Angrily, he examined the trashy catch—three minor intelligence—mental pictures of a crude something that stored, then propelled bits of metal forward—and.... The Irritant took more careful note—A weave of thoughts about some other intelligence called johnsingletonmosby. And close at hand too. Just a few moves to the side, then around.
The Irritant patiently fashioned a new bait—a summary of the concepts concerning the metallic object—the tube attached so to the middle attached so to the rest, then filled with that which coiled and slid and turned. Might be just the lure.
Done! Now ... the quarry should be about ... here!
Out went the bait into space-time.
The ordnance sergeant, Jake Lavender, looked up from the Sharps carbine he was repairing. "Huh?"
There was no reply.
Frowning he took an oily rag and began wiping the bolt he had filed into a better fit. Sure as thunder someone had called out the captain's name. Or whispered it, more like. His gaze darted about the littered barn loft—boxes of ammunition, two saddles, piles of stolen rifles and an empty bunk. No room for anyone to hide.
Sergeant Lavender vigorously renewed his wiping.
... johnsingletonmosby....