“Arm both sides in this feud, you mean?” Manning threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, I like that idea, Willie. I really do.”
Someone pushed back the hide flap over the entrance. Snake Heart stepped into the lodge. Deaver and Manning stood up to greet the Gros Ventre chief.
“The prisoners will be brought soon,” Snake Heart said. “Two for the other men, and one for you, Deaver.”
Deaver bit back a curse. He would have just as soon Snake Heart hadn’t said that in front of Manning. The others would have found out about the arrangement anyway, of course, but Deaver wished he’d had a chance to soften them up a little first.
He could tell from the way Manning’s eyebrows arched in surprise that the man intended to make something of it the next time he got a chance to talk to the other three alone.
Deaver figured he could smooth over any hurt feelings … this time. The money they would make off those pelts would help considerably.
In the future, though, he was going to have to give some thought to eliminating any potential problems he might have with Manning.
The easiest way to do that, of course, would be to eliminate Manning.
“Thanks, chief,” Deaver said now.
Snake Heart gave them a curt nod and turned to leave the lodge. He stopped in the entrance and looked back at them.
“When enough of the snow melts to make travel easier, you and your friends will leave our village,” he said. “Our business with you is done. You will not spend the winter with us, as the white men were with the Assiniboine.”
The contempt in Snake Heart’s voice made it clear what he thought of that practice.
“Fine,” Deaver said. “For now, we appreciate your hospitality.”
Snake Heart just grunted and left the lodge, letting the flap fall closed behind him.
“Sounds like you’ve got a good deal for yourself, Willie,” Manning said when the chief was gone.
“I had to do something to make him respect me,” Deaver said. He didn’t like feeling the need to explain himself to his lieutenant. “Otherwise he might have tried to take advantage of all of us.”
Manning nodded slowly.
“That makes sense … I guess.”
Deaver wanted to respond angrily to that, but he kept a tight rein on his temper.
“Of course it makes sense,” he said. “You know I always have what’s best for all of us in mind.”
Manning just nodded again and said, “Uh-huh.”
Before either of them could say anything else, Deaver heard someone sobbing outside. He stepped over to the entrance and shoved the flap back.
Half a dozen Gros Ventre warriors herded along three of the Assiniboine captives. Deaver was disappointed but not surprised to see that Raven’s Wing was not among them.
One of the warriors pointed at Deaver and then nodded toward the prisoners. Deaver interpreted that to mean that he was supposed to choose one of the women.
He looked them over and saw that they were all about the same, reasonably attractive but not nearly as appealing as Raven’s Wing. He was prepared to let the other men have the two best-looking of the trio, but there really wasn’t enough difference in them for that.
Almost at random, he walked over to one of the women and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. She let out a sob and tried to twist away from him, but Deaver tightened his grip on her.
“No point in worryin’ about it, darlin’,” he told her, even though she probably didn’t speak a word of English. “You’re comin’ with me.”
Manning had hurried over to the other lodge and called for Plunkett, Jordan, and Heath to come out. The men had big smiles on their faces as they emerged from the lodge, even the normally dour Darwin Heath.
Big, bluff Fred Jordan took the arms of the other two captives and steered them into the lodge. Plunkett and Heath followed them into the dwelling.
Manning hesitated.
“I’ll see you later, Willie,” he said. “You enjoy yourself. I intend to.”
“Yeah,” Deaver said. He pushed the woman toward the lodge. “Let’s go.”
The warriors who had delivered the prisoners trooped away as the white men went into the lodges with the women. Deaver closed the entrance flap and tried not to think about Raven’s Wing.
It was impossible to put her out of his mind, though. Even as he motioned for the woman to take off her buckskin dress and said, “Get your clothes off,” he thought about how exciting it would be if Raven’s Wing were the one stripping naked in front of him.
The Assiniboine woman was still sobbing quietly. That was going to get tiresome in a hurry, Deaver decided. He would tell her once to shut up, and if that didn’t work, he would see if his fist could make her stop crying. He was willing to bet that it could.
So when he stepped closer to her and her eyes widened, at first he thought the reaction was because she was afraid of him.
They he realized that she was surprised instead, and not only that, she was looking at something over his shoulder, rather than staring at him.
He barely had time to think about that—and what it might mean—before something crashed into the back of his head and sent him spiraling forward into darkness.
CHAPTER 27
After Snake Heart left the lodge where Deaver and Manning were, Preacher, Audie, and Two Bears backed away through the brush until Preacher thought it was safe to whisper again.
“Did you see what was in there with those two varmints?” the mountain man asked.
“It looked like boxes of some sort,” Audie replied.
“Crates full of new rifles would be my guess.”
Audie caught his breath.
“Deaver and his friends are running guns to the Gros Ventre?”
“That’s the way it looked to me,” Preacher agreed. “It would go a long way toward evenin’ up the odds if our Assiniboine pards had some of those rifles.”
Audie didn’t reply for a long moment, then, “Preacher, you’re not suggesting that we try to steal one of those crates of rifles, are you? Because getting into the village and back out again with something like that seems impossible, even for the Ghostkiller!”
“It might be for one man, but there are three of us. And I ain’t sayin’ we’d lug out a whole crate. We cut a hole in the back wall of the lodge, one man goes inside and passes the rifles back out to another man, who passes them on to the third fella, and he caches ’em in the woods until we can fetch the rest of our bunch.”
“Hmm,” Audie said.
“Now you’re startin’ to sound like Nighthawk,” Preacher said, grinning in the darkness.
“It might work,” Audie admitted. “You’d need a lot of luck, though.”
“A man always needs luck.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in it, only in powder, shot, and cold steel.”
“Blast it, don’t go usin’ my own words against me. Are you in or not?”
“Of course I’m in,” Audie snapped. “Don’t think for a second that I—”
Audie didn’t finish, because at that moment Two Bears whispered, “Someone else comes.”
At first Preacher thought the Assiniboine war chief meant that another guard was approaching, but then he heard voices and realized that something was going on again at the lodges.
The three men pulled themselves forward through the brush until they could see again. They watched as several Gros Ventre warriors prodded three crying captives up to the lodges. Deaver and Manning came out of their lodges, and their three friends emerged from the other lodge to join them.
It was obvious what was about to happen. Preacher heard Two Bears breathing hard and thought that the enraged war chief might jump up, charge out of the brush, and ruin everything. He was prepared to make a grab for Two Bears in case he needed to hold him back.
Two Bears got control of himself, though, and whispered, “We can get behind the lodges while no one is paying attention.”
/> “That’s just what I was thinkin’,” Preacher whispered back. “Come on.”
Moving as quickly as they could risk, the three men began circling the village. When they reached a spot that commanded a view of the back of the lodges being used by Deaver and the other gun-runners, Preacher looked around as best he could.
Men were still talking in front of the lodges, but he didn’t see anybody else moving around. The village was mostly quiet now. The Gros Ventre warriors who had gone on the raid would be with their wives, celebrating their safe return home.
He drew his knife, pointed to himself, then to Two Bears, then to Audie. He would go first and sneak into the lodge where the rifles were being stored.
That meant he would probably have to kill Deaver and Manning. That prospect didn’t bother Preacher a bit. The challenge would be to dispose of the varmints without raising enough of a ruckus to alert the Gros Ventre.
The trees and brush grew to within twenty feet of the lodge. While he was crossing that space and cutting an opening into the rear wall, Preacher would be visible to anybody who happened to look in this direction. It was a risky proposition, but he had to take the chance.
He crawled toward the lodge, the heavy hunting knife gripped tightly in his hand.
The light was bad back here, with only a faint glow from the campfires that reached this far, and he had that on his side, anyway. He could still hear voices from in front of the lodge and knew that Deaver and Manning hadn’t come back in yet.
Moving quickly, Preacher chopped and gouged at the rear wall of the lodge. He didn’t want to make a big hole, because his enemies might notice that when they came in. All he needed was a gap big enough to fit his shoulders through.
While he was wielding the knife with his right hand, he used his left to pull away the branches he cut and scoop dirt out from under the wall. In a matter of minutes he had a big enough opening to slither through.
This was another risky moment, while he was crawling through the hole. The flap hung closed over the entrance, and the lodge was empty. Preacher pulled himself through, grabbed a bearskin robe, and threw it over himself as he pressed his body against the wall where he had cut the opening.
He hoped that would be enough concealment to keep Deaver and Manning from noticing that anything was wrong.
Breathing shallowly, Preacher lay there, and he didn’t have to wait very long. He heard someone come into the lodge.
A moment later, a voice he recognized as Willie Deaver’s said, “Get your clothes off.”
Silently, Preacher pushed the bearskin robe aside and stood up. Deaver and one of the Assiniboine captives were the only people in the lodge other than him, and Deaver had his back turned. Manning must have gone with the other men. That was a stroke of luck, and Preacher didn’t intend to waste it.
Gripping the knife tightly, Preacher stepped closer to the man. He was about to plunge the blade into Deaver’s back and pierce his rotten heart, at the same time clapping his other hand over Deaver’s mouth so there would be no outcry, when suddenly he changed his mind.
Instead he lifted the knife, and as the prisoner caught sight of him over Deaver’s shoulder and her eyes widened in surprise, Preacher struck.
He hammered the brass ball at the end of the knife’s handle into the back of Deaver’s neck. Preacher put all his strength behind the blow, knowing that if it landed correctly, it would instantly knock Deaver out cold and make him collapse like a puppet with its strings cut.
Deaver went down, all right. His knees folded up and he hit the ground, unconscious. The woman opened her mouth, and Preacher stepped forward quickly and covered her lips with his free hand in case she was about to yell in surprise. He didn’t want that.
“It’s all right,” Preacher whispered to her in Assiniboine. “Don’t yell. I’m here to help you.”
She seemed to understand what he was saying. After a moment she nodded, and he took his hand away from her mouth. He remembered seeing her around the Assiniboine village, and obviously she knew who he was.
“Preacher!” she whispered. “That terrible white man said you were dead!”
She pointed at Deaver’s limp form sprawled at their feet.
“Reckon he was wrong, wasn’t he?” Preacher said with a grin. He pointed to the hole he had cut in the wall of the lodge and went on, “You can crawl out there and take off for the woods, just be quiet about it. There’s a rescue party not far off. Two Bears and Audie are out there, and they’ll help you get back to the others.”
She was crying with relief now, but she said, “The other captives—”
“I know,” Preacher told her. “We’ll get ’em all free as quick as we can. Right now you can help by gettin’ out of here, so we’ll know you’re safe, anyway.”
She nodded and went to the opening he had made. She was able to crawl through it, even though she was stockier than the lean mountain man.
Without wasting any time, Preacher tied Deaver hand and foot and cut a piece off one of the bearskin robes to cram into the gunrunner’s mouth as a gag. Then he used his knife to pry the lid off one of the crates.
The long wooden box wasn’t filled with rifles, but it held more than a dozen of them, along with kegs of powder and shot. Preacher took a couple of the rifles and carried them to the hole in the back wall.
“Two Bears!” he called softly.
“Here,” the Assiniboine war chief replied.
“Did the woman get away?”
“Audie is showing her the way back to the others.”
Preacher slid the two rifles out through the opening.
“Take these,” he said. “I’ll have some more here by the time you get back.”
Keeping an eye on Deaver, Preacher worked for the next few minutes with swift but unrushed efficiency. Everybody in the Gros Ventre village believed that Deaver was in here enjoying himself with the Assiniboine captive, so it was unlikely anyone would intrude for a while.
But it wasn’t impossible, so Preacher didn’t want to waste any time. He emptied the crate of rifles, and Two Bears passed the weapons on to Audie. Preacher shoved a keg of powder and a keg of shot through the hole as well, then opened one of the other crates. It contained eight rifles.
Deaver hadn’t budged or made a sound since Preacher had knocked him out. The mountain man began to wonder if he had killed Deaver after all. He had changed his mind at the last minute and struck with the knife’s handle instead of its blade because he wanted to question Deaver and find out where the rifles came from. It might be important to know if this was an isolated incident or if someone was trying to organize a continuous flow of guns to the hostile tribes.
By the time Preacher had emptied the second crate of rifles, Deaver was starting to stir. Preacher knelt beside the man and pressed the tip of his knife to Deaver’s throat.
The touch of cold steel made Deaver’s eyes fly open. Preacher leaned over him and said quietly, “Don’t bother tryin’ to yell or get loose. You ain’t goin’ nowhere, mister.” A grin stretched across the mountain man’s face. “Surprised to see me, ain’t you? You thought you’d trampled me back yonder in Bent Leg’s village. But stubborn varmints like me are hard to kill.”
Anger and hatred blazed in Deaver’s eyes. Preacher knew that if the man were loose right now, Deaver would do his best to kill him. Preacher didn’t intend to let that happen.
“You got two choices,” Preacher went on. “You can cooperate and tell me what I want to know, or I’ll just go ahead and cut your throat right now. It’s up to you, Deaver.”
Deaver glared at him for a few seconds longer, then moved his head slightly in a nod. That made the knife point dig a little deeper into his skin.
“All right,” Preacher said. “I’ll take that as you sayin’ you’ll tell me what I want to know. I’m gonna pull that gag out of your mouth, but if you try to make a peep before I tell you to, it won’t take but a second to shove this knife right through your gizzard. You won’t g
et a single sound out.”
Preacher took hold of the gag but didn’t remove it yet.
“Here’s what I want to know,” he said. “Where did those rifles come from, and are there any more headin’ this way?”
He tugged the chunk of bear hide out of Deaver’s mouth.
The man grimaced and used his tongue to work bits of coarse fur out of his mouth.
“You son of a bitch,” he said in a choked voice. “I’ll kill—”
Preacher leaned on the knife. A thin line of blood trickled from the wound it made in Deaver’s throat.
“That ain’t answerin’ my questions,” the mountain man said. “And you done used up all the patience I got for you. I’ll ask you one more time … Where’d the guns come from?”
“England,” Deaver spat out. “We got ’em from an Englishman named St. John.”
That didn’t surprise Preacher at all. He knew that the British government still harbored a lot of resentment toward its former colonies. Not only that, but the British fur-trading companies operating in Canada were jealous of all the pelts being taken here in the Rockies by Americans. Several times in the past, Preacher had run into British agents trying to cause trouble for the mountain men and disrupt the American fur trade.
Arming the Gros Ventre and the other tribes that hated the whites, such as the Blackfeet, would go a long way toward accomplishing that aim.
“You got more rifles comin’ in?” Preacher asked. “And remember, if I think you’re lyin’ to me, I won’t have no reason not to go ahead and kill you.”
“The ones we brought here are all of them for now,” Deaver said. “Maybe we might get some more in the spring. We’d have to set up a new deal, though.”
Preacher’s instincts told him that Deaver was speaking the truth.
“You better go ahead and kill me,” Deaver went on. “If you don’t, I swear I’ll hunt you down, and next time I’ll make sure you’re dead.”
A grim smile touched Preacher’s mouth.
“You know, I was just thinkin’ the same thing,” he said.
Preacher’s Fury Page 18