"Thee's too good," Susan said. "Ye should send Sheemie and I on alone, sai."
"And go back to what? Why, I can't even get two old trailhands on kitchen-duty to follow my orders. Fran Lengyll's boss of the shooting-match now, and I've no urge to wait and see how he does at it. Nor if he decides he'd be better off with me adjudged mad and put up safe in a haci with bars on the windows. Or shall I stay to see how Hash Renfrew does as Mayor, with his boots up on my tables?" Olive actually laughed.
"Sai, I'm sorry."
"We shall all be sorry later on," Olive said, sounding remarkably cheery about it. "For now, the most important thing is to reach those caves unobserved. It must seem that we vanished into thin air. Hold up."
Olive checked her horse, stood in the stirrups, looked around to make sure of her position, nodded, then twisted in the saddle so she could speak to Sheemie.
"Young man, it's time for ye to mount yer trusty mule and go back to Seafront. If there are riders coming after us, ye must turn em aside with a few well-chosen words. Will'ee do that?"
Sheemie looked stricken. "I don't have any well-chosen words, sai Thorin, so I don't. I hardly have any words at all."
"Nonsense," Olive said, and kissed Sheemie's forehead. "Go back at a goodish trot. If'ee spy no one coming after us by the time the sun touches the hills, then turn north again and follow. We shall wait for ye by the signpost. Do ye know where I mean?"
Sheemie thought he did, although it marked the outmost northern boundary of his little patch of geography. "The red 'un? With the sombrero on it, and the arrow pointing back for town?"
"The very one. Ye won't get that far until after dark, but there'll be plenty of moonlight tonight. If ye don't come right away, we'll wait. But ye must go back, and shift any men that might be chasing us off our track. Do ye understand?"
Sheemie did. He slid off Olive's horse, clucked Caprichoso forward, and climbed on board, wincing as the place the mule had bitten came down. "So it'll be, Olive-sai."
"Good, Sheemie. Good. Off'ee go, then."
"Sheemie?" Susan said. "Come to me a moment, please."
He did, holding his hat in front of him and looking up at her worship-fully. Susan bent and kissed him not on the forehead but firmly on the mouth. Sheemie came close to fainting.
"Thankee-sai," Susan said. "For everything."
Sheemie nodded. When he spoke, he could manage nothing above a whisper. " 'Twas only ka," he said. "I know that... but I love you, Susan-sai. Go well. I'll see you soon."
"I look forward to it."
But there was no soon, and no later for them, either. Sheemie took one look back as he rode his mule south, and waved. Susan lifted her own hand in return. It was the last Sheemie ever saw of her, and in many ways, that was a blessing.
12
Latigo had set pickets a mile out from Hanging Rock, but the blond boy Roland, Cuthbert, and Alain encountered as they closed in on the tankers looked confused and unsure of himself, no danger to anyone. He had scurvy-blossoms around his mouth and nose, suggesting that the men Farson had sent on this duty had ridden hard and fast, with little in the way of fresh supplies.
When Cuthbert gave the Good Man's sigul - hands clasped to the chest, left above right, then both held out to the person being greeted - the blond picket did the same, and with a grateful smile.
"What spin and raree back there?" he asked, speaking with a strong In-World accent - to Roland, the boy sounded like a Nordite.
"Three boys who killed a couple of big bugs and then hied for the hills." Cuthbert replied. He was an eerily good mimic, and gave the boy back his own accent faultlessly. "'I here were a tight. It be over now, but they did fight fearful."
"What - "
"No time," Roland said brusquely. "We have dispatches." He crossed his hands on his chest, then held them out. "Hile! Farson!"
"Good Man!" the blond returned smartly. He gave back the salute with a smile that said he would have asked Cuthbert where he was from and who he was related to, if there had been more time. Then they were past him and inside Latigo's perimeter. As easy as that.
"Remember that it's hit-and-run," Roland said. "Slow down for nothing. What we don't get must be left - there'll be no second pass."
"Gods, don't even suggest such a thing," Cuthbert said, but he was smiling. He pulled his sling out of its rudimentary holster and tested its elastic draw with a thumb. Then he licked the thumb and hoisted it to the wind. Not much problem there, if they came in as they were; the wind was strong, but at their backs.
Alain unslung Lengyll's machine-gun, looked at it doubtfully, then yanked back the slide-cock. "I don't know about this, Roland. It's loaded, and I think I see how to use it, but - "
"Then use it," Roland said. The three of them were picking up speed now, the hooves of their horses drumming against the hardpan. The wind gusted, belling the fronts of their scrapes. "This is the sort of work it was meant for. If it jams, drop it and use your revolver. Are you ready?"
"Yes, Roland."