The Kalispell Run

Chapter Twenty-Three

“You call this an escape plan?” Wally demanded.

“You have any better ideas?” the gunman countered.

“Well, no,” Wally admitted, “but you can bet I wouldn’t come up with something as dipsy as this!”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it!” Wally exclaimed, shaking his head. “It’s crazy!

That’s what’s wrong with it!”

“Keep your voice down!” Hickok directed. “You’ll make the guard suspicious.”

“I just don’t like it!”

“I thought you wanted to get out of here,” Hickok said.

“I do,” Wally admitted.

“Then quit being such a wimp!”

“I’m not a wimp!” Wally argued. “I’ve tried to bust out, several times.

That’s the main reason I’m in here now. But at least I didn’t rely on miracles.”

“Miracles?”

“What else would you call it?” Wally gestured at their cell. “If you can get two of them to come inside the cell, not just the guy with the food bucket, and if they don’t notice you’ve moved the shit pail and Shane is now standin’ in front of it, and if they don’t think we’re actin’ a little too innocent for our own good, then maybe, just maybe, we can pull it off.”

“Piece of cake,” Hickok declared, checking their positions for the fiftieth time. He was standing nearest the door, leaning on the cell bars, his back to the hallway. The outside guard was about fifteen feet away, to the right. Shane stood ten feet into the cell, casually leaning against the wall. Hidden by his moccasined feet, positioned between his ankles and the wall, was the waste bucket, its handle raised directly above the pail.

Wally stood in the center of the cell, nervously wringing his hands.

“It won’t be long,” Shane said.

“Why didn’t we do it when they brought the morning meal?” Wally inquired. “Why wait until the evening feed?”

“They were prepared for trouble,” Hickok answered. “It was the first time they fed me, and they probably expected me to put up a fight of some kind. Since I didn’t, whoever comes now won’t be anticipating any problem.”

Wally anxiously stared at the waste pail. “I don’t know. A shit bucket against rifles!”

“Haven’t you ever heard the basic law of social relationships?” Hickok asked, grinning.

“What?” Wally absently responded, confused.

“If you can’t dazzle ’em with brilliance,” Hickok stated, “then baffle ’em with bullshit.”

“Do you…” Wally began, then froze.

The guards with the food were coming, their voices carrying down the hallway as they joked and laughed.

Hickok glanced outside.

The cell guard had straightened and was watching the approaching duo.

Here goes nothing! Hickok moved to the corner behind the cell door, trying to convey an attitude of total indifference to the proceedings around him.

Shane appeared completely relaxed, his hands in his pockets, humming quietly.

The kid is good, Hickok noted. Maybe I will sponsor him for Warrior status after we return to the Home.

Wally was a worried wreck, glancing at the waste pail and the cell door, the waste pail and the cell door, the waste pail and…

“Will you cut it out, pard,” Hickok whispered. “You’re driving me nuts!”

“I can’t help it,” Wally explained. “I’m a family man, not a trained fighter like you two.”

“Don’t you want to see your family again?” Hickok queried.

“Of course,” Wally affirmed, frowning. “If they’re still alive, that is.”

“There’s only one way you’ll find out,” Hickok said.

“No problem.” Wally visibly regained control of his nerves, sobered by thoughts of his loved ones.

“You’re a bit early,” the cell guard greeted the food bearers.

“There’s a card game tonight,” one of the newcomers, a hairy, burly specimen, replied.

“Yeah,” said the third Mole. “We want to make our rounds as fast as we can. They won’t hold the table for us.”

“I wish I could get off,” the cell guard complained bitterly. “Instead, I get these jerks.” He waved his right hand at the cell.

“Poor baby!” the burly Mole joked, and the food bearers laughed.

Hickok recalled Silvester mentioning an auction for any captured women, and now the guards were talking about a card game. What did they use for money? he wondered.

The trio of Moles appeared at the cell door. The burly Mole and the cell guard both carried rifles, while the Mole with the food bucket had a revolver strapped to his belt, slanted across his left hip.

“Have they been behaving themselves?” Burly Mole asked.

“Sure have,” the cell guard, a thin man with a pointed chin, answered.

“Even this one?” Burly Mole questioned, swinging his rifle barrel in Hickok’s direction.

“Even him.”

“I’m surprised,” Burly Mole said. “I heard he’s a real hardcase.” He glanced at the gunman. “Hey, you! How come you’re being such a good little boy?”

“Because,” Hickok replied, hoping he would sound convincing, “I don’t want anything to happen to my woman, and I figure if I give you any grief, you just might do something to her.”

Burly Mole smirked and whispered in the cell guard’s ear. They both laughed at whatever he said.

“All right! Don’t try any funny stuff!” Burly Mole ordered.

The cell guard unlocked the cell door, slowly swinging the iron bars open.

Hickok was now behind the open door.

The Mole holding the food bucket, a portly fellow with a perpetual grin, entered and walked toward Wally. “Here you go.” He held the food bucket out. “Take it.”

On cue, Shane chuckled. “You expect us to keep eating that miserable excuse for food?”

“If you don’t like it,” Portly Mole rejoined, “we can always let you starve to death.”

“At least I wouldn’t have to look at your ugly face every day,” Shane snapped.

Portly Mole looked at Burly Mole. “Looks like we’ve got a troublemaker here, Frank.”

“Do tell,” Frank stated ominously as he came into the cell.

The cell guard, Pointy Chin, stood in the doorway, covering the prisoners.

What a bunch of amateurs! Hickok, faking disinterest, toyed with the frayed hem on his buckskin shirt.

Frank passed Portly Mole and Wally and stopped, his rifle aimed at Shane’s midsection. “Now what were you saying?” he arrogantly demanded.

“I said,” Shane angrily responded, “you can take this shit and eat it yourselves! I’m not taking another bite!”

“Is that so?” Frank, grinning, turned slightly, winking at Portly Mole.

He reached for the food bucket with his left hand. “Pass that food to me.

We’re going to help our young friend change his mind.”

Portly Mole started to extend his arm, the food bucket dangling from his hand, its putrid contents steaming.

“Now!” Hickok shouted.

The cell exploded into action.

Wally lunged, grabbing Portly Mole’s arm and sweeping it backward, causing the food to fly from the bucket, the reeking mess catching the Mole in the face, covering his eyes and his nose and momentarily leaving him open and vulnerable. Before the startled Mole could react, Wally had the revolver in his hand. He brought the long barrel crashing down on Portly Mole’s head as the Mole tried to wipe the food from his eyes.

Frank, spinning to assist Portly Mole, detected a motion out of the corner of his right eye. He swiveled again, expecting Shane to be coming at him.

Instead, Shane had looped his right foot through the handle on the waste pail. As Frank began his swivel, Shane swept his foot back and up, instinctively judging the angle and the trajectory and praying he was right.

Frank was on the verge of completing his turn when the contents of the waste pail, a week’s worth of accumulated excrement, struck him in his enraged visage. He tried to duck under the filthy barrage, but the urine and the feces peppered his upper torso.

Shane, seizing the initiative, kicked with his left foot, striking Frank’s right knee.

There was a popping noise, and Frank cried out and stumbled, wildly striving to recover his lost balance.

Shane stepped in and grabbed the rifle, a Marlin 1894 lever action. He savagely slammed the stock again and again against the Mole’s head.

Simultaneously with the activity in the cell, Pointy Chin took a step inside, raising his rifle to his shoulder.

Hickok threw his entire weight against the cell door, propelling the heavy iron bars into the hapless guard and smashing him between the cell door and the fixed bars on one side.

Pointy Chin’s rifle dropped to the dirt floor as Hickok rammed him three more times for good measure.

Satisfied, the gunman stood back and allowed Pointy Chin to tumble to the floor. He gazed around the cell. The other two Moles were likewise down and out. Shane held the Marlin and Wally was armed with the revolver, a High Standard Double Action.

Hickok retrieved Pointy Chin’s rifle, a Winchester. “See?” he said to Wally. “Like I told you, it was a piece of cake.”

Wally was gaping at the fallen Moles, amazed at their good fortune.

“And you say you do this kind of thing a lot?”

“All the time,” Hickok confirmed, removing Pointy Chin’s shirt.

“I don’t see how you do it,” Wally stated. “I don’t think my nerves could take it.”

“You get used to it, pard,” Hickok said, shredding the shirt.

“So what’s our next move?” Shane asked. He walked to the cell door and looked both ways. The hallway, illuminated by candles at ten-yard intervals, was empty. “No sign of anyone,” he informed the others.

Hickok was staring thoughtfully at Wally. “You say the Moles have had you here about a year?” He began binding the Moles.

“Near as I can tell,” Wally replied. He knelt and searched Portly Mole for additional ammunition.

“Then you must be pretty familiar with the tunnels,” Hickok deduced, gagging the first of the Moles, Pointy Chin.

“I can get around okay,” Wally said, “but I don’t have the tunnels memorized, if that’s what you mean.”

“It’ll do,” Hickok stated. He started securing Portly Mole.

Wally glanced up. “What are you getting at?”

“Can you get us from here to Wolfe’s personal chambers?” Hickok inquired, moving to Frank, working quickly.

“To Wolfe’s per…” Wally quickly stood, shaking his head. “No way, Hickok! It’s suicide. We’d never make it. His private chambers are guarded all the time. Why the hell do you want to go there?”

“Two reasons,” Hickok explained, joining Shane at the door. “First, the varmint has my guns, and I aim to get them back…”

“Who cares about some measly guns?” Wally interrupted. “Are they worth dying for?”

“They’re my guns,” Hickok said coldly, “and the only way anybody is going to get them from me is by prying them from my lifeless fingers!”

“What’s the second reason?” Wally asked, hastily changing the subject.

“I came across a female type I’ve developed a real hankerin’ for,” Hickok admitted, “and I don’t reckon to leave her behind.” He led the way into the hallway.

Wally tapped Shane on the shoulder.

Shane glanced back.

“Has anyone ever told you,” Wally curiously inquired, “that your friend talks kind of weird?”

“Just about everybody,” Shane acknowledged, grinning. “It’s one of the things that makes Hickok… Hickok.” He followed on the heels of his mentor.

“I’m trying to escape from the Mole Mound,” Wally mumbled as he brought up the rear, “with a kid and a mental defective. How do I get myself into these things?”

They reached the first intersection and stopped.

“Still no Moles,” Hickok said, pleased. “Probably wouldn’t expect to find too many hanging around the cells anyway.” He looked at Wally. “The rest is up to you. Lead us to Wolfe’s chambers.”

“The tunnels will be full of Moles,” Wally objected. “We’ll never make it.”

“You’ll never get anywhere in this life with a negative attitude,” Hickok commented. “Besides, we’ll stick to the less-frequented tunnels. Stay in the shadows. There are hundreds of Moles in the Mound. Odds are, they don’t all know each other on sight. If we’re careful, we won’t even be noticed.”

“You hope,” Wally muttered.

“We’re wasting time. Move it out,” Hickok ordered, gesturing with the Winchester.

Wally, grumbling under his breath, reluctantly led them to the left.

They traversed tunnel after tunnel, always avoiding those tunnels filled with traffic where possible. Where they couldn’t avoid them, they bluffed their way through, walking in the darker areas and smiling at everyone they passed. Several times Wally became lost and they were forced to retrace their steps. Hours passed.

“Can’t we take a break?” Wally asked at one point. “My feet are killing me?”

“And what do you think the Moles will do if they find us?” Hickok reminded him.

Wally kept walking.

More time elapsed.

Shane, now behind the other two, was reflecting on his recent actions and dreading his homecoming. His father might tan his hide from one end of the Home to the other; if not physically, then at least verbally. Plato might censure him in front of the assembled Family for his blatant stupidity. Hickok would likely never consent to sponsor him to become a Warrior. His girlfriend, Jane, would undoubtedly drop him for someone else. And all because he wanted to make an impression.

He’d made an impression, all right.

As a first-class jackass!

Dumb! Dumb! Dumb!

Shane frowned, recalling his motives. He wanted to become a Warrior because he was bored with the dull routine of Family life. Excitement!

That’s what he craved. Excitement and adventure, lured by the illusion of a Warrior’s glamorous life. Maybe, he realized, his motives were all wrong.

Maybe the reason Hickok, Blade, Geronimo, and the rest made such outstanding Warriors was because they were devoted to protecting the Family and safeguarding the Home. They cared about each and every Family member. Look at Hickok! The gunman had traveled all those miles, through hostile territory, just to rescue him from his own foolishness. Why didn’t Hickok just let him reap the results of his own stupidity? Because the gunfighter cared. Hickok would have done the same for any Family member because the family came first, his own life second. He put the welfare of the Family above his own safety.

That, Shane decided, was what made the difference.

Caring.

To qualify as a Warrior, you had to sincerely care.

Which only left one question.

Did he?

“Guard,” Wally whispered, terminating Shane’s reverie.

They were in a narrow tunnel with sparse lighting. A single Mole, armed with a rifle, was casually strolling toward them.

Shane hugged the shadows, trying to be inconspicuous.

“Good evening,” the Mole greeted them as he passed.

“Howdy, pard,” Hickok, from habit, replied.

The Mole stopped and turned, puzzled. “What did you just say?”

“Blast!” Hickok exclaimed. He whirled and bashed the unprepared Mole on the forehead with the Winchester stock twice in rapid succession.

The Mole staggered against the wall, then slid soundlessly to the floor.

Wally was watching the incident, grinning.

“You have something to say?” Hickok demanded, annoyed at his own carelessness.

“Nothing at all,” Wally said.

“I did it so you’d have a rifle too,” Hickok fibbed.

“Uh-huh.” Wally nodded, picking the Mole’s weapon up from the floor.

He resumed their trek, glancing over his right shoulder at Hickok.

“Nothing at all,” he repeated.

The tunnels seemed endless.

“How much farther?” Shane inquired after a while.

“It shouldn’t be too much longer,” Wally answered. “We should reach a major intersection, and that’s when the hard…”

Without warning, the tunnel curved sharply and branched at the junction of five other tunnels. The volume of traffic was considerably heavier as the Moles hurried about their business.

Wally motioned for them to back away from the intersection until they were out of sight. “Wolfe’s private chambers are down the hall to the right.

He’s the only one who lives along that tunnel and there will be guards.”

“How many?” Hickok asked.

“Beats me.” Wally shrugged.

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do.” Hickok detailed his plan, took their rifles, and marched them to the intersection, their arms in the air. They turned to the right and discovered a well-lit tunnel leading to a huge wooden door.

A pair of guards were on duty.

Evidently, Hickok mused, Wolfe isn’t expecting a revolution.

The taller of the two guards noticed them first. “Hey. What do we have here?”

“Hold it right there!” Hickok barked at Shane and Wally.

“What is this?” the tall Mole demanded.

“Is Wolfe here?” Hickok asked.

“He’s in,” the guard replied. “Why…?”

“I was ordered to bring these two here. Wolfe wants to see them right away,” Hickok said, fabricating a reason for their presence.

“I wasn’t told anything about this,” the tall guard stated suspiciously.

“You wait right here while I check with Wolfe.” He reached for the door handle, then paused, staring at Hickok’s buckskins. “Wait a minute! Those clothes! I heard about you! You’re the…”

Hickok was on him before the Mole could move, the barrel of the Winchester pressed against the man’s right ear. “One word,” Hickok warned, “and I’ll splatter your brains all over the door. The same goes for your friend!”

The second guard, like the tall one, was armed with a pistol. His left hand hovered above his holster.

“Don’t do it!” the tall Mole urged. “He’ll kill me!”

Hickok waited until the smaller guard relaxed his hand, then tossed the other rifles to Wally and Shane. “Cover them,” he directed.

“Where the hell are you going?” Wally queried nervously.

“Hold the door until I get back,” Hickok said over his shoulder as he slowly opened the door and eased inside.

Wally, covering the guards, glanced at Shane. The youth was facing the intersection, twenty yards distant. “You say you have others like him at this Home of yours?”

“We have other Warriors, yes,” Shane answered.

Wally shook his head. “I’m surprised your Family has lasted as long as it has.”

Hickok, closing the door behind him, overheard Wally’s comments and smiled. As he released the handle, a glimmer of reflected candlelight caught his attention. He glanced down, to his left.

The Navy Arms Henry Carbine was leaning against the wall.

Eureka! He exchanged the Winchester he was carrying for his Henry, happily cradling the Carbine in his arms. Now all he needed was his Pythons and Sherry and he’d be a happy man.

The antechamber he was in, about five square yards in size, was littered with Wolfe’s clothing and personal effects.

The man is a lousy housekeeper, Hickok noted as he crossed to another door on the far side of the antechamber.

Voices.

Hickok levered a round into the chamber and cautiously cracked the door.

“…want you willingly, but I’ll take you by force if need be.” It was Wolfe speaking.

“You just try it and I’ll bite your nose off!”

Hickok grinned. Sherry was as feisty as ever!

The spacious room beyond was decorated with plunder from the Moles’ many raids. Plush furniture and fixtures were positioned in random fashion. The center of the room was dominated by a pair of king-size beds placed side by side, both covered with immaculate purple blankets.

What’s with all this purple, Hickok wondered? He vaguely remembered reading in the Family school about the practice of ancient royalty adorning themselves with the color purple. Why, he couldn’t recall.

Personally, he didn’t think the color was so hot. Give him a blue or a green any day.

Wolfe was reclining on the bed, propped up on four large pillows.

“Come, my dear. It’s useless to resist.”

Sherry was standing at the foot of the bed, her back to Hickok. Her entire bearing was one of sheer defiance. “You don’t hear very well, do you? There’s no way you’re going to get me in this bed with you!”

Wolfe, smiling like a giant cat preparing to pounce on its helpless prey, reached overhead and pulled on a rope hanging from the ceiling.

From his vantage point, Hickok was unable to see what the rope was attached to, but he did spot his cherished Colts, still strapped to Wolfe’s lean waist.

A door at the other end of the room suddenly opened and Goldman entered. He crossed to the bed and bowed. “Your orders, sir?”

Goldman was unarmed.

Hickok inched his door open, thankful a dresser partially obscured him from the others.

“This wench refuses the honor of sleeping with me,” Wolfe declared indignantly. “You will strip her and bind her arms for me.”

“As you wish,” Goldman obediently responded, bowing.

“Just try it!” Sherry warned.

Goldman, relishing his task, walked toward the blonde, his lips curled in a vicious sneer. “You’ll do as you’re told, bitch!” He lunged for the woman.

Sherry, retreating, lost her footing and fell.

Goldman covered the three feet between them and stood at her feet, gloating. “I’m looking forward to this,” he growled.

“Then I sure hope you can handle disappointment,” said a new voice, and Hickok stepped into view, the Henry leveled and ready.

“You!” Goldman hissed, enraged. “Here!”

“Did you think I would leave without saying so long?” Hickok asked sarcastically. “After all we’ve meant to each other?”

Wolfe, incredibly, was smiling, at ease. “It appears I have greatly underestimated you, Hickok. I won’t make that mistake ever again.”

“You won’t get the chance,” Hickok assured him. “Undo your belt and slide my Pythons over here. Slowly! One hasty move, and the Moles will need a new leader.”

Wolfe carefully complied, depositing the Colts at the foot of his bed.

“Now, Sherry,” Hickok said, keeping his eyes on the two Moles. “Stand up. Don’t get between Goldman and me! That’s it! Come over here and take the Henry.”

Sherry’s affection was radiating from her relieved face as she raised the Henry to her shoulder.

“Keep it on Wolfe,” Hickok advised. “If he reaches for that rope, put a bullet between his eyes.”

“With pleasure,” Sherry assured him.

Hickok, warily watching the red-faced Goldman, sauntered to the bed and lifted his Colts. “I’ll never let these babies out of my sight again,” he vowed.

“What’s next?” Wolfe inquired as the gunfighter slid the Pythons into his own empty holsters.

“If you’re a good little boy, and keep your big mouth shut, you may come out of this alive,” Hickok stated.

“How do I rate?” Wolfe, surprised, questioned him.

“Let’s just say I’m in a generous mood,” Hickok replied. “Plus you’re going to give me your word that you’ll stop your raids until we send a delegation from the Family and hold a conference with you.”

“Why should I give my word?”

“Do you care about your people?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then why shouldn’t you give your word? What have you got to lose?

My Family can assist your people in learning to live off the land, in improving their lives. You keep on the way you’re going, and sooner or later the Moles will run into someone bigger and stronger. Your Mound will be reduced to a pile of rubble.” Hickok paused, studying the Mole leader. Had he read the man right? Was there a chance of striking a deal with this pompous ass?

“Stop… raiding?” Wolfe said, his brow creased. “I don’t know if my people are ready to change.”

“Oh, come off it!” Hickok retorted. “Are you going to spend all eternity in this mud heap? Wouldn’t you like to live above ground again, breathing fresh air and enjoying the sunlight?”

Wolfe stared at Hickok. “You are a constant source of amazement to me.”

“What about it?” Hickok pressed him. “Do I have your word? Prove you’re a real leader, and not just a walking hard-on with a cock for brains.”

Wolfe, offended, almost returned the insult. Instead, he composed himself and smiled. “I give you my word I will not order any more raids until I hear from you. But I must warn you. I think you expect too much from my people.”

“I thought you said you’d never underestimate anyone again,” Hickok remarked.

“I take back what I said before,” Wolfe commented. “You do have an intellect. You simply hide it well.”

“What about me?” Goldman snarled.

“Ahhhhh. You.” Hickok faced Goldman and deliberately drew his Pythons.

Goldman, expecting to be gunned down, flinched.

Hickok moved forward, stopping a foot from his implacable foe.

“Go ahead! Shoot!” Goldman defiantly blustered. “I didn’t think you had the guts to take me on one-on-one.”

Hickok, grinning, shoved his lefthand Colt under Goldman’s leather belt, underneath the waistband near the navel, leaving the butt free. He took two steps backward and aligned his other Python in a similar position under his belt. “Any time,” he said in a menacing tone, “you think you’re ready.”

Goldman, slack-jawed, gaped at the revolver at his waist.

“Something wrong?” Hickok asked.

Goldman glanced at Wolfe.

“He challenged you,” the Mole leader stated matter-of-factly. “Don’t look at me for help.”

Goldman, pale and sweating, stared at Hickok. “I don’t want to do this,” he protested.

“Pretty feeble excuse,” Hickok remarked. “You have no other choice.”

“What if I don’t draw?” Goldman inquired hopefully.

“I’ll shoot you anyway.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Goldman took a deep breath and relaxed his hands.

“Any time you’re ready,” Hickok repeated, patiently standing with his arms at his side.

“I might beat you,” Goldman commented. “I’m not bad with a handgun.”

Hickok waited.

“You’re not as tough as you think you are,” Goldman said, hoping his chatter would distract the gunfighter.

Hickok’s blue eyes were centered on Goldman’s navel.

“Silvester seemed to think you’re a dangerous man,” Goldman mentioned. “Personally, I think you’re an asshole. A dumb asshole, at that.”

Sherry’s heavy breathing filled the chamber.

“Go on!” Goldman suddenly shouted. “Make your play!”

Instead, he made his.

Goldman fancied himself fast, he’d often practiced a quick draw with a pistol he possessed, so as his hand flashed toward the Python, his astonishment was all the more compounded when Hickok’s Colt was already out and up before he even touched the butt on his revolver.

Hickok rammed the barrel of his Python into Goldman’s stomach and pulled the trigger.

The blast of the Colt was effectively muffled by Goldman’s abdomen. He literally flew backward as the slug exited his back, splintering his spinal column. Blood sprayed over the furniture as he stumbled and fell onto his back, his bearded features frozen in a contorted death mask, his green eyes wide in disbelief.

Hickok slowly walked over to the body and picked up his other Colt. He wiped the Python against his pant leg, removing crimson splotches from the pearl handles.

Finally, he twirled the Colts into their respective holsters, shook his blond head, and smiled. “Piece of cake,” he said to himself.

Wolfe was gazing at the gunfighter in awe. “I’ve never seen anyone as fast as you.”

Hickok patted his Pythons. “Lots of practice.”

“You can’t wring water from a stone,” Wolfe observed. “I could practice all my life and never be as fast as you. It takes talent, and you have it.”

“Flattery from you?”

“No. The truth.”

Hickok glanced around the room. “Would there happen to be a knife in the house?”

Wolfe, chuckling, reached into his right front pocket and withdrew a small folding knife. “Will this suffice?”

Hickok moved to the bed and took the proffered penknife. “You do understand I have to do this? Just as a precaution.”

Wolfe nodded. “I understand. Do what you must.”

“Lie face down on the bed,” Hickok directed. After the Mole leader obeyed, Hickok climbed onto the bed and used the knife to cut a two-foot length from the rope Wolfe used to signal Goldman. He was careful not to pull too hard on the rope as he sliced it. No sense in inviting any more Moles to their farewell party.

“Now put your hands behind your back,” Hickok ordered. As he securely tied Wolfe’s wrists, he winked at Sherry. “Hang in there, babe.

Before you know it, we’ll be safe and sound back at the Home.” Satisfied with his knots, he jumped from the bed and began pulling the purple blankets from under the mattresses on the two kingsize beds.

Wolfe, watching the proceedings, nodded appreciatively. “You don’t take chances. I’ll give you that.”

Hickok paused, holding the corners of one of the blankets. “Before I wrap this up,” he said, amused by his pun, “I have a few words to say to you. I don’t know how seriously you took what I said before, but you better. You’ve been lucky so far. The Trolls never found your Mound, or you’d be dog meat by now. Oh, sure, you were able to defeat those who survived their fight with us. But if the Trolls had been at full strength, the outcome might have been completely different. There’s another bunch we’ve tangled with, called the Watchers. They’re one mean passel of hombres. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you they have more firepower than you can ever hope to muster. The point I’m trying to make is this.

You could use some friends in this world, an ally you could rely on to help you out if things got tough. My Family has been lucky too. We’ve been pretty insulated in our Home, out of touch with the rest of the world.

We’ve survived as a close-knit clan all these years. But I’ve got this feeling all that is about to change. A lot of people know about us now, and for better or for worse, that spells change. My Family could use some friends.

You think about it, Wolfe. The future of the Moles is in your hands.”

“I will consider everything you have said,” Wolfe promised.

Hickok nodded and started wrapping the purple blankets around the lean giant.

Sherry joined him. “And here I thought all you did was kill, kill, kill.”

“What do you mean?”

“All those things you just said to him,” Sherry said. “I never thought of you as a man of peace.”

“I have this friend,” Hickok began.

“The one named Joshua?” Sherry interrupted.

“Yeah. Josh. He taught me an important lesson when we were in the Twin Cities. Killing isn’t everything. There are other ways of dealing with enemies, if you can take the time to talk about your differences.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting this Joshua,” Sherry remarked.

“I hope your ears are in good shape,” Hickok wryly commented.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hickok surveyed his handiwork.

Wolfe was enclosed in a cocoon of purple blankets, covered from head to toe.

“You okay in there?” Hickok asked him.

“Just fine,” came the muted response. “A little hot.”

“I just thought of something,” Hickok said, snapping his fingers. “Is there another way out of here?” he inquired, tapping on the bundled blankets. “I don’t want to kill any more of your people if I can help it.”

“Look behind the big cabinet in the corner,” Wolfe replied. “There’s a hidden air shaft and a ladder. It’ll take you straight up to the surface.

You’ll be in the forest north of the Mound proper.”

“Thanks,” Hickok said, walking toward the door he’d used to enter.

“Where are you going?” Sherry questioned him.

“To get some friends,” Hickok answered, stopping at the door. “I’ll be right back.” He crossed the antechamber and stepped outside.

Shane and Wally were now training their guns on three Moles.

“This one showed up with a tray of food while you were inside,” Wally informed him, motioning toward the newcomer.

The terrified Mole, still holding the tray of food, was visibly quaking, his knobby knees shaking violently.

Hickok laughed. “Howdy, Silvester. You in the food business now?”

“Hickok!” Silvester cried, his delight lighting up his face. “Am I glad to see you.”

“I’ll bet.” Hickok glanced at Shane. “Take the two guards inside and find something to tie them up with. Make sure they can’t free themselves.”

Shane nodded and led the guards into the antechamber, Wally bringing up the rear.

“You escaped from the cells!” Silvester marveled. “No one has ever done that before.”

Hickok draped his left arm across Silvester’s narrow shoulders. “I’d like to take the time to shoot the breeze with you, but I’ve got to run. You’ll be seeing me again.” He stared along the tunnel, insuring it was empty.

Silvester noticed his gaze. “No one comes here unless Wolfe tells them to,” he explained.

“Speaking of your fearless leader,” Hickok said, “didn’t you tell me you were on the outs with him?”

“I’m not one of his favorite people,” Silvester admitted. “I saw my sister. Gloria still hasn’t gone to bed with him.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t forced her,” Hickok commented.

“No. He only does that with outside women.”

“Well, anyway, how would you like to be one of his favorite people?”

Hickok asked.

“I don’t see how…”

“Trust me. After I go through that door, count to one hundred. Can you do that?”

“I know how to count,” Silvester stated indignantly. “I can even read a little bit.”

“Good. Then count to one hundred and go inside. You’ll find Wolfe on his bed. You’ll know what to do.”

“What do you…”

Hickok waved and walked to the door. “You’ll know what to do. Believe me, Wolfe will thank you for it. Take care, pard.” He stepped into the antechamber.

Shane and Wally were tying the guards with strips of torn clothing.

“Tie them tight,” Hickok advised, then re-entered the bedroom.

Sherry ran into his arms. “I can’t believe you’ve done it! I’ll never doubt you again.”

“You’re a woman. Want to bet?”

“Since when are men any better?” Sherry rejoined.

Hickok chuckled.

Shane and Wally joined them.

“They won’t be getting loose this year,” Wally boasted. He spotted Goldman and his mouth dropped. “Do you always leave bodies wherever you go?”

“He does have that habit,” Sherry answered for him.

“Follow me,” Hickok directed.

It was a simple matter for them to lift the cabinet from the wall, locate the hidden air shaft, and scale the ladder to the surface. They pushed aside a camouflaged trap door and clambered out of the shaft.

“The air smells so sweet,” Sherry mentioned, taking deep breaths and brimming with happiness.

The night sky was filled with stars and a half-moon.

“Are you coming with us?” Hickok asked Wally.

The big man shook his head. “I’ve got to go to Ten-strike and see if I can find my family.”

“Good luck,” Sherry offered.

“May the Spirit guide you,” Hickok stated. “You’re welcome at our Home any time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So long,” Shane said.

Wally, carrying a rifle, with a pistol around his waist, waved and walked into the woods.

“Which way?” Shane asked, likewise armed with one of the door guard’s pistols and a rifle.

“Which way do you think?” Hickok retorted. “I’m not about to sponsor someone for Warrior status if they can’t read the stars.”

“Spon…” Shane sputtered, staring at the gunman in disbelief. “You can’t mean it! Not after the way I’ve handled myself.”

“I intend to do it because of the way you’ve handled yourself,” Hickok explained. “You did real well down there. Although,” he paused, “you’re a mite too quiet for my tastes.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Shane explained. “I’ve felt like I’ve failed everybody. You. My father. Plato. I’ve been dreading going back, thinking everyone would laugh at me.”

“When you make stupid mistakes,” Hickok said, “you’ve got to expect folks to laugh at you. If you have a sense of humor, you’ll get through it okay.”

“Then you’re really going to sponsor me?” Shane inquired hopefully.

“I’m a man of my word.”

Shane clenched his fists and spun in his tracks, laughing.

“Try to control your enthusiasm,” Hickok stated. “We’d best put as much distance between the Moles and us as we can, and do it fast.”

“Don’t you trust Wolfe?” Sherry asked.

“Not until he proves he’s trustworthy,” Hickok replied. He reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into his arms and embracing her.

“Please! Shane’s right here!”

“So he’ll learn something. What’s with the sudden modesty?”

Sherry squirmed playfully in his arms. “You said we had to get out of here,” she reminded him.

“There’s always time for this,” Hickok declared, kissing her passionately on the lips.

Shane, embarrassed, politely turned away, keeping his eyes on the trap door and the surrounding forest.

The kiss lingered and lingered.

Sherry, at last, pulled back, her eyes closed, her warm form straining against his hard body. “MMMMMMmmmmmm. Nice.”

“Did you just hear something?” Shane inquired.

“Like what?” Hickok asked, nibbling on Sherry’s left ear.

“I don’t know…” the youth stated uncertainly.

“Don’t move!”

The harsh command, barked from the concealing cover of the encircling forest, riveted the trio where they stood.

Blast! How could he have been so dumb? Hickok abruptly realized they were standing in the center of a clearing approximately twenty feet in diameter, completely enclosed by the dense forest.

“Don’t move!” the deep voice bellowed again.

“It was a trap!” Sherry whispered to Hickok. “They were waiting for us!”

“They sure were,” Hickok replied through clenched teeth.

“But how…?”

“Wolfe,” Hickok deduced. “They found the guards we overpowered before we reached his chambers. He must have figured we’d come after you and set this whole thing up. Pretty clever of the bastard! And I fell for it, like the prize sucker of the year!”

Moles were cautiously emerging from the woods. One of them, the apparent leader, held a rifle barrel to Wally’s head.

Six. Seven. Nine. Ten counting the guy shoving Wally. Hickok took a step to his left, away from Sherry.

One of the Moles fired his rifle, the slug narrowly missing the gunfighter’s moccasins.

“I warned you not to move,” the tall leader reiterated. “Do it again and we’ll finish you off right here and now, no matter what Wolfe wants.”

“My compliments to Wolfe,” Hickok said, grinning.

“This shows real finesse. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Shut your face!” the tall Mole ordered. “We could care less what you think. Drop your weapons. Now!”

“Sorry, Hickok,” Wally apologized. “They caught me by surprise.” His hands were raised over his head and he was unarmed.

“Quiet!” the leader snapped, ramming his rifle barrel into Wally’s lower back.

Wally grimaced and doubled over, clutching his back.

Perfect! Now he had a better shot. Hickok slowly inched his body sideways.

The tall Mole was glaring at Wally. “You speak when you’re spoken to, and not before!”

Six of the Moles sported rifles, the rest handguns. They encircled their prisoners, but only five of the ten actually had their guns aimed at the three in the middle of the clearing.

Doubly perfect! Hickok almost laughed. The Moles were confident in their superior numbers, and some of them manifested an air of nonchalance, evidently convinced there wouldn’t be any resistance.

Were they in for a surprise!

“Drop your guns!” the leader angrily demanded. “I won’t say it again!” he threatened.

Sherry released the Henry and it fell to the ground.

Shane dropped his rifle and reached for his pistol.

“When I move,” Hickok whispered, “you two hit the dirt.”

Shane held the pistol in his right hand.

“Toss it,” Hickok said out of the corner of his mouth.

Shane, puzzled, looked at Hickok.

“I’m waiting!” the tall Mole barked.

“Toss it!” Hickok hissed. “Up!”

Shane glanced at Sherry, shrugged, and obeyed. He flipped the pistol into the air.

It was the moment Hickok needed.

The Moles, taken unawares by this unforeseen maneuver, automatically fixed their attention on the pistol, watching the weapon fly end over end upward. For an instant, their collective gaze was distracted from their intended captives.

In a blur of motion, Hickok drew his Colt Pythons, thankful the night was dark, limiting their reaction time. In the three seconds it took the Moles to wake up to the ruse played on them, the Family’s pre-eminent gunman fired four times.

Hickok’s first shot took out the tall Mole, the leader of the ambush, catching him in the forehead and flipping him backward.

The second shot downed the Mole on the leader’s right.

Hickok continued his turn, going for the head as he invariably did, felling two more Moles.

Sherry dived for the Henry as the Moles opened fire. Something buzzed near her head as she grabbed the 44-40, quickly sighted, and pulled the trigger. The big gun boomed, jarring her shoulder. One of the Moles was flung four feet to the ground.

Shane experienced a stinging sensation in his left arm and knew he’d been creased. He used his right hand to snatch the pistol as it descended, whirling and firing three times at the nearest foe.

The blasting of the gunfire attained a staggering intensity, becoming a thunderous din, deafening to the ear, shattering the serenity of the night and startling all the wildlife for a mile in every direction.

Then abrupt silence.

The perimeter of the clearing was littered with bodies contorted in the throes of violent death. An acrid, burning odor filled the air.

Hickok, his Pythons held at waist level, searched the Moles for any indication of life.

There was none.

“Anyone hit?” Hickok asked, reluctant to glance at Sherry for fear she was a casualty of the conflict.

“I’m in one piece.” Her voice floated up to him, and relief washed over him like a cold bath on a hot day. She rose, staring in amazement at the Moles. “We did it! I don’t believe it!”

“I was hit,” Shane announced. “Looks like a nick, is all.”

Wally was still doubled over, his hands on his back, his mouth slack.

“You can stand now, pard,” Hickok said. “I want to thank you for your assistance.”

Wally slowly straightened. “Any time,” he mumbled, dazed.

“Better get your guns and skedaddle,” Hickok advised. “More Moles are bound to show up.”

Wally absently retrieved his firearms and walked to the edge of the woods. “I’ll never forget you!” he said, and was gone.

“Still think you can make a pact with Wolfe?” Sherry queried.

“Won’t hurt to try,” Hickok replied, scanning the trees. “We’d better vamoose. Can you wait a spell for the rest of those kisses?”

Sherry pouted at him. “When do I get them?”

“As soon as we return to the Home,” Hickok assured her.

“Can we run?”