David Robbins - Yellowstone Run

“Just take care of yourselves,” Geronimo said.

Achilles joined them, “What is it?” he asked excitedly, glancing around.

“Are we being attacked?”

“You’re going with me,” Blade directed, and nodded to the southeast.

“And leave Priscilla?”

Hickok snickered. “Maybe Blade wilt let you carry her piggyback,” he quipped.

“Let’s go,” Blade said, and headed down the slope.

Achilles took a few steps, then looked back at the gunfighter. “Take care of her, will you?”

“Don’t fret your noggin’,” Hickok responded. “We’ll watch out for her.”

“Thanks,” Achilles said, and beamed. “She finds me fascinating. Not that I blame her.”

“True love, huh?”

“I’ve never been in love before,” Achilles confided. “But I do know I find her irresistibly exhilarating.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. After the first kid, you’ll be lucky if you’re exhilarated once a month.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Figures.”

From a dozen yards down the hill came an irate bellow.

“Achilles!”

“Uh-oh. Be seeing you,” Achilles said, and sprinted into the night.

Hickok glanced at Geronimo. “That boy is downright pitiful.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean. He reminds me of you when you were his age.”

“I was never that stuck on myself.”

“I was referring to his ignorance.”

“He does have a heap to learn about women, that’s for sure.

“Yeah. And the more he learns, the less he’ll know.”

Geronimo observed. The gunman ambled off. “Give me a holler if a moth tries to beat you up.”

“Try not to set your buckskins on fire.” Hickok chuckled and strolled to the fire, the Henry in his left hand.

Both the Flathead and the Mormon woman were sitting up.

“What happened?” Priscilla inquired anxiously. “Where’s Achilles?”

“Blade and him went snipe-huntin’,” Hickok said, and eased to the ground, lying the rifle on his left.

“At this time of night?”

“Yep. There’s a whole herd of the critters down near the river. They wanted to bag a few for breakfast.”

Priscilla glanced toward the east rim. “It’s too dangerous to wander around after dark in Yellowstone.” She paused and regarded the gunman suspiciously. “Wait a minute. Snipe hunting? I’ve never heard of snipes. What are they?”

“The meanest animals in the world.”

“Do you mean Achilles could be hurt?”

“Knowin’ snipes the way I do, they could tear him to itty-bitty pieces if he’s not careful,” Hickok said with a straight face. “But I wouldn’t worry if I was you. He can take care of himself. And Blade will baby-sit him.”

“Achilles doesn’t need baby-sitting,” Priscilla responded defensively.

“He’s a mature adult.”

“Know him that well already, do you?”

“Let’s just say I happen to like him.”

“Do tell! I never would’ve guessed.”

Priscilla reached up and rubbed her sore shoulder. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Who, me?”

“I think you’re pulling my leg,” Priscilla said. She looked at Eagle Feather. “Is Achilles in any danger?”

“From the snipes?”

“Of course. What else would I be talking about?”

“Are you sincerely concerned?”

“What kind of question is that?” Priscilla snapped.

Eagle Feather nodded. “Yes, you obviously care for him. And you shouldn’t have to needlessly worry. No, Achilles is not in any danger.”

“Thank you,” Priscilla said, and stared at the Warrior. “You have a sick sense of humor.”

“So everybody keeps tellin’ me.”

“Then why don’t you change?”

“My missus likes me the way I am.”

“ You’re married?”

“Yep. To the cutest filly this side of the Milky Way,” Hickok stated proudly.

“Give her my condolences.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a nasty streak a yard wide?”

Priscilla smiled. “I wish it was true.”

“Why?”

“I would have blown that bastard Harmon away years ago.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Most folks are naturally nice. There are some who are outright nasty just to be spiteful. And there are those who learn to be nasty when the chips are down, but even most of them don’t cotton to the nastiness,” Hickok said. “Get my drift?”

“I think so,” Priscilla replied. “Which category do you belong to?”

“None of them.”

“None?”

“I’m in the fourth category.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve learned how to be nasty when the going gets rough, when lowlifes are tryin’ to hurt decent folks or a crazed mutation is tryin’ to rip someone’s face off,” Hickok stated, then grinned. “The difference is I like being nasty when nastiness is called for.”

“You like exterminating lowlifes, as you call them?”

“Someone has to do the job.”

“What about Achilles?” Priscilla asked.

“What about him?”

“Does he like being nasty?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him against the wall yet.”

“Against the wall?”

Hickok nodded and gazed into the fire. “That’s when everything is going wrong, and you find yourself outnumbered with your back to the wall. It’s either you or the other guy. Or things. And it’s then, when the lives of others are ridin’ on your shoulders and you know a lot of good people will die if you don’t get your act together, that you have to become nasty, become as mean as you can be, just to stay alive. As far as I know, Achilles hasn’t been in that kind of situation yet. He’s never had to be nasty.”

“Well, I hope he never finds his back to the wall.”

“And I hope he does.”

“Why on earth would you wish such a thing on any man?”

“Because it’s the true test of whether he’s cut out to be a Warrior. Until he learns whether he’s got the guts to do whatever it takes to beat the bad guys, he’ll never know if he has what it takes to be a Warrior,” Hickok said. He looked at her. “Our Elders don’t pick just anyone to be a Warrior.

There’s a tough selection process every candidate goes through, and there’s a reason. The Elders want to weed out the dreamers from the true fighters. It’s real easy to sit in a comfy chair dreamin’ about slayin’ dragons, but to go out and actually kill the dragon takes more guts than most folks realize.”

“Truly you are a wise man,” Eagle Feather interjected.

Hickok laughed. “Could I have that in writing?”

“Why?” the Flathead asked.

“Otherwise my misses will never believe it.”

“You must love your wife very much.”

“You bet. Don’t you?” Hickok asked, and immediately regretted his lack of tact when Eagle Feather frowned and bowed his head.

“With all of my heart.”

“Cheer up. We’ll find her and the young’uns.”

“I pray you are right.”

They fell silent, each engrossed in his or her thoughts.

Hickok watched the flickering flames and thought about Sherry, Ringo, and Chastity. What were they doing right at that moment? Sherry was probably giving the kids their nightly baths, and he wished he could be there to play Navy with Ringo. A month ago he had traded a hunting knife for four carved wooden ships an Elder had whittled.

What was that?

Hickok stiffened and glanced to the south. He’d heard a soft thump, as if a horse had stomped its hoof. Or a body had struck the ground.

Where was Geronimo?

The gunfighter stood, his hands hovering near his Colts, and scanned the summit.

“Is something wrong?” Priscilla asked.

“Nope,” Hickok fibbed. He didn’t want to alarm her unnecessarily. “I’ll be right back. I need to shoot the breeze with that mangy pard of mine.”