David Robbins - The Kalispell Run

“One of them grabbed you by the armpits, the other by the knees, and they brought you here. Why?”

“Never mind.” Hickok kept his eyes on the trio heading their way.

“Listen up. We don’t have much time. If we get separated, I’ll come for you as soon as I can.”

“What can you do against so many?” Sherry asked doubtfully.

“You let me worry about that,” Hickok answered. “Just have faith. I’m going to get us out of this mess, and Shane too, if they haven’t killed him yet.”

“I have faith in you,” Sherry declared affectionately. “I’ll be waiting.”

Hickok smiled at her, noting the lovely contours of her features and admiring her strength and courage. She was some woman! If they managed to get out of this mess in one piece, he resolved to indulge in some heavy courting. His thoughts strayed to Bertha, awaiting his return to the Twin Cities, and he frowned. What in the blazes was he going to do about her? He knew she liked him; she flagrantly displayed her fondness for the whole world to see! But how did he feel about her? He cared for her, sure, but more as a close friend than a lover. Would Bertha understand if he became attached to Sherry? Knowing Bertha, she’d probably beat Sherry to a pulp.

“Is something the matter?” Sherry inquired.

“No. Why?”

“You look upset,” she said.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Hickok promised. Yep. The only way to confront Bertha would be with complete honesty. Lay all his cards on the table, and pray she understood.

“You never did tell me much about where you come from,” Sherry commented ruefully.

“Don’t worry,” Hickok said. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

“I will?” she asked hopefully.

“You can count on it,” Hickok vowed.

Sherry smiled. “That bump on the head has done you some good.”

“If he likes it so much,” someone sarcastically interjected, “I can put another one there, real easy.”

Hickok stood and turned, facing Goldman, Silvester, and the third Mole, a thin man dressed in clean clothes, a brown shirt, and blue pants and carrying a black-leather bag similar to the type used by the Family Healers.

“I’d like to see you try.” Hickok glared at Goldman.

Goldman took a menacing step forward. “Don’t think I wouldn’t love to cram this Winchester down your arrogant throat, but I have other orders.”

“Don’t let that stop you,” Hickok goaded him.

The skinny Mole walked up to Hickok and extended his right hand, smiling. “My name is Watson. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Hickok took the proffered hand and shook. “The name is Hickok.”

“I know.” Watson nodded. “Silvester told me about you and the charming lady you’re with.”

“You’re a bit out of place here, aren’t you?” Hickok commented.

“ I don’t follow you,” Watson stated.

“You act almost human.”

Watson laughed. “Let’s just say I don’t necessarily appreciate the rougher element in our cloistered society.”

“You must read a lot,” Hickok reasoned.

“How did you know?”

“I’m psychic.”

“Really?” Watson took the claim seriously.

“No.”

Watson glanced at Sherry, uncertain whether to accept Hickok’s statements at face value. She was grinning from ear to ear. “I’m something of a physician,” he informed them. “I must check you over before you can enter the Mound.”

“How come?” Sherry inquired.

Watson placed his black bag on the ground and opened a worn flap.

“Some time ago,” he explained as he sorted the contents, “a prisoner entered the Mound and was sentenced to a tunnel crew. Unknown to us, he carried a new type of virus, a particularly deadly viral organism. We lost four dozen before the contagion stopped as mysteriously as it spread. Shortly thereafter, Wolfe decided all prisoners would be checked before they entered the Mound. That’s why I’m here.”

“Where did you learn to be a physician?” Sherry questioned, watching as he extracted a stethoscope.

“From my father,” Watson replied. “He taught me what he could. He learned from his father, a member of the original Carter group.”

“You any good?” Hickok bluntly demanded.

“I do my best,” Watson said. He fidgeted, hesitating.

“Get on with it!” Goldman ordered.

“I’m afraid,” Watson said, somewhat embarrassed, “you will need to remove your clothes.”

“What?” Hickok snapped.

“Right out here in the open?” Sherry asked. “You can’t be serious!”

“I am sorry,” Watson apologized.

“With all these men watching?” Sherry stressed her objection to the requirement.

“You’re not hiding anything I won’t see eventually,” Goldman declared.

“Strip.”

Hickok moved in front of Sherry, protectively placing his body between the Moles and his newfound romantic interest. “No way,” he said, looking directly at Goldman, challenging him.

Goldman aimed the Winchester at Hickok’s chest. “You’ll do as you’re told!”

“What about your orders?” Hickok defied him. “You think your boss is going to like it if you blow me away before he has a chance to interrogate us?”

Goldman paused, lowering the rifle. “Think you know everything, don’t you, smart ass? I was told you’re to be checked, and you will be whether you like it or not!” He nodded at the encircling guards and they began closing in.

Hickok tensed. What should he do? If they stripped, the Moles would find his hideouts and he would lose his edge. If he drew the Derringer, he might be able to catch them off guard, break free, and reach the nearby forest. But if they did escape, it would minimize their chances of rescuing Shane. He had only seconds to decide.

“I have a solution,” Watson proposed.

“Who cares?” Goldman snapped impatiently.

“Would you prefer it if I tell it to Wolfe?” Watson countered.

Goldman glanced at Watson, chewing on his lower lip, debating. “No,” he said finally. “You’re one of his favorites. He might become angry, and I wouldn’t want that.”

“I bet you wouldn’t.” Watson beamed, relishing his verbal victory.

Hickok noted the friction between the two and filed it for future reference.

“So what’s your bright idea?” Goldman asked in an annoyed tone.

“See those bushes?” Watson pointed at a thick stand of tall bushes fifteen yards away, at the perimeter of the forest.

“Yeah. So?”

“So I take one of them over there at a time. They undress, I examine them, and they put their clothes back on. This way, we avoid bloodshed.”

Goldman snickered. “What a dumb idea!”

“Why?” Watson patiently inquired.

“What’s to stop them from taking off once they’re in the bushes?” Goldman demanded.

Watson frowned and sighed. “With the guards so close? How far do you think they would get? Besides,” he added, “I doubt one of them would run if you keep the other one here.”

Goldman stroked his hairy chin. “I guess you’re right. Go ahead. But you’re responsible.”

“Fine.” Watson faced Hickok and Sherry. “Which one of you wants to be first?”

“I’ll go,” Hickok volunteered. He smiled reassuringly at Sherry and followed Watson to the forest. They found a small open space in the center of the bushes, wide enough to accommodate two people and shielded from prying eyes in the clearing. “Turn your back,” Hickok directed.

Watson’s eyebrows raised, but he complied with the request.

Hickok quickly removed his clothes and the backups, hiding them in the pile of buckskins at his feet. “You can examine me now.”

Watson performed his examination in silence. As he replaced his instruments in the black bag, he glanced at Hickok. “I wish everyone in the Mound was as healthy as you are. There’s no evidence of malnutrition, a common malady these days. Except for a few bumps and bruises, and a lot of scars, you’re one of the fittest specimens I’ve ever seen.”