The next day was uneventful--the wagon rolled forward, hitched behind the motorcycles, and the landscape rolled past more quickly than John had thought possible. The road seemed to be making for low foothills. Derek spied a small band of scavengers with his glass, but when they spied the motorcycles they backed off and let the wagon pass unmolested.

They had stopped for breakfast at sunrise, but the motorcycle men sat apart from the other and ate alone. Leggy refused to speak and ate his breakfast in silence, hushing the others when they tried to provoke a conversation. Finally, with a wry grin, Leggy eased their curious, fervent minds. "We'll talk when we get moving again,." he promised.

The foothills grew closer as they traveled, and that night they camped at the base of a small hill. John had walked the perimeter and come back to report a stone-bottomed basin nearby, filled with runoff from the snow-tipped mountains in the distance. The men dashed for the water, Tariq in tow. They stripped naked and leapt in, splashing and hooting in the cold water, ducking each other and wrestling. Leggy heaved himself out of his wheelchair and lounged in the shallows, speaking with the Paladins, laughing and smoking. Derek regarded them jealously, but kept his distance. Eventually they returned to camp and built a large fire to dry their clothes. After the evening meal, John urged Leggy to talk more about the Wasteland--how long ago he'd traveled there, and why, hoping eventually to steer the conversation back to the Paladins. The two men had made their own small fire on the other side of the road, and were now sitting astride their motorcycles, eating and smoking.

Leggy took a nip from his flask, lit the pipe he'd purchased in Levitton, then settled into the work of storytelling.

"Back in the day, when I weren't much older than you sprouts, I took work with Rasham's Haulage. Rasham was big, fat, and rich as Midas. He ran cargo up and down the trade roads on the coast, and a few of the east-west routes, like the road we're on now.

"Between the bugs and the bandits the roads were rough, and I can think about a hunerd easier ways to make a living. But Rasham was a tough old son of a bitch--I think he liked things rough. There were all kinds of haulage companies in those days--boats that rode in the ocean, rafts on the river, and good old mule and wagons for the road. A person with goods to transport could pick from a half-dozen haulers, not to mention the Bedouins. But Rasham was best. He made a guarantee to anyone who wanted him to haul goods: 'If your load don't get there, I'll cut off a finger.' Then he'd waggle all ten of his chubby digits, to show you that he hadn't yet had one unsatisfied customer.

"What he didn't tell his customers was that if he ever had to lose a finger, his freight boys would lose their balls. He carried a cleaver with him everywhere he went, shiny and sharp as razor. That tended to keep us employees on our toes."

"I got my start on the Levvitown/Kettleman City route, running livestock and produce. It was a fairly safe run, as things go, and I started to get a little bored babysitting a bunch a heifers or a wagonfull of dates."

"What was your job?" asked John.

"Job? I was a guard, son. If any bandits rode up to steal the haulage, I was supposed to chase 'em off. I had me a big old spear and a pretty hefty club, but I never had to use 'em on the Kettleman City runs. "The job I wanted was gunner. You got to ride right up front with the driver, a big old double-barrel shotgun across your knees. But gunner was a plumb position, and they didn't just hand it over to any old johnny bravo who came along. You had to put in your time."

"A shotgun," whistled Derek. "Did it work?"

"Sure did," said Leggy. "Muties tried to jump our rig once in the Wasteland. Our gunny let fly, and it sounded like thunder. A couple of muties disintegrated, and the rest took off like hens in a rainstorm. Guns is rarer now than they used to be, and even then they were hard to come by. But Rasham had himself a pretty fair arsenal--shotguns, rifles, and pistols. Took me a while to figure out where he was getting' em from…but I'm getting' ahead of myself.

"See boys, I was a man of ambition, and spear carrier ain't no job for a man of ambition. After a couple of KC runs I asked the road boss in Levvittown for a new assignment. Luckily, I was possessed of pretty good eyesight, so he apprenticed me to a couple of scouts. That was more to my liking. Scouts rode out ahead of the caravan to check for danger--bug nests, ambushes, road blocks, downed bridges, things like that. And the really good scouts could earn themselves a rifle. Well pretty soon I was riding up and down and all over: Sacramento, 'Frisco, Reno, Santa Cruz, New Los Angeles, San Bernardino, and a hundred towns in between.

"Them scouts taught me a heap of things: how to find food and water, how to read a landscape, how to follow a track, how to kill a man quick. I took to scoutin' pretty good, and after a couple years I attracted the notice of old Rasham himself. See, by the time I joined the organization, Rasham wasn't ridin' caravans no more. He spent most of his time up near 'Frisco, countin' his money and collectin' a harem. But he still road out to his big business spots now and again, just to keep an eye on things, keep everybody honest. And believe it or not, Levitton was fairly important to his operations. See, Levitton used to be called Fresno before Levite set himself up as boss. Fresno was what we in the transport industry called a gateway city. Fresno was a gateway to the east, to the Wasteland."

"But what would anybody want with the Wasteland?" asked John. "Ain't nobody there to trade with 'cept muties and bugs, and far as I know they don't trade. They just eat you."

"Clever boy," said Leggy. "Most haulage companies don't bother with the Wasteland for just those reasons. But Rasham didn't go to there to trade. He went there to recover."

Derek frowned. "You mean like recuperate?"

"Hell no," laughed Leggy. "You think a fat cat like Rasham's gonna vacation in the desert? They say he had a castle by the seaside--used to belong to some old guy named Hearst in the Before Times."

"Then what did he want in the Wasteland," asked Derek, impatient to stem off any digressions.

Leggy smoked his pipe thoughtfully for a few moments, pleased to have a captive audience.

"The Wasteland has always been a desert," he said, "even in the Before Times. But the people who lived in the Before Times were clever in a lot of ways, clever enough to make the desert livable. I've seen the ruins of whole cities out there, smack dab in what must've been the harshest, hottest, driest places you could think of." "Was that what Rasham was after?" asked John. "Goin' to the cities to scavenge?" "Sometimes, yes," said Leggy, "but them places are overrun with bugs and muties. The haul you get usually ain't worth the trouble. The bigger prize was somethin' else."

"What's that?" asked Derek impatiently. "Sand to pound up his ass?" Teddy giggled at the profanity.

"Weapons," said Leggy. "Seems that in the Before Times, the desert was a popular place to build army bases. I don't know how Rasham found 'em, but he did. On the surface, their ain't much left of 'em. When all the bombs fell, those bases took it pretty hard. But it wasn't the topsides that Rasham was interested in. Those Before Times people didn't build up, they built down, down into the ground. And not just like a root cellar, but like a small town, with streets and passages and living quarters and store rooms."

"That's where you got the guns," said Derek. He'd only seen a gun once before (before the Paladins had arrived, that is), when a dangerous-looking man had passed through San Muyammo, a shiny pistol on his hip. Derek had longed to hold it, feel it, maybe even shoot it, but he didn't dare speak to the stranger, who didn't say a word and didn't stay in San Muyammo long.

"That's right," said Leggy. "Guns, and food, and fuel, and stuff we couldn't figure out what the hell it was. We took it anyway. I made four or five runs into the Wasteland myself to root through army bases, twice as lead scout. You boys keep that in mind after we cross the mountains. If you listen to me, and we have some luck, we'll make it through."

"Will we pass any of these bases on the way?" asked Derek.

"Maybe," said Leggy casually. "But I don't suspect there's much left these days."

"Cain't hurt to look," said Derek, holding Leggy's eye. "Can it?"

Leggy shrugged.

"How come you stopped runnin' the Wasteland," asked John.

"Things started to get hairy," said Leggy, sucking on the pipe. "A few other haulage companies found out about the bases, started running their own scavenging trips. Now you got armed competitors in addition to the bugs, muties, and the desert." Leggy leaned back into his blanket. "I told you boys, there's at least a hunerd easier ways to make a living. I liked working for Rasham, but not enough to get kilt for him. Bugs and muties is one thing, and men with guns is another. That was about the time I sought employment elsewhere."

"Doin' what?" asked John.

"Shit, son, you want to hear me jaw all night?" laughed Leggy.

John shrugged. Despite Leggy's blasphemous mouth, he found the old coot fascinating. He'd certainly lived a more colorful life than John ever had. "Ain't got nothin' better to do," he said.

"Well I do," said Leggy, "and that's getting' some sleep. If you all don't mind, I'm turnin' in."

With that, Leggy extinguished his pipe, wrapped himself in his bedroll, and was soon snoring.

John turned to Derek. "Guess he's leaving watch duty to us."

"Guess so," said Derek. "Who's gonna go first?"

"I watch," said Teddy. "No sleepy yet." He wanted to practice his new song a bit longer.

"Fine by me," said Derek. "Just wake me up in a few hours."

Teddy waited until everyone's breathing went soft and regular. Then he got up and moved a few yards away from the fire. He played softly, watching the moon rise full and round above him.

The troupe rolled into Moses Springs after dark. John sat at the front of the wagon. The motorcycles had lights on them, white in front and red in back, and he'd spent hours watching the desert flit past in the wash of the glare. The motorcycle men had completely captivated his imagination, and he was determined to take in as much of them as he could. He admired their casual boldness, the surety with which they moved, and the easy confidence that seemed to course through them, even as they sat upright on their machines, as still as statues but moving faster than jackrabbits. To think that Leggy--Nickodemus--had once been one of them, a captain no less. The old coot had risen considerably in John's estimation.

Ever since John was a boy he'd known Leggy only as a foulmouthed drunk, mocked by children and spurned by adults. In John's limited imagination, that was all Leggy had ever been. But now bits of his past were cropping up, like old bones in the sand, and the shape they made spoke of hidden capabilities and marvelous experience.

John wouldn'tve believed a word of Leggy's talk about being a scout, about traipsing the Wasteland not once, but several times. Yet here was proof, in metal and glass and human flesh, not twenty yards ahead. The big man, Silas, had been differential to Leggy, called him teacher, and leader. John for one wasn't about to call Silas a liar, even without the guns and the strength he so obviously possessed. Something in Silas's face said this was a man who told it like it was. Whatever his sins might be, deception wasn't one of them.

Derek didn't like the Paladins, John was sure of that. The appearance of the motorcycle men had added some steel to Leggy. Even if the Paladins were to leave the group here in Moses Springs, Derek's authority would no longer go unchallenged, and Derek knew it. John watched as Derek stared at the driving men, the wheels of his mind turning. If there was only one of them, he might sic Teddy on him, and that would be the end of the Paladin. But there were two, and they were careful. Watchful. And very well armed. Even Teddy couldn't eat a shotgun blast.

John assumed that Derek had considered assassination--a knife across the throat while the men slept. But the Paladins didn't seem to need sleep; at least, not with Leggy around to keep jawin' with em 'till sunrise. So Derek was thwarted there, too. So he bided his time, swallowing his jealousy, but John knew that Derek could only take so much. He prayed that once they arrived, the Paladins would let them go their way. Otherwise something bad might happen.

As they rolled noisily toward Moses Springs, John saw campfires in the distance. He motioned to Derek, who stuck his head out of the tent. "Shit," he said. He disappeared, and reappeared a moment later, Raina in tow.

"Them your people?" asked Derek, motioning to the campfires.

"Yes," said Raina. "Our settlement is just outside the town."

Derek pursed his lips. "Hey old man," he shouted back inside the tent. "If there's trouble, which side are your boys gonna be on?" Leggy inched himself forward and surveyed the scene. Then he grinned. "If you're expecting an ambush, I expect they'll be on my side." Derek scowled.

"Your side?" asked John.

"Don't worry, son," said Leggy, patting John's shoulder. "Just stay close to me. But I wouldn't worry too much. I expect the Bedouins will have some questions, but I'm sure this lady is as good as her word, yes?"

"Of course," said Raina. "I pledge your safe passage."

"Still though," said Leggy, "it won't hurt to have Silas and Corin around. Not one bit."

They hit the outskirts of the Bedouin camp at speed. Tented wagons were drawn up in circles around cookfires, and faces peered out of the night at the strange scene--Paladins carting a battered Bedouin wagon home.

Tariq poked his head out of the tent, and began to shout happily in his own language. Soon young boys were chasing the wagon, shouting in return. Then the motorcycles began to slow.

"Get on that brake," said Leggy. Derek slid in the wagon seat next to John and eased the lever forward. Soon they glided to a halt. The motorcycles' headlights illuminated a crowd of robed figures. Some bore spears, others short clubs. John was sure he saw a few rifles among the men, the barrels pointed at the ground--for now.

Then one Bedouin stepped forward. He raised a palm. Silas returned the gesture.

"What is this, that one our wagons returns to us this fashion?" he said. "I see by the markings that this is the train of the family Caliph. Where is the headman?"

"Killed," said Raina, stepping down from wagon, Tariq in tow. "There was a nest before Storum's Basin. Bugs killed all my kinsmen."

A murmur of horror thrilled through the crowd.

"How is it that you have lived?" asked the leader.

"These men," she said, gesturing to the group in the caravan. "They chased off the bugs before they found me and my son. And they destroyed the nest."

Derek could see figures creeping from the shadows toward them. He eased the knife in his wrist sheath.

"Steady," whispered Leggy. "They ain't done nothin' yet."

"Might be too late when they do do something," said Derek, but he left his knife undrawn.

Raina now stood with the men who had blocked the road. She spoke to them quickly, in her own tongue.

John held his breath. He suddenly found that he had to pee very badly. He could see that the night was full of robed figures. They could swarm the wagon in seconds, Paladins or no, and spirit them all away into darkness. Their fate rested with Raina now. John wished Derek hadn't been so cruel to her that day they discovered the ruins of the caravan. He offered up a silent prayer. He'd heard his father tell awful stories about what the Bedouins did to those they felt had trespassed against them. He didn't want to wake in the Heavenly Kingdom to find that his pecker had been cut off and stuffed in his mouth. Surely the Lord could understand that, and see fit to be merciful.

The discussion lasted two, maybe three minutes. Several men spoke to Raina, questioning her closely. The Paladins sat, unmoving, their machines idling, headlights burning a path in the darkness toward the gate to the town. The rumble of the bikes' engines cut into the babble of the Bedouins speaking.

Then three men approached the wagon, Raina following. They stopped several feet away and looked closely at the travelers. Derek's body was rigid. If they moved he would spring, taking as many as he could with his knife before they brought him down.

The three men did move, but slowly. They bent, first one knee, and then a second, then bowed until their foreheads touched the dust. They put their faces in the dirt three times, then stood and helped the travelers from the wagon. After Leggy had been settled in his wheelchair, the leader spoke. "This woman says you have been rewarded with goods from the caravan. But what you have done cannot be measured. Her debt to you is too great for any one person to pay. Therefore, the whole people must pay."

He reached into his robe and tore four strips of cloth from an intricately woven undergarment. "This is the token of the house of Caliph. If you show it to any of our people, on this side of the mountain or the other, they will come to your aid. So say I, Amit, of the house of Caliph and the leader of these people."

He tied a strip around each of their wrists, and then embraced them one by one. John looked up to see that the figures who had been surrounding them had melted into the darkness. Only Amit, Raina, and Tariq stood before them.

"Peace," said Raina.

"Bye Teddy," said Tariq. And then they stepped into the darkness, and were gone.

The Paladins turned their bikes around and walked them back to the travelers.

"Now what?" asked John.

"Let's get our gear out of the wagon and get into town," said Leggy.

"How far is it?" asked Derek.

"Not far," said Silas. "Maybe a mile. We'll ride ahead and tell the gatekeepers you're coming." The motorcycles roared to life and flew on before them. The travelers hitched their gear, and Teddy took up his old station behind Leggy's chair. They pushed forward.

"Shit," said Derek after they'd gone a few hundred yards. "All that trouble and what do we get out of it? A smelly bracelet from some gypsy's underwear. I was expectin' some serious loot.

"No Der Der. Dis is a good present," said Teddy. "We got's a family again."

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