"That's the one." Tom walked to the other side of his horse and took something from the saddle on that side. He held it up for John to see. "Gunpowder." It was a powder horn. "We're going to climb that ridge, go along for a while...sing to them from a bunch of different spots...and have them chase little grenades until we're sure we can pass by safely."
John couldn't help it. The laugh burst through his clenched teeth like a belch. "That's your plan? Get a hundred guys who would love to kill us just for breathing their air to chase us for bad singing while we toss little grenades at them?"
Tom's face as without expression, but clear in the moonlight. "Yes. That's the plan. Got a problem with that?"
"I've heard you sing. It's not exactly your crowning glory."
The grin reappeared. "That's why I'll do the easy part."
"There's an easy part?"
Tom bent and started filling the bottles with gunpowder. "Yeah. I'll only sing the lion sleeps tonight. You handle the verses, and the awimboweys."
He wanted to object, but it was pointless. If he refused, Tom would just do it without him. He squatted and held the bottles for Tom to fill. This is nuts, he thought, but it just might work.