"Weyman," Jak said.

"Right. Find him and tell him that the brushwood people are planning to try and topple him."

"Should we tell him about the scabbies, as well, Dad?" Dean asked.

"Figure if he's been in charge of a ville in this region, he must know about the muties. But the threat from

Straub's something else. Something seriously dangerous about that man. Still, we can play that one as it lays. If we can find his ville." Ryan looked around to Doc. "While we've stopped for a breath, you might tell us what you figure was happening back there. How did Straub trick us?"

" John Barrymore?"

"What, Doc?"

"I am having a little difficulty in changing the hammer back so that it strikes on the shotgun round. Could

you possibly do it for me?"

"Sure. Give us the Le Mat."

"I am most obliged. Now, my good friend, the Lord of Cawdor, who shall be king hereafter."

"What?" Ryan peered in the moonlight at the old man's grinning face.

"A quote from the Bard of Avon, my friend. You ask me what happened back there?"

"It was the drum, wasn't it?" Krysty said. "Kind of doped us all up."

Doc Tanner nodded. "Partly, in part, inter tres partes , like all of Gaul. Oh, my aching head! Stress and pressure always addles my poor pate even more than usual."

"Good convenient excuse," Mildred muttered, but Doc didn't hear her.

"I believe that the villain had also used some sort of sleeping drug in the campfires. The wind blew the scent directly to our tents."

"And the drum?"

"Indeed, Krysty. I believe that it was operated at an almost subconscious level, probing at the alpha

rhythm of the brain, synchronizing with the heartbeats and then going slower and slower, bringing a deeper level of darkness to our minds. Most devilishly cunning."

Mildred poked a forefinger at his chest. "So, how come you're up there playing Sir Galahad? Riding in to

the rescue of us all? Why wasn't your mind sucked down to a dark level?" She answered her own

question. "Maybe because it was already too damned dark inside your skull."

"No. I would love to tell you" He broke off as J.B. handed back the gold-decorated Le Mat. "My thanks, my dear fellow. Now, where was I?"

"In the tent with everyone else," Mildred snapped.

"I had a cold, which happened to close my nose off from the soporific effects of their herbs. And I had

blocked my ears to try to shield myself from the rumbling snores of Trader. So, to cut a long story short, I was strolling among the trees, admiring the beauty of the night"

"Taking a leak," Mildred interrupted.

"Possibly. Very possibly. You may say that, my dear madam, but you can hardly expect me to comment

on it. I returned from taking afrom admiring the beauty of the nocturnal forest, when I witnessed the arrival of friend Straub, Schickel and their choice chums."

"They planning to chill us and take all the blasters?" Trader asked.

"More than that, I do believe. Straub is, as we know, a trader in human hair. He aspired to obtain the scalps of both Miss Wroth and young Master Lauren. He was holding a large pair of shearing scissors as they approached the tents."

"Fucking bastard," Jak said calmly and quietly.

"Kill me for my hair!" Krysty shuddered, hunching her shoulders protectively.

"Shame you didn't get the bald bastard on the last train to the coast, instead of Schickel," Trader

commented. "Guess you never thought of that."

"Of course I thought of it, you oafish lout!" Doc was suddenly furious, pointing his sword stick at Trader's chest. "Straub was shielded by other men. Time had fully run out, so I did what was best. I had to warn you poor refugees from Sleeping Beauty's castle, did I not?"

Trader flapped his hand at the ebony cane, knocking it away. "Don't threaten me, you dumb old bastard! Makes a change that you do something almost right. Most of the time I tell you that all I see is Ryan and the others carrying you like a worn-out suit of clothes."

There was a whisper of steel as Doc drew the rapier from its sheath. "By God, Trader, but you try my patience too far! Until you arrived back, with the half-remembered relics of your pomp draped about you like the ragged banners of a forgotten army, we all got on well."

"You going to make me leave?" Trader lifted the Armalite and aimed it squarely at Doc's chest. "Because it looks like one of us is leaving, Doc." His lips were peeled back off his teeth, like the snarl of a hunting wolf.

Ryan stepped between them, without drawing his own blaster. "I reckon that's enough," he said quietly.

"Enough from both of you."

Nobody moved.

The only sound in the clearing among the towering redwoods was Trader's harsh breathing.

"Doc saved all our lives back there, Trader. You think what you like, but Doc pulls his weight like everyone else, like you do. Like I do."

"Hah!" Trader snorted in disbelief.

"And you have no right, Doc, to insult Trader the way you did. For most of my days, he was the most powerful figure in Deathlands. And in my life. Now, we've been through a close call. Come out safe the

other side. It's the middle of the night Things get said now and then. Best unsaid. Put down the Armalite, Trader. Doc, sheathe up that sword."

For a time, neither of the old men moved.

Finally, slowly, Doc took a half pace back, picked up the cane and sheathed the slender blade, nodding to

Trader. "I concede that I was less than fair to your reputation."

But the Armalite hadn't moved.

Ryan looked at his former leader. "Put the blaster down, Trader."

"You telling me or asking, Ryan? Best you answer me that right here and now."

"I'm asking you this time around. Next time is when I tell you."

"You'd push this to a killing over a triple-stupe old prick like Doc?"

"I'd push this whoever was concerned. Including you, Trader. Put the rifle down."

Ryan's skin crawled, aware that it could go either way. Doc had backed down, but he wasn't a man like

Trader. For Trader to back down was something else.

"I could finish you, Ryan."

"Mebbe."

Trader shook his head vigorously. "No. Not mebbe, Ryan. Right here and now I could put a cluster of 9

mm rounds into your guts."

"You wouldn't live to take the next breath if you did that," Krysty said, her own double-action Smith amp; Wesson 640 rock steady on Trader's chest.

"She's right." Jak held his own Colt python on Trader.

"Goes for all of us, Trader." J.B.'s face was invisible in the shadow under the fedora's brim, but the threat

of the Uzi was all too visible.

"All of you?" Trader turned toward Abe. "Don't see your Magnum speaking out on my side."

The little man shuffled his feet nervously. "Have to say that I go along with what Ryan says. Not that Doc

should've said what he did," he added hastily.

"I have already acknowledged that to Trader, Abraham," Doc said solemnly. "I now await his apology in return."

Trader laughed, a sudden snorting, barking laugh. "What the fuck!" He switched the Armalite to his left

hand, offering the right to Doc and shaking firmly. "Words don't mean shit after a firefight, Doc. Nothing to worry about. You saved us all and I thank you for that."

Ryan surreptitiously wiped his sweating hands down the thighs of his pants.