What the Ghoul wanted to say was, "Pops, what the fuck are you doin' hanging around slinging shit in this rathole? Howard gave your sorry old ass two weeks to go pick up your grandson and get back to turning brahmin shit into Jet. You think they fucking like having to huff the shit those assholes cook up while you're gone? I see you got the little bastard, so get your self the fuck together and lets get on the fucking road before I kick your sagging balls up your ass!"

However, Cooper Howard (yes, he had used his own name for the fictional 'boss' he was talking about) was looking right at his daughter when he was talking, so what came out was…

"Pops, what the fu..fudge are you doin' hanging around slinging…stuff in this...this place? Howard gave your…self two weeks to find your grandson and get back to the ranch. You think they like eating the…stuff his…housekeeper makes while you're gone? I see you found the kid, so get your things and his together and let's hit the road, or you're going to find yourself out of a job!"

Exactly the kind of dialog he used to deliver in the movies, except not delivered half as well, because the self-censorship threw him off.

There was an awkward pause while everybody looked at him. Someone guffawed.

"That didn't come out the way I planned it to," he admitted. "Cover your ears, cowpoke." he told Janey.

Then he let loose, finishing up with, "And if any of you cocksuckers plan to get in the way, I got plenty more kick where that came from!"

'Pops', who was actually Lana Hunter underneath, put down the ladle and took off the slate from around her neck, the one which read, 'Not feral, just mute,' and wiped it semiclean with a rag. He noticed she was wearing gloves. Then she wrote on it, 'Not my fault. They wouldn't let us go.'

"Well, who told you to cook that good for these Legion assholes? There somebody around with more weight than these guys getting frostbite in their gladiator sandals? Unless y'all paint your toenails black, that is."

That got a guffaw out of the yokels scattered among the legionaries. "Captain Decimus is in his tent," one of them pointed.

Ordinarily, the Legion tended to be bigger assholes, but there were at least as many caravanners as there were legionaries. This was a long, long way from Vegas, and the mountains were…very different than the deserts they were used to. There were lots of trees around, and those trees had an ominous look, even to him. Like they would move when you took your eyes off them. No doubt the forest was affecting the legions even more.

Once Cooper Howard found the leader of the Legion. in a tent that looked like it was furnished from a Hollywood prop department from a studio which was having a fire sale, Captain Decimus said, "My intention is to take the old ghoul back to Caesar as a present. He can make wasteland food taste better than pre-war leavings."

"As a slave, you mean." Cooper Howard clarified. He cast a keen glance at the table which Decimus was using as a desk. There were some interesting documents lying around there. Apparently Caesar's leaders had to be functionally literate, but not the rank and file.

"Yes."

"Did you…I don't know, maybe consider that he has a job already? One that he gets paid for? And that he's wanted back there? Or maybe that he fucking isn't a piece of property to begin with?" He grinned at the captain, the grin that said: you are getting on my last fucking nerve. Don't.

"Being one of Caesar's personal slaves is an honor. However, we have no particular use for the child ghoul. You can take him, if you like. There are plenty of kitchen slaves around, and he is too small to be of much use." The captain replied.

"The kid?" he said, in feigned surprise? "That's his grandson. Howard wants his cook back. He hired me to find him and bring the two of them back."

"Ah. So it is a matter of money." The captain permitted himself a tight little smile. "How much to go away and tell your employer he is out of luck?"

"Ten thousand caps."

"Ten thous—you're joking."

"Nope. Three thousand is to make it up to Howard. Three thousand is to make it up to me. The other four thousand is for me to cry into for breaking my personal code of ethics and selling an old acquaintance into slavery. Or, I dunno, I could just go out there and start tearing into your boys in the fancy leather skirts. You know what they say—Age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill. Captain, I am very, very, old and very, very treacherous. And skilled on top of that."

The Ghoul was figuring that the camp had about half an hour to forty-five minutes before the jimsonweed kicked in and the Legionaries began watching daisies sing and smells turn different colors. As Lana Hunter had planned the escape, she was no doubt ready to go when that happened. The best thing he could do was to stand back and wait.

He hated standing back and waiting.

He lowered his voice, leaned in closer to the captain. "Listen," he said, confidingly. "This is just one old ghoul and his grandson. Not the spoils of war. Not that woman you're looking for. Now while I am the poster child of ghouls lastin' longer than God, Pops wasn't young before and he just wants to make sure his grandkid is somewhere safe before he goes. He'll need meds day and night to keep him going, it'll get expensive, and for what? The hope that Caesar remembers your name?"

At that moment, he shoved his Bowie knife up through the soft part under Decimus' chin and didn't stop until the point grated against the inside of his skull.

Decimus made a faint gurgling sound as he died. The Ghoul eased him down on the man's camp bed and wiped the knife off on the sheets before replacing it in its sheath. "Age and treachery. Plus skill."

Sauntering away, he whistled tunelessly, thinking about the next step.

When he returned to the mess tent, there was no longer a line. The stew pot had become a free for all, the men shoving each other to get another ladleful of food. He glanced around for 'Jimmy' and 'Pops', and saw them come out of a busted up old trailer, bundles on their backs.

"You ready?" he asked.

Pops nodded, while Jimmy gave him a wide smile and a thumbs up. "Yes, pardner!"

The three of them made for the woods, heading toward the clearing where he had left Lucy and the dogs.

"Janey punkin, I want nothing more than to hug you for about a thousand years and not let go, but right now, we gotta hustle."

"I know, Daddy. Those men are gonna start acting funny on account of the crazy seeds. Lana told me. Besides, when you're having an adventure, you can't stop until you're somewhere safe," she said, looking up at him.

"That's right," he said. "I take it that is Miz Hunter there, under that mask."

"I am," the familiar voice from the holos sounded strange when it came from the mouth of what looked like a male ghoul. "And kiddo, you were fantastic! Seventeen days in disguise, and you never once slipped up! I am so proud of you."

"And you were right! Daddy, Lana always said you were looking for me and one day you would find us and she was right! There were times," Janey said, sounding adorably like a little adult, "when I nearly lost hope. But Lana always believed in you."

"Well, I am very grateful to her for taking good care of you," he said. "And I will say so in more detail once we are out of this neck of the woods."

"Uh-huh! We're going home now, right. Lana?"

"Yes. An adventure is never really over until you're safe at home."