“Tell us all your names and where you come from,” Wolfe commanded.
“Name’s Ryan Cawdor. From the ville of Front Royal, up in the Shens. This is my son, Dean.” Dean stepped forward.
“I’m Krysty Wroth and I come from the ville of Harmony.”
“Jak Lauren. West Lowellton.”
“Where’s that?” someone yelled. Ryan suspected that it was the giantess.
“Near Lafayette, Louisiana.”
“Swampie,” shouted a man’s voice, reedy and thin. “Look at his hair. Mutie and a swampie!”
Jak ignored him, though Ryan saw the teenager’s knuckles whitening.
“I’m John Dix, originally from Cripple Creek. Since then I’ve been all over Deathlands.”
“And my name is Mildred Winona Wyeth. Father was a preacher man. I was born in Lincoln, Nebraska.”
“How about the old man?” Jim Owsley shouted.
“Doc’s ill,” he replied.
“Doesn’t signify. Need to know who he is and where he comes from.”
Krysty patted Ryan on the arm and replied to the questioner. “Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner. Degree in science from Harvard and in philosophy from Oxford in England. Comes from the ville of South Strafford up in the green hills of Vermont. Anything else you want to know?” she asked, challenging Owsley with her flashing, bright emerald eyes. The sec man looked down at his feet and wouldn’t meet her stare.
Wolfe laughed, a natural, friendly country laugh that set Ryan’s teeth on edge. “Well, I guess we know about all we need to know about these folks. Nothing out on the surface to stop them being accepted by us here in Hopeville. So, we rest things in the hands of the Blessed Lord Jesus. He can decide if they are meet to join us as Children of the Rock.”
There was a moment of stillness, broken by the sound, drifting through the open door of the cabin, of Doc having one of his rending fits of coughing.
Joshua Wolfe addressed himself once more to the group of outlanders, his hand resting on the pearlized grips of the big revolver.
“The testing is carried out alone, one of you against the best we have to offer in the ville. The choice of combat is yours. Who goes first?”
“Combat?” Ryan repeated.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Combat,” Wolfe stated.
Ryan felt the short hairs prickling at his nape. Combat! Their best against the best from the Children of the Rock. “Who goes first?”
“Up to you, Brother Cawdor.”
Ryan had been about to step forward himself, when he was beaten to it.
“Me,” said a familiar female voice at his elbow, which brought a stir from the crowd.
Mildred smiled at J.B. and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Don’t worry,” she said.
“You want to go first, lady?” Wolfe asked, his face splitting into a broad smile.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Very well. But what kind of weapon do you choose to use here?”
“Can I have my blaster back for the testing? Is that permitted?” Mildred asked.
“Surely. You want to shoot against our best man? Or woman?”
“Man. Who claims to be the finest sharpshooter in Hopeville?” Mildred challenged.
There was a confused hubbub, with several names being put forward. But gradually Ryan was aware that a single name was being repeated.
Wolfe heard it, as well, keeping a thin smile pasted in place. “Sounds like Brother Carlo Caitlin. Step forward, Brother Caitlin. Will you accept this woman’s challenge?”
Caitlin looked to be around thirty, with long, light brown, shoulder-length hair. Ryan noticed that both his hands lacked any fingernails, and the skin around his mouth was puckered with old scarring. He smirked as he moved forward out of the crowd with a slight swagger. A .44-caliber Winchester 94 slung over his shoulder, with a telescopic sight fixed to the barrel that Ryan didn’t recognize. “Take her on anytime. Not like a real testing, Brother Wolfe. Shootin’ against a woman.”
Mildred addressed the leader of the ville. “I can definitely use my own blaster? Check the load myself, have a little time to go over it, sight it in? No weasel-word trickery?”
“Surely. The lord of all armaments will pronounce the verdict for us.”
Caitlin was already becoming irritated. “Time’s wasting, brothers and sisters. I say we set to it here and now. Why not, in the name of gentle Jesus?”