David Robbins - Dakota Run

“You’re crazy if you go through with it!”

“Don’t do it! Please? For me?”

Geronimo glanced at the trio of speakers in the order in which they’d spoken: Kilrane, Hamlin, and Cynthia. Boone stood nearby, shaking his head.

“I still don’t get it,” Geronimo admitted. “Why did he pick me? I’m not with the Cavalry or the Legion.”

“He’s well aware of that fact,” Kilrane responded. “But you were riding with us, so technically he could choose you.”

“But you said I was a stranger,” Geronimo pointed out. “He can still do it? Select a stranger?”

Kilrane glared at the distant Rory, fifty yards away, seated on his horse and holding a metal-tipped lance in his right hand. “The bastard is clutching at straws. He picked you hoping we would say no. You see, the majority of us can’t stand his guts, but there are some who would become mighty upset if we did anything unfair, if there was the slightest hint of a frame or a setup.”

“Even after what he did to Adrian?” Cynthia interjected.

“They’d still want his fate to be decided justly.”

Kilrane declared. “We never kill anyone without a reason. You know that. And we always give the accused the chance to defend himself. Or herself. We believe in fair play.”

“What happens if I refuse to fight him?” Geronimo asked.

“Then the son of a bitch will claim a forfeit,” Kilrane detailed, “and skip out, free as a bird.”

“But you can’t honestly expect Geronimo to do it?” Cynthia asked.

“It’s up to him,” Kilrane said. “Hell, I’d challenge Rory myself, but I know he’d refuse, and where would that leave us? If I gun him down in cold blood, I’d be a marked man.”

“But just a while ago the men were clamoring for his death,” Cynthia reminded them.

“And they want him dead,” Kilrane stressed. “But he’ll demanded a trial by combat and we can’t say no.”

“Let me get this straight,” Geronimo interrupted. “If you tell Rory I’m not one of the Cavalry and won’t fight him, then he goes free?”

“On a technicality, yes,” Kilrane confirmed.

“And if I personally say I won’t do it,” Geronimo said, “then he claims a forfeit and can go?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“So the only way of preventing his departure,” Geronimo concluded, “is if I kill him in this duel with lances?”

“You got it,” Kilrane stated. “Unless one of us wants to shoot him on the spot.”

Geronimo sighed. “I wish my friend Hickok was here.”

“Why’s that?” Cynthia asked.

“Because he’d walk right up to Rory, give him to the count of three to draw, and then shoot him in the head whether he drew or not,” Geronimo explained.

“This Hickok would do that?” Kilrane inquired, impressed.

“Without hesitation,” Geronimo affirmed.

“I sure would like to meet this hombre some day,” Kilrane said wistfully. “He sounds like my kind of man.”

“So what are you going to do?” Cynthia addressed Geronimo.

“I guess some of Hickok has rubbed off on me,” Geronimo remarked.

“Someone get me a lance.”

“No!” Cynthia protested. “Don’t do it!”

“She’s right,” Hamlin joined the conversation. “There’s another reason why you shouldn’t do it.”

“What is it?” Geronimo asked.

“Have you ever used a lance before?” Hamlin questioned.

“No,” Geronimo admitted. “Never have.”

Hamlin looked at Rory. “He’s good with a lance. Real good. He’s had lots of practice and killed a number of good men with a lance. Not many use the lance on a regular basis. He probably figured you’d be no good at it.”

“We don’t have any choice,” Boone said, speaking up. “We can’t allow this man to fight Rory.”

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Kilrane said, “I have to agree. It would be suicide.”

“Good,” Cynthia smiled. “It’s settled.”

“No, it isn’t,” Geronimo disagreed. “I’m going to do it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because,” Geronimo told her, “I owe Kilrane for saving my life.

Because I can’t stomach the idea of Rory getting off the hook. Because he challenged me, counting on my cowardice. And finally, because I’m a Warrior. I don’t care whether it’s my Family or someone I don’t even know; if they’re threatened, then I’ll eliminate that threat. A long time ago I gave my word. I promised I’d be the best Warrior I could possibly be, and no Warrior worth his pledge would allow the Rorys of this world to run loose, to go free to probably kill or rape someone else. I’ve met men like Rory before. They don’t deserve to live.”

Kilrane was smiling. “Hickok isn’t the only one who’s my kind of man. This Family of yours must be tough. I’d sure hate to tangle with them.”

“After this is over,” Geronimo offered, “I’ll take you to meet them, if you’d like. We’d like to consider you as our friends.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Kilrane declared. “We’ll hold the election and escort you home.”

“Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?” Hamlin asked, nodding toward Rory.

As if on cue, Rory suddenly shouted to them. “Let’s get on with it! Is he going to fight or not? I haven’t got all day!”

“Cocky turd!” Hamlin spat.

“If you’re set on doing this,” Kilrane said, “you’re going to do it right. Forget that brown stallion.”

“Then what horse will I use?”

Kilrane turned and grabbed the reins of his Palomino. “Here. Use my horse. It’s been trained to handle lance fighting. Use your knees to guide it. I trained this animal myself. It will do everything for you except plant the lance in his gut.”

“Are you sure?” Geronimo queried. “It’s a fine horse. I’d hate to damage it.”

“Be serious,” Kilrane replied. “What’s more important? Your life or a horse?”

Boone motioned, and one of the Cavalry riders approached with a lance. He gave it to Boone, who then presented the weapon to Geronimo.

Geronimo hefted the lance. It was ten feet long, as thick as a man’s arm, and tipped with a metal point. Despite its size, the weapon was surprisingly light.

“Geronimo!” Cynthia exclaimed, abruptly grabbing him by the shoulders.

“I’ll be all right,” he promised her.

“Take care,” she said, and kissed him on the lips.

Geronimo nodded and mounted the Palomino.

“Extend about two-thirds of the lance in front of your body,” Kilrane advised. “Keep your grip firm, but don’t lock your elbow in case you have to turn fast.”

“Keep your body as close to the horse as you can,” Boone suggested.

“Present as small a target as you can.”

“Watch that prick,” Hamlin joined in. “Rory likes to twist as he’s passing and jab the other guy in the back.”

“If you knock him from his horse,” Kilrane detailed, “you can finish him any way you want. It’s the rules.”

“I’ve got it,” Geronimo told them.

“Take care,” Cynthia repeated, her lovely eyes brimming with worry.

“Give him one for me!” Hamlin urged.

“Ride out until about twenty-five yards are between you,” Kilrane directed. “When you hear me fire my gun, that’s the signal. Remember, this Palomino knows what to do. Rely on its instincts.”

Geronimo nodded, gazed fondly at his newfound friends, and rode forward.

Rory saw him coming and tightened his grip on his lance, raising it to chest level.

Geronimo felt an adrenaline surge rush through his body.

Rory’s black horse was prancing in place, apparently accustomed to the duel and ready to begin.

It figured. Rory would own a well-trained horse too.