I give you my answer,” Geronimo said, “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot, pard,” Hickok prompted him.

“How is the SEAL going to get from here,” Geronimo asked, pointing at the clearing they were in, “to there?” He pointed in the general direction of Fox.

“You can drive, if you want.”

“Me?” Geronimo laughed. “I wouldn’t touch this thing with a ten-foot pole.”

“Well.” Hickok hitched at his belt. “I reckon that leaves me.”

Geronimo groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Joan asked.

“I forgot. You weren’t there when Hickok drove the SEAL.” Geronimo sadly shook his head, his dark hair waving. “You had to see it to believe it.”

“I don’t get it,” Joan said, perplexed. “Hickok told me last night he’s driven the SEAL. How did he describe it…” She paused, remembering the words. “Poetry in action.”

Geronimo almost fell, he laughed so hard.

“So maybe I exaggerated a mite,” Hickok grudgingly admitted.

“A mite!” Geronimo snickered. “If lies were horse manure, you’d be a mountain of it!”

“Did you lie to me?” Joan faced Hickok.

“I kind of stretched the truth a bit,” Hickok conceded, uncomfortable under her probing eyes.

Geronimo was trying to compose himself. “Well… I… I… guess I’ll go along, if only to pick up the pieces.”

“Pieces?” Tyson repeated.

“Okay.” Hickok motioned toward the transport. “Let’s mosey along! We haven’t got all day.”

Clyde, Cindy, and Tyson walked to the SEAL.

“What did he mean by pieces?” Tyson asked Hickok.

“Ignore the varmint,” Hickok replied, making a show of glaring at Geronimo. “Didn’t you know all Injuns love to make fun of white folk?”

“You better believe it!” Geronimo agreed, still laughing. “Us red folk appreciate what natural comedians you white folk are!”