David Robbins - The Kalispell Run

“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.”