David Robbins - The Kalispell Run

“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?