The second level wasn’t so much a floor as a wide walkway around the building, and most of it was taken up with boxes and racks of costumes. The item that Mark was interested in was the Ibeam that ran the length of the building.

Mark worked fast in the dim light from the dust and grime coated windows. He tied the rope to the neck of the bull-dummy, the dummy the clowns threw out to distract a bull from it’s rider. Then he tossed the rope over the Ibeam; the loose end he carried back down the stairs.

He weaved his way between the rodeo props, the covered wagon, the winter sled, flags and banners in the crowded room, until he reached the big sliding door and unlocked it.

Returning to the bull-barrel he unstrapped his gun belt, removed the pistols, and set the holsters aside. He tied the rope off above the barrel. Armed the the two Colts he climbed into the reinforced barrel and prepared to wait.

He had told Cookie to stall the punks as long as he could, but then tell them where he’d gone.