David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

The Henry was lying on the floor next to her mattress.

Hickok retrieved the long gun and walked outside, squinting in the sun.

He sat down on the outside steps and relaxed, enjoying the warm sensation spreading through his limbs. It was too cool in the concrete building.

Maybe he should explore the area? No. Too risky. It would leave Bertha unprotected, helpless.

So what to do?

Something to his right made a loud scratching noise.

Hickok turned his head, scanning. Just the deserted street and dozens of vacant, worn buildings.

Probably an animal of some sort.

The scratching came again. Sounded like metal on metal.

Hickok warily stood, raising the Henry. What now? One of the things Geronimo had shot earlier?

There it was again!

Hickok moved cautiously along the cracked sidewalk, listening. He didn’t like this one bit. The instinct he relied upon to alert him to danger was acting up, shrieking in his brain.

This time he pinpointed the sound. It was emanating from a frame house half a block away.

Hickok glanced back at the concrete building. No sign of anyone trying to sneak up on him or get inside. Whoever, or whatever, was in front of him, luring him with the noises, wanted him.

Well, they’d sure as blazes get him!

His eyes alertly covering every inch of the surrounding vicinity, Hickok, expecting an ambush at any second, reached the walk leading up to the frame house.

The scratching had ceased.

To be expected.

Hickok moved toward the gaping doorway. There was no sign of a door.

The interior of the house was dark and forbidding. He stopped, debating.

His common sense told him to return to the concrete building and wait for the others to come back.

The soft scraping above him forewarned him, too late, of the attack.

Hickok was bringing the Henry up, his eyes darting toward the opening on the second floor where a window pane had existed at one time.

Blast!

The first attacker had already launched himself from the opening, his body slamming into Hickok’s, and they both went down hard. The Henry rolled off in the grass.

Hickok twisted, bringing his right knee up, savagely driving it into his attacker’s groin area. His assailant, a young man with brown hair and a skimpy beard, gasped and rolled away.

Rising swiftly, Hickok aimed a kick at the man’s head, a kick that never landed.

The second attacker came around the corner of the frame house, running and diving and catching Hickok around the legs with both arms.

Hickok hit the walk, pain searing his left shoulder. He swung his left fist, catching the second assailant on the side of his head, above the ear.

The man grunted and tried to rise to his knees. Hickok drew in his legs and drove them straight out, striking the man in the chest, flinging him aside. He reached for his right Python.

The first attacker was already up, lunging. He grabbed Hickok’s right arm and held it fast. “Get him!” he screamed. “Hurry!”

The second man, a blond with a burly build, scrambled to his feet and moved in. “Hold him!” he urgently directed.

Hickok couldn’t free his right arm. The first attacker was clinging to him for dear life. Out of the corner of his left eye he saw the second assailant close in, and he waited until the man was right on top of him before he acted. He swept his left foot up, catching the man in the shins, causing him to stumble and trip over his own feet. The blond sprawled on the walk, cursing.

“I’m losing my grip!” skimpy beard warned. “Help me!”

Hickok, furious, extended the first two fingers of his left hand, held them rigid, and stabbed them directly into the first attacker’s right eye.

Skimpy beard screeched in agony and released his hold on Hickok’s right arm.

Hickok jumped to his feet, reaching for the right Python again.

“Not this time!” came from the blond.

Hickok spun, the right Colt clearing leather.

Not fast enough.

The blond had grabbed a huge chunk of broken walk, a jagged piece of cement, and flung it with all his strength at the gunman.

Hickok tried to duck, to dodge the projectile, but the heavy cement caught him above his right eye, tearing the flesh, blood pouring out, stunning him momentarily.

The blond, seeing his temporary advantage, closed in. He swung his bony fists twice, pounding the gunman on the chin, staggering him. A final blow to the side of the head brought him down.

The blond stared at the fallen gunman, catching his breath. “Whew! He was one tough son of a bitch!”

“You and your bright ideas, Harry.” The younger man rose to his feet, holding his right hand over his right eye. “The bastard almost took out my eye!”

“If he’d been able to bring those guns into play,” Harry commented, “I have a feeling we wouldn’t be alive right now.”

“But we are,” skimpy beard verified, “and we’ve got to get him back.”

“I don’t know…” Harry hesitated. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

the younger man bitterly demanded. “Catching one of them alive was your idea! Well, we’ve done it. So let’s get this sucker out of here before any more of them show up.”

Harry glanced back down the street, toward the concrete building. “No sign of anyone else. Maybe he was the only one left behind when the others drove off.”

“We can’t take that chance.”

“All right, Pete. I wonder what happened to Joe and the rest.”

“I have an idea,” Pete replied, staring coldly at Hickok.

“Let’s tie him up and get out of here,” Harry suggested.

Pete reached into his pants pockets and removed a length of cord. He knelt and securely tied Hickok’s arms behind his back. “I’ll take these,” he announced, and unbuckled Hickok’s gun belt and strapped it around his own lean waist. He picked up the right Colt and slid it into his holster.

“Then I get the rifle.” Harry spotted the Henry in the tall grass and claimed it as his own.

“This was your idea,” Pete stressed again. “I agree that the general will want to question this man. But I don’t expect this guy to come along peacefully. He’ll make trouble for us, for sure.”

“That will just be too bad for him,” Harry snapped, rubbing his sore chest.

“How do you mean?”

“If this bastard gives us too much trouble,” Harry promised, “I’ll personally blow his brains out.”

The SEAL came to a stop in front of the concrete building.

“No sign of anyone,” Geronimo commented. “Maybe we should stay out here for a while.”

“Why?” Joshua asked.

Geronimo smirked. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt Hickok and Bertha if they’re getting acquainted, would we?”

“Surely they wouldn’t!” Joshua exclaimed.

Geronimo laughed. “You don’t know Hickok like I know Hickok. He’s capable of anything.”

Blade opened his door. “He better be on guard duty.”

They followed one another into the building. Bertha was sleeping, curled up on her right side.

“No sign of Nathan,” Joshua observed.

“Strange,” Blade noted. “Geronimo, check upstairs. Joshua, the basement.”

Blade turned and searched outside, surveying the street and the park.

No sign of his friend.

“He’s not upstairs,” Geronimo said, returning.

A moment later Joshua came up from the basement. He approached them, shaking his head.

“Where could he be?” Geronimo asked.

“Maybe he’s in the park relieving himself,” Blade suggested.

They waited, hoping Hickok would emerge from the park, their anxiety building.

“Would he be hiding somewhere?” Joshua asked.

“He may have his faults,” Blade replied, “but being childish isn’t one of them.”