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approaching the large building that stood at its core. Ryan walked with
Steele, the others close on his heels, all of them finally stopping a few
paces from the open front door of the main house.
A figure loomed from the shadows inside, and an echoing voice carried out to
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Axler, James - Deathlands 44 - Crucible of Time them.
"By the blessed saints! It's my old friend, One-Eye Cawdor. I always swore
that
I'd chill you next time I saw you. And here you are!"
Chapter Nineteen
Suddenly Ryan was aware that they were surrounded by armed men.
There were at least twenty, most in clothes similar to those worn by Steele
and
Owsley. Most were clean shaved, though Ryan spotted a couple with neatly
trimmed mustaches. He thought one of them was the youngest of the trio that
they'd run into back at Mom's Place, but he had other things to worry about.
They had been waiting for their arrival, setting them up. That was all too
obvious.
The men, mostly looking middle-aged, were in doorways of houses, some with the
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barrels of their Winchester 94 rifles protruding from windows. Others had
circled behind the outlanders, standing in a rough skirmish line. Most with
long blasters, a few with revolvers.
"Don't even think about it, Cawdor," urged the voice from the darkness.
"Wasn't thinking about a thing. Except that this was a fireblasted sort of a
welcome to the Children of the Rock. Not friendly, Brother Wolfe."
The man still lingered just inside the doorway of the house. "It's Brother
Wolfe, is it now, Cawdor?"
"What else should it be?"
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Axler, James - Deathlands 44 - Crucible of Time
The laugh was warm and friendly, the kind of laugh that sent a finger of ice
down the spine.
"What else should it be? I can recall the names that I got called by Trader
and his renegades."
So. That was it. The Trader had ridden the length and breadth of Deathlands,
and for many of those years he had been accompanied by his two lieutenants,
John
Dix and Ryan Cawdor. Some of the time they'd left good, warm feelings behind
them in the villes they'd visited. Some of the time they hadn't. Ryan blinked
away the thick red mist of half-remembered blood and sighed. "Times long past,
Wolfe."
"Not worth forgetting," Doc added in his usual runic, inconsequential manner.
"Don't know you, old man," the voice said. "I heard word of all of you, here
and there."
"You going to show yourself? Or just give the sign to have us gunned down?"
J.B.
asked.
"Hold your tongue, Armorer. Think I don't know you, Dix, with your gleaming
glasses and your favorite hat? Carrying an Uzi, I see."
"Take some of you whoreson bastards with me, Wolfe. If it comes to that."
"Not the place for a firefight, outlanders," Owsley said at their side. "Be
your blood spilled in the dirt. Best way with strangers. Dead man won't betray
you."
Ryan looked coldly at him. "Any shooting and I swear I'll take you with me."
"Big talk for an old one-eyed man," said the voice from the doorway, followed
by the laugh again.
Ryan was suddenly angry, irritated by the ambush they'd walked into like wet-
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Axler, James - Deathlands 44 - Crucible of Time eared stupes and not ready to
play games any longer with the hidden man.
"You come out now, Wolfe, or I promise you we'll start shooting."
"You've come to talk, then talk. If you've come to shoot& "
It was one of the Trader's favorite sayings.
A spavined, brindled mongrel had crept, belly down, toward the group of
strangers, sidling in closer to Ryan. Its teeth were broken and jagged, its
eyes red rimmed, panting jaws dripping clotted foam. When it considered it had
crept in near enough for its sneak attack, it snarled its hatred and lunged
toward the groin of the one-eyed man.
Ryan had been watching it, readying himself for the attack. His SIG-Sauer was
safely holstered, the Steyr rifle slung across his shoulders. The hilt of the
panga was close to his left hand.
It didn't look like he'd have a chance of fending off the vicious animal.
There was a blur of sudden movement, the pallid sunshine blinking off the
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honed and polished steel, the whisper of the eighteen-inch blade as it
flickered into sight from the soft leather sheath. The hiss of whirring metal
overlaid the growl of the charging dog.
There was a dull thunk, like a swung ax blade biting deep into a thick log of
sodden wood.
The deep-throated bark was cut off into instant silence. The dog's lean skull
dropped in the dirt, washed with a gout of bright arterial blood. The body,
paws still scrabbling, fell alongside it, moving a couple of yards nearer
Ryan, with the impetus of that final charge.
"Holy shit!" Steele breathed.
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Axler, James - Deathlands 44 - Crucible of Time
"Shep!" cried a woman, standing on the other side of the big smoldering fire
at the center of the open square. "That stinking bastard outlander's
slaughtered poor old
Shep!"
The man in the house clapped one hand against the frame of the door, in
sarcastic applause. "Fast as ever, One-Eye. Age hasn't wearied you."
Finally, as though sensing Ryan's building rage, Brother Joshua Wolfe stepped
out into the morning air.
Ryan recognized him, the years flooding back at the sight of the man.
"I remember you," he said.
"Me, too," J.B. muttered. "Yeah. Me, too."
"And I remember both of you, oh, so very well. This is always here to remind
me, should my memory become lax. With this
I can never forget."
The man held out both arms, like a huckster displaying his wares two arms, but
only one hand.
The left hand was missing, ending in a neat stump, just above the wrist.
Ryan looked up from the mutilation, recalling the man who now called himself
Brother Joshua Wolfe. He was around six feet three inches in height, weighing
close to 240. He was broad in the shoulder and narrow in the hip, wearing the
same kind of uniform as most of the men in the ville. His hair was graying,
where it had once been as black as a raven's wing.
His black cord pants tapered down into a pair of mirrored black Western boots
with a silver rattler embroidered across the toes. He had a Mexican rig,
ornately worked in silver-and-gold thread, strapped low on the right thigh,
holding a revolver like most of the men carried, the big .45 caliber Hawes
Montana Marshal.
Only Wolfe's had gleaming pearlized grips.
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Axler, James - Deathlands 44 - Crucible of Time
"Remember, One-Eye?"
He turned toward J.B. "Remember me, Four-Eyes?"
"Sure. Didn't have the Hawes back then. If I recall it right, you had a
matched pair of Iver Johnson Cattleman pistols, .357s. And a hideaway? Now,
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