"David L. Robbins - Endworld 08 - Denver Run" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robbins David L)

The gunman chuckled. "A piece of cake, pard," he replied.

"One day," the man in green predicted, "your arrogance will be the
death of you."

"Worrywart!" the gunman retorted, and laughed. He casually reloaded
his right revolver from his cartridge belt, then twirled the handgun into its
holster.

The man in green covered Mitchell with the FNC.

"So what do we have here?" the gunman inquired. He sauntered up to
the soldier. "What's your name?" he demanded.

"Mitchell," the trooper hastily blurted out. "Arthur Mitchell."

"And what are you doing here, so far from the Civilized Zone?" the
gunman queried.

Mitchell swallowed hard, but refused to respond.

"We'll get to that in a moment," the gunman stated ominously, his
hands resting on his pearl-handled revolvers. "I noticed you recognized me
when you first saw me."

Mitchell nodded. "You're Hickok."

"How'd you know who I am?" Hickok asked.

"We know about the Family," Mitchell revealed. "And we know about
the Warriors."

The man in green stepped closer. "Then you must know who I am as
well."

Mitchell shook his head. "Sorry. I can't quite place you."

Hickok cackled.

"Don't let it go to your head," the man in green said to the gunman.

Mitchell was astonished by their cool composure. What were they going
to do to him? Kill him? Were they playing some kind of game? Was that
it? How could they make jokes at a time like this? Hickok had just slain
two men, yet he was engaging in light-hearted banter as if nothing had
happened. What kind of men were these Warriors?

Hickok indicated the man in green with his right hand. "This is my
pard, Geronimo. Geronimo, meet Arthur Mitchell."