were several genuine Indian spears, and Geronimo had become proficient in their use by his tenth birthday. He’d spent hours upon hours developing his skill, and it had finally paid off.
The lance left Geronimo’s hand and arced through the air, the shining tip tearing into Rory’s body, entering at the right shoulder and exiting near the shoulder blade. .
Rory shrieked in agony and released his hold on the black’s reins, toppling off the horse, falling to his left, still holding his lance as he fell.
Geronimo wheeled the Palomino clear of the still running black, then slid from his steed and dropped to the grass, drawing his tomahawk as he landed.
Rory was on his knees, his right hand clutching the lance in his shoulder, his own lance on the ground in front of him.
Geronimo charged.
Rory saw him coming. He gripped the shaft of the lance in his shoulder with both hands. His face turned red as he exerted himself in a herculean effort and tore the lance from his body. Blood flowed down his brown shirt as he frantically clawed for the automatic pistol in his left holster.
Geronimo realized he’d never reach his foe before he managed to draw his pistol. The Arminius was empty, so there was only one thing to do.
He threw the tomahawk.
Rory was already bringing the pistol up.
All action seemed to revert to slow motion, as Geronimo watched the tomahawk flip end over end. He plainly saw the sweat on Rory’s strained face; he could see the stark fear in Rory’s wide eyes as he pointed the pistol; he observed, as if from a distance, the keen edge of the tomahawk bite into Rory’s forehead, splitting the skin and penetrating the bone, crimson spurting over Rory’s face, blood covering his eyes, as Rory’s head jerked backwards from the impact.
The pistol discharged, the shot plowing into the ground at Geronimo’s feet, and suddenly the world was operating at normal speed again.
Rory opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out except for a dribble of red over the right corner. He gasped, a vastly protracted sound, seemingly striving to inhale all the air in the atmosphere. Then his entire form quivered violently for several seconds before falling to one side. He landed on his left shoulder, rolled slightly forward, and lay still.
Dead.
Geronimo sighed and wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his right hand. He felt so weary, so tired of all the conflict. All he wanted was to get to the Home, to see those he loved, to relax and enjoy life again.
What was that noise?
The horsemen were giving him a thunderous ovation.
Geronimo slowly walked to Rory’s body. He bent over, placed his right hand on the tomahawk handle, and pulled. There was a sucking sound and the blade popped free of the forehead, dripping blood on Geronimo’s pants.
Footsteps pounded on the ground behind him and arms encircled his waist.
“You did it! You’re alive!”
“How about letting me turn around?” he proposed.
She released her hold on him, and he twisted and smiled, delighted at the affection reflected in her admiring eyes.
“I thought I’d have a heart attack!” Cynthia exclaimed.
“You?” Geronimo laughed. “I did have one!”
“You did all right,” stated the deep voice of Kilrane.
Geronimo glanced around.
Kilrane, Boone, and Hamlin were standing behind him, Hamlin gaping at Rory’s body.
“I never would of believed it!” Hamlin said in awe. “If I hadn’t of seen it with my own eyes, I’d never believe it was possible!”
“Remember the technique in case you’re ever in a lance duel,” Geronimo suggested.
“I’ll remember it, all right,” Hamlin promised. “It’s something I’ll tell my grandkids about.”
“How’s your side?” Boone inquired.
Geronimo looked down, surprised to observe a rip in his green shirt and blood trickling over his pants.
“You’re hurt!” Cynthia cried.
“Just a scratch,” Geronimo remarked.
“You let me be the judge of that,” Cynthia said. “Sit down,” she ordered him.
Geronimo complied, grinning.
Cynthia looked at Kilrane. “Can you get me some cloth and a canteen?”
“You got it.” Kilrane strode toward the horsemen.
“Take your shirt off,” Cynthia directed, crouching next to Geronimo.
“You seem to enjoy bossing me around,” Geronimo observed wryly.
Cynthia stared fondly into his eyes. “You better get used to it.”
“I’ll try.”
Boone stepped closer. “I’ve never seen anyone use a hatchet like you.”
Geronimo held the tomahawk aloft. “It’s not a hatchet,” he informed Boone. “It’s called a tomahawk.”
“You reckon you could teach me how to toss that thing sometime?”
Boone asked. “A talent like that could come in mighty handy.”
“Whenever you want,” Geronimo told him.
“Well, it sure isn’t going to be right this minute,” Cynthia let them know. “He’s not tossing anything for a while. Not until he heals.”
Boone winked at Geronimo. “Ain’t true love wonderful?”
Cynthia smacked Boone on the left shin. “Don’t you have something else you can do besides bother an injured man?”
“I can take a hint,” Boone stated, smiling. He nodded at Geronimo and departed, just as Kilrane arrived with a canteen and a blanket. Hamlin waved and strolled off too.
“Here,” Kilrane said, offering the items to Cynthia. “You can cut the blanket into strips if need be.”
“Thank you,” Cynthia responded as she took the blanket and the canteen. “Now why don’t you run off and water your horse or something?”
Kilrane grinned. “Will do. But first I have something to say to Geronimo.”
“It’s not necessary,” Geronimo informed him.
“Yes, it is. By taking care of Rory for me, you’ve evened up the score.
You’ve also given my people a new lease on life, for which I can’t thank you enough. We’ll be able to unite the two factions again, and it will be just like in the old days. The Cavalry rides again!”
“I’m glad I could help,” Geronimo mentioned.
“You’re pretty anxious to get home, aren’t you?” Kilrane asked.
Geronimo nodded.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do. I’m going to dispatch riders to Pierre. If they ride all night, and borrow mounts as they need them from the farms and ranches they’ll pass along the way, they should deliver my message to Rolf sometime tomorrow. I’ll tell him to come to Redfield on the double. The election won’t take that long, and once that’s over I’ll get you to your family safe and sound. Okay by you?” Kilrane concluded.
Geronimo glanced at Cynthia and she nodded.
“If it’s not an imposition,” Geronimo said, “there is one more thing you could do for me.”
“True friends will do anything for each other,” Kilrane stated. “What do you need?”
“I need you to send out some riders,” Geronimo revealed.
“Where to? Your family?”
“No.” Geronimo looked at Cynthia. “You tell him.”
So she did.
Kilrane smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Hot damn! Are we gonna have one whopper of a wingding! I may have a hangover for a week!”
“Me too,” Geronimo commented.
“Over my dead body,” Cynthia vowed.
“Oh. Why not?”
“Because you’ll be too busy doing something else.”
Kilrane’s laughter filled the valley.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Can I tell you something, pard?”
“Of course.”
“You promise not to tell anyone?”
“I promise.”
“Are you sure you won’t tell anyone?”
Blade sighed. “Nathan, if you’re that worrie
d about it, then don’t tell me.”
Hickok was nervously rubbing his hands together. “But I’ve got to tell someone.”
“Then tell me.”
Hickok scanned their immediate vicinity to insure they were alone. The two Warriors were standing near one of the few trees in the commons area, attired in their best clothes. Hickok wore a new set of buckskins and new moccasins, his Pythons were polished, the pearl handles gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, and his hair was neatly combed. Blade wore clean fatigue pants confiscated from the Watchers, a white shirt stitched together from the remnants of an old sheet, and his black vest. His Bowies were strapped around his waist.
The Family was assembled twenty yards from the Warriors, every member wearing their finest clothes. Omega Triad was on duty on the walls, but Spartacus and Seiko were temporarily relieved from guarding the prisoners for this special occasion after first binding the two soldiers and Ferret with so many loops of rope only their faces and feet were visible.
“Don’t let this get around,” Hickok said quietly, “but for the first time in my entire life, the very first time, I am so scared I could pee my pants!”
“You’d better not,” Blade advised. “Sherry made those for you herself, and I don’t think she’d like it too much if you put a stain in them.”
“Aren’t you just a mite edgy?” Hickok asked.
“What’s to be edgy about?”
“You’re binding, pard! You’re getting married! You’re giving up bachelorhood for an anchor and chain!”
Blade chuckled. “Is that how you view it?”
Hickok pondered a moment. “No, I reckon not. I guess I’ve been listening to Spartacus too much.”
“He’s a fine one to talk,” Blade snorted. “I’ll bet you anything he’s the next one to tie the knot.”
“I almost wish he was doing it now instead of me,” Hickok mumbled.
“Sherry’s a fine woman,” Blade stated. “You’re a lucky man.”
“But what if I ruin her life?” Hickok inquired in a plaintive tone.
“What are you babbling about?”
“What if I ruin her life?” Hickok gravely repeated. “I’m a Warrior, plain and simple. I can’t promise her a fancy spread or ritzy clothes, because I know I couldn’t deliver…”
“So who in the Family has a fancy spead or ritzy clothes?” Blade interrupted.
“I mean,” Hickok went on, ignoring Blade’s comment, “we could starve to death, couldn’t we? If we’re ever out in the world, on our own, what happens if I can’t deliver? What happens if I can’t do my job as a man, as the provider for my family?”
“Are you planning to leave the Home soon?” Blade interjected.
“Well, no,” Hickok admitted.
“Then you won’t need to worry about providing, will you? The Tillers take care of our needs here, as far as food is concerned. All you have to do is your job as a Warrior. The rest will take care of itself.”
“But what if I get shot?” Hickok queried, his face a study in self-torment. “What if we have kids and I get killed? Who’s going to look after Sherry and the kids? Who’s going to stare into their cute little faces and tell them their papa was blown away in the line of duty and won’t be home that night to tuck them in or read them a bedtime story?”
“More to the point,” Blade stated, “who’s going to look into their cute little faces and inform them their dad was a dimwit?”
“I’m serious about this,” Hickok snapped.
Blade gazed skyward and shook his head. He placed his right arm around Hickok’s shoulders. “Nathan, listen to me. You’re working yourself up over nothing. Sherry knows you’re a Warrior and I doubt she’d want you to change. We’ve had Warriors in the Family for a century, and many of them have married and reared children. Sherry knows the best she can expect is a cabin in the Home and the security it provides. At least, in here, she’ll have a safe haven, somewhere she can raise her offspring with confidence.”
“But…” Hickok started to speak.
“Let me finish,” Blade cut him off. “As far as you’re being killed is concerned, every parent faces that prospect. You should talk to Yama sometime. He has an interesting philosophy about dying. He says death is inevitable. Everyone and everything dies. So why in the world do so many people get upset about dying? Death is merely the method for getting from where we are right now, from this planet, to where we’re going from here.
Plato and Joshua say we pass on from here to the mansions on high. So…”
“But…” Hickok tried to interrupt.
“Will you let me finish?” Blade demanded. “So it’s useless for you to become so upset over death. Besides, Sherry is a Warrior now, and it could happen to her as easily as to you. Your children will understand, and they’ll have everyone in the Family here to look after them. I personally guarantee Jenny and I will treat your kids as our very own if something ever happens to Sherry and you. What more…”
“But…”
Blade, annoyed, removed his arm from Hickok’s shoulder. “Here I am, trying to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, and all you can do is interrupt. But! But! But! But what?”
Hickok’s face was decidedly pale. “I appreciate what you’re saying, pard,” he said, “but the whole matter is moot.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because binding time is here.” Hickok pointed.
Blade turned and saw several of the Family beckoning for them to approach.
“They’ve been wavin’ at us ever since you started yapping,” Hickok mentioned.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried,” Hickok replied. “But you were on a roll.”
They walked toward the Family, which was divided into two groups of comparable size, standing with their backs towards the two Warriors. The entire Family was facing due south, their eyes on the man presiding over this most meaningful of ceremonies, the Family member viewed as the most intensely spiritual man ever to arise in Family history.
“I hope old Josh doesn’t flub his lines,” Hickok whispered as they neared the clustered Family.
“Joshua is the same age you are,” Blade absently remarked, his mind on the impending ceremony.
As was Family tradition, the two Warriors stood at the rear of the narrow aisle between the two waiting groups. Standing alone in front of the Family, at the end of the cleared pathway, was Joshua, his long brown hair blowing in the cool breeze, his beard and moustache meticulously groomed, his large Latin cross visible in the center of his chest, suspended from a golden chain draped around his neck. He wore a faded but clean black suit and a white shirt with a ruffled front.
“Josh looks like a sissy,” Hickok quibbled.
Blade turned toward B Block, wondering what was keeping the women.
That’s when he saw them, already half the distance to the gathered Family.
“Maybe I should give Sherry more time to think about this,” Hickok was thinking to himself. “After all, you don’t want to rush into anything as important as marriage. I’ll bet…”
Blade smacked Hickok on the left shoulder and nodded toward the women.
Hickok swiveled, his mouth dropping. “Dear Spirit! Aren’t they a sight!”
Blade was experiencing similar emotions. In all his days, he could recall nothing as beautiful as the vision of Jenny coming toward him, dressed in a replica of the typical wedding garment worn by women in the pre-war society. She’d taken a photograph from one of the books in the library and, with the aid of several of her friends, after sewing and cutting and experimenting with crude patterns for two days, produced a marvelous reproduction of a wedding dress.
Sherry had opted for a white pants suit, remarkable because white clothing was at a premium. One of the older women owned a swatch of white material preserved from the pre-war times, and she generously gave it as a gift, after bleaching it to remove the discoloration.
Smiling, the two women reached their intend
eds.
“You’re beautiful!” Hickok whispered to Sherry.
Blade stared down the long path to Joshua, then at Hickok. “You can go first,” he graciously offered.
Hickok gazed along the rows of expectant faces, then grinned at Blade.
“Thanks, pard, but you can go first.”
“No, you go first.”
Hickok politely shook his head. “No, you go first. You’re bigger than me.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Joshua was watching them in bewilderment, perplexed by the delay.
Jenny glanced at Sherry, rolled her eyes heavenward, and took Blade’s right hand, forcefully pulling him the first few feet down the aisle.
Hickok leaned toward Sherry. “Listen,” he said softly, “if you’d like to postpone this for a year or so, I’d under…”
He nearly lost his footing when she unceremoniously yanked him along the pathway.
Joshua, hoping his beard and moustache hid his grin, stood solemnly until the couples reached him. Blade and Jenny standing to his right, Hickok and Sherry to his left.
Plato and his wife, Nadine, were in the front row of the Family, Nadine with tears in her eyes.
Joshua raised his hands over his head.
“Brothers and sisters,” he began, “fellow children of our loving Creator, we are gathered here today for a very special ceremony, for the eternal binding of these two couples. As the Spirit is our witness, we pray for their happiness together as husband and wife.”
Joshua lowered his arms and stared at the four people in front of him.
“Binding,” he continued, “is a serious responsibility. A union of a man and a woman should be an equal partnership, a mutual sharing predicated on love and loyalty. The woman agrees to go through life with her man, to assist the man in dealing with the hardships of life, and to diligently shoulder the burden of bearing and rearing children.”
Joshua glanced at Hickok and Blade.
“The man must appreciate the sacrifice the woman makes in carrying, bearing, and usually assuming the far-greater share of responsibility in raising the children. The man must be willing to offer not only protection from the evils of this world, but also the loving companionship and consideration the woman deserves.”
Dakota Run Page 20