“Worse for whom?” Scarrow asked. “And I wouldn’t advise you to talk like that around Angry Sky. He might take offense.”
“What would happen if he did?” Aaron asked. “He’d kill us? He’s planning to do that anyway, and in the most painful way possible, unless I miss my guess.”
Charlie paled. “Don’t talk like that. We’re going to be all right.”
Scarrow smiled. “Hope springs eternal. But I’d be sure to make peace with my Maker, if I were you fellows.”
Hawk spoke up. “What will happen to Butterfly?”
“You’re more worried about the fair maiden than your own lives, I take it? How chivalrous.” For a second, naked lust appeared on Scarrow’s face. He controlled the reaction quickly and went on. “Don’t concern yourselves. I’ll see to it that she’s not mistreated.”
“How can you do that?” Hawk wanted to know. “She is Angry Sky’s woman now, not yours.”
Scarrow’s jaw tightened. “Angry Sky believes she’s going to belong to him, but he’s wrong. I’m not going to allow such a rare gem to go through life as the slave of a savage.”
“So you’re going to make her your slave, instead,” Aaron said. “That doesn’t really seem any better.”
“I’ll treat her decently,” Scarrow snapped. “She won’t spend the rest of her life producing squalling red brats for that beast.”
Hawk wished Angry Sky could have heard those words. He knew the Blackfoot war chief understood English. If Angry Sky was aware of what Scarrow planned, it might lead to a falling-out between the two groups before either of them intended. And such a clash could only reduce the odds against Preacher.
However, Angry Sky was a good fifty yards away, at the base of a narrow, zigzagging trail that led to the rimrock where a sentry was posted. He spoke to a warrior with him, and then the man began to climb. Hawk knew he had to be going up there to relieve the other guard.
After his last curt comment, Scarrow turned on his heel and stalked away. Charlie watched him go and said quietly, “Sooner or later, he and Angry Sky are going to be at each other’s throats.”
“Not soon enough to help us, though,” Aaron said. “We’ll all be dead before they reach that point.”
Charlie turned his head to look at Hawk. “You don’t believe Preacher has abandoned us, do you? He’d never do that! Would he?”
“He would not,” Hawk said.
Butterfly still sat on a rock on the other side of the campfire, which by now had burned down to ashes and a few embers. Her head was lowered again. She seemed as depressed and defeated as Aaron. Hawk wished she would look up, so he could meet her eyes and try to convey to her somehow that everything was going to be all right. No matter what the odds, no matter how desperate the situation, he had absolute faith in Preacher. The mountain man would find some way to rescue them and defeat their enemies.
Butterfly looked up just then, all right, but only because everyone else in the canyon did as well. A strident, surprised shout came floating down from the ridge. Harsh words followed, and Angry Sky shouted back up at the man he had just sent up the trail. Hawk understood enough of the Blackfoot tongue to realize they were talking about someone being dead.
The guard who had been posted up there earlier to watch for Preacher? Who else could it be?
Hawk felt a little thrill go through him when he heard Angry Sky’s furious exclamation that included the Blackfoot words for “Ghost Killer.” Preacher had been there, all right. No doubt about it.
“What’s going on?” Charlie asked.
“The warrior Angry Sky sent up to the top of the ridge to take over for the other guard has found a dead man,” Hawk explained. “It must be the first guard. Preacher has been up there.”
Both young trappers stared at him.
Aaron said, “If Preacher was that close, why didn’t he do something to help us?”
“Because it was too dangerous just then,” Hawk said. “Dangerous for us, not for him. He was looking to see how things are here. He knew he could not attempt to free us just then without getting all of us killed.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Charlie said. “But he’s coming back for us, isn’t he?”
“Never doubt that,” Hawk said.
Angry Sky gestured and barked orders, and two more members of his war party started climbing to the top of the ridge. Hawk supposed they were going to retrieve the dead man’s body.
With that done, Angry Sky whirled and strode toward the prisoners. Scarrow and Plumlee followed him.
Charlie looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and just disappear. Aaron’s expression remained dull and barely interested in what was going on around him. Hawk’s face was impassive, showing neither defiance nor apprehension.
Across the way, Butterfly watched, wide-eyed and terrified.
Angry Sky came to a stop in front of the three young men and said in English, “The Ghost Killer has been here.”
“I know,” Hawk said calmly. “I heard you speak of him.”
“One of my warriors is dead!”
“Those who are Preacher’s enemies usually wind up that way.”
Angry Sky’s lips curled in a snarl. “Did you know he was there?”
“The Ghost Killer comes and goes as he pleases, and no one knows unless he wishes it to be so.”
“It will not help you any for me to lose one man.”
“One more man,” Hawk said. “How many has Preacher already killed? How many more will he kill before this is over?” Most of the Blackfeet and the white renegades were looking at him, so he raised his voice and went on. “None of you will leave this canyon alive unless you release us and flee now! And even that may not be enough to save you from the vengeance of the Ghost Killer!”
He didn’t actually expect that to accomplish anything, but it felt good to voice the dire threat.
A second later, he regretted it to the depth of his being.
Angry Sky barked another order and two of his men leaped forward to grab Aaron’s arms and jerk him to his feet.
“The dying begins now,” Angry Sky said.
CHAPTER 27
Charlie’s hands were tied in front of him. Even at his best he wasn’t what anyone would call graceful, but at that moment he was able to leap up and shout, “No! You can’t do that!”
The much more athletic Hawk stood even though his hands were tied behind his back, an acknowledgment that his captors considered him a greater threat. He took a step forward before Hogarth Plumlee smashed a fist into his face and knocked him back. Tied as he was, Hawk couldn’t maintain his balance and went down hard.
A few feet away, one of the Blackfeet brought a war club down across the back of Charlie’s shoulders and knocked him face forward onto the ground.
“Stop it!” Aaron cried, but the words weren’t directed at the Blackfoot or Plumlee. “Charlie, Hawk, stop! There’s nothing you can do to help me! Don’t throw your lives away!”
Hawk tried to struggle up again anyway, despite that plea, but Plumlee sank a brutal kick into his side that rolled him over.
Butterfly leaped up, crying “Hawk!” and tried to rush toward him, but Scarrow got in her way and grabbed her by the arms.
“Stay back, my dear,” he told her in English, even though she couldn’t understand it. He echoed Aaron’s words as he went on. “There’s nothing you can do for any of them.”
Angry Sky glanced toward the two of them, and from the fire that flashed for a second in his dark eyes, he didn’t like seeing Scarrow holding Butterfly. Neither did Hawk, who saw the war chief’s reaction. But Angry Sky was too full of rage over the fact that Preacher had been so close, had killed one of his men, and had disappeared without his presence even being known. Angry Sky had to let that fury out first, before he did anything about Scarrow.
The war chief held out his hand and one of his men placed a tomahawk in it as Aaron was hauled over to stand in front of him. Aaron wasn’t putting up a fight. D
espair had totally engulfed him. He stared dully at Angry Sky.
“You die now, white man,” Angry Sky rasped.
“No!” Charlie cried. “Aaron, get away from there!”
Hawk had managed to lift his head so he could see what was happening, although part of him wished that he hadn’t. Aaron finally turned his head and looked back. “Good-bye, Charlie. You were always a good friend. I hope you make it out of—”
Before he could finish the sentence, Angry Sky smashed the tomahawk into his head.
From where he was, Hawk heard the crunch of bone, saw the way Aaron’s eyes went wide with shock and pain. Knowing he was probably about to die and having it happen were two different things. Blood welled from the horrible wound on the side of his head as Angry Sky jerked the tomahawk back.
Then Angry Sky struck again. The two men holding Aaron had a difficult time keeping him upright as Angry Sky slammed the tomahawk into the young trapper’s head three more times, turning it into a gruesome, shattered mess that no longer looked human. Blood and brain matter flew from the shattered skull and splattered across Angry Sky’s chest and face, which was twisted in a grotesque rictus of hate.
Hawk knew that Aaron was dead, had died instantly from that first blow. He no longer felt the savage mutilation, but that was scant comfort for the others in the face of such a brutal display. All the renegades in Scarrow’s bunch looked on in stunned silence, including Plumlee. Even some of the other Blackfeet looked a little shocked by what they were witnessing.
Butterfly had turned her head away from the grisly spectacle and pressed her face against Jefferson Scarrow’s face as sobs shook her entire body.
He patted her lightly on the back as he said quietly, “There, there, my dear. It’ll be over soon.”
It had to be over. There was nothing left for Angry Sky to do to Aaron Buckley unless he wanted to keep hacking with the tomahawk and chop the young man’s body into pieces. Hawk thought he might actually do that, but then Angry Sky abruptly lowered the tomahawk and stepped back. His blood-splattered chest heaved with the depth of his emotion. Insane hatred still contorted his face.
He tossed the gore-smeared tomahawk aside, flung out his left arm, and pointed toward the canyon mouth. The two warriors lowered Aaron’s body to the ground, then picked it up by the arms and legs and carried it toward the opening. Angry Sky called orders after them. They took Aaron’s body out into the main canyon and placed it on the ground again, with the broken remains of the young man’s shattered head turned toward the direction they had come from.
The way Preacher likely would come from, Hawk thought. Angry Sky wanted the corpse to be the first sight that greeted the mountain man’s eyes.
Angry Sky swung back to Hawk and Charlie. “Preacher should come soon, or there will be more dead white men for the buzzards to feast on.”
“But we don’t have any way of making Preacher come here sooner,” Charlie said.
“Then pray to whatever spirits you pray to, white man . . . because your death will not be so easy.”
* * *
Broken Pine and the other warriors dozed in the shade of an overhanging rock during the afternoon. Preacher could have slept, too, knowing that Dog and Horse would alert him if anything threatening came near, but even though he rested with his back against the rock, he didn’t sleep. He was worried about what might have happened when Angry Sky discovered that his guard atop the ridge had been killed. If there had been some other way to find out what he needed to know, Preacher would have taken it.
Hawk, Caroline, Charlie, and Aaron were all in deadly danger as long as they were in the hands of those men. Sometimes at moments like this, Preacher felt a bone-deep weariness at the fact that people he cared about kept winding up in such peril. He hadn’t known any of those four all that long—Caroline only a few days, Hawk, Aaron, and Charlie less than two years—but they were important to him anyway. He wanted to get all of them out of this mess safely.
Not that he blamed himself for any of it. They had all gone into it willingly, with their eyes wide open. Caroline was the exception, of course. She hadn’t had any control over anything that had happened.
Still, Preacher was tired of trouble following him around. He wondered what it would be like to live a peaceful life, surrounded by friends and family, without rotten bastards trying to kill him all the time.
He had an overpowering suspicion that he would never find out . . . and if White Buffalo’s dying prophecy was right, Preacher had long, long years of hell-raising and blood-spilling still in front of him.
Late in the day, he woke the others, who looked a little sheepish about sleeping the afternoon away. “All right, fellas. We’d best get ready. The time to head out will be here before you know it.”
He took the coiled rope from the pack of gear strapped to Horse’s saddle, then he patted the rangy gray stallion on the shoulder and stroked his nose. “You’re gonna have to go with Broken Pine. Wish I could take you with me, hoss, but there just ain’t no way you can go the places where I got to go.”
He dropped to a knee beside Dog and repeated the heartfelt farewell. “Stay with Broken Pine and them other boys. Fight if you have to, but keep yourself safe.” He looked into the big cur’s brown eyes. “Danged if I don’t think ol’ White Buffalo was right. You savvy ever’ word I’m sayin’, don’t you?”
Dog whined and licked Preacher’s cheek. Preacher hugged the thick neck for a second, then stood up and nodded to Big Thunder.
“You ready, son?”
“Big Thunder is ready to go with Preacher!”
Preacher put the coil of rope over his left arm so it hung from his shoulder, then took up Horse’s reins to lead the stallion. As the sun lowered, the group proceeded along the ridge to the spot where the smaller canyon was visible right around the bend.
Preacher had a hunch that the Blackfeet had discovered the dead guard. Another man, maybe two, would be posted on top of the ridge behind that rock spire, keeping watch on the main canyon. Despite that, he motioned for the others to stay back, took off his hat, and risked a glance around the bend. He wanted to know if anything had changed since he’d been there.
Something had changed, all right. And the sight of it was like a giant fist slamming into Preacher’s gut.
A body lay in the main canyon, not far from the entrance to the smaller one. Preacher recognized it by its contours as Aaron Buckley. He had no doubt that Aaron was dead. Although the sunlight no longer penetrated directly into the canyon that late in the day, he could see the bloody ruin that had been Aaron’s head. It looked like somebody had taken a tomahawk to it and wielded the weapon with great savagery and fury.
Angry Sky. Preacher had no doubt about that, either.
First White Buffalo had died, and now Aaron. Rage boiled up inside Preacher. Rage the likes of which he had experienced before in his life, but only on rare occasions. He had been to the so-called Colter’s Hell in the Yellowstone country to the west, with its bubbling, molten pits that sometimes erupted in towers of scalding water. The rage felt like that inside him, white-hot and with the pressure building until it simply had to explode . . .
Not yet, he told himself as he drew in a deep, ragged breath. Aaron was dead, but Hawk, Caroline, and Charlie might still be alive. More than likely they were, or Angry Sky would have had their bodies pitched out into the open, as well, to taunt Preacher about his failure to save them.
The young Crow warriors saw the emotion on his face when he drew back from the bend and gave him apprehensive looks.
Broken Pine asked, “What is wrong, Preacher?”
“One of my friends is dead. A young fella named Aaron, not much older than you boys. His body’s layin’ out in the main canyon, in front of the entrance to the one where they’re holed up. I’m bettin’ Angry Sky killed him and had him dumped there.” A bitter, sour taste spread under Preacher’s tongue as he added, “As a message to me.”
“This man is evil,” Broken Pi
ne declared solemnly. “Of course, we knew that . . . because he is Blackfoot.”
“I reckon he’s one of the worst I’ve run across from any tribe,” Preacher said. Again he took a deep breath, and felt his rage subside—for the moment. “But our plan stays the same. It’s still the best chance we’ve got of freein’ the other prisoners. Are all you fellas ready?”
Nods from the four young men. They no longer seemed quite so eager to go into battle, but they still looked plenty determined.
Preacher checked the sun. It had sunk partially behind the mountains to the west. Dusk had begun to settle down over the basin. By the time he and Big Thunder completed the climb that was ahead of them, full night would have fallen but the moon wouldn’t rise for a while longer. That would give them enough time to get into position.
“Come on,” he said to Big Thunder. “We’d best get started while we’ve still got a little light to see by.”
At first he pointed out handholds and footholds to his massive companion, but he soon realized that Big Thunder didn’t really need the help. He was a good climber, just as he had claimed. With his long reach and great strength, probably an even better climber than Preacher.
Shadows gathered quickly once the sun was down. Preacher and Big Thunder had to slow their pace and rely more on touch than sight as they searched for their next grips. But their progress up the ridge was steady, and stars were just beginning to appear in the deep-blue-shading-to-black sky above them as they rolled over the rim onto level ground.
“Stay down,” Preacher whispered to Big Thunder. “The guards may be watchin’ up here now. The fella who was on duty earlier wasn’t expectin’ anybody to make that climb, but they know now that somebody did.”
The Blackfeet knew that he was the one who had scaled the ridge and killed that sentry, Preacher thought. He was sure they had been talking about Ghost Killer among themselves. That was all right. It never hurt anything for an enemy to be a mite spooked. Made them more likely to be careless now and then.
When the night had grown darker, Preacher figured it was safe for him and Big Thunder to make their move. They wouldn’t be silhouetted as they dashed along the ridge toward the far end of the small canyon.
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