But before he could exert even the small amount of pressure needed to send the blade slicing deep into Deaver’s throat, a footstep sounded behind him as someone threw back the hide flap over the lodge’s entrance and stepped inside.
“Sorry to bother you while you’re busy, Willie,” Caleb Manning said, “but I—damn!”
CHAPTER 28
Well, that tore it, Preacher thought as he whirled toward the entrance. Manning’s bellowed curse was loud enough that somebody had to have heard it.
Not only that, but Manning jerked a pistol out of his belt and brought it up to fire as Preacher’s arm whipped around and sent the knife flickering across the room in a deadly throw. The blade buried itself in Manning’s chest and knocked him backward just as he pulled the trigger.
The pistol boomed and sent a ball smashing through the roof of the lodge. The real harm was in the noise, though. If Manning’s yell hadn’t woken up the Gros Ventre village, the shot had done it for sure.
There was no time now to worry about Deaver. Preacher left the man where he was lying. Deaver shouted curses after him as Preacher ran out of the lodge, pausing only long enough to reach down and grab his knife, ripping it out of Manning’s chest. Manning lay on his back, dead eyes staring sightlessly at the top of the lodge.
Preacher sheathed the knife and pulled both pistols from behind his belt as he ran out of the dwelling. Gros Ventre warriors were coming out of some of the other lodges, looking to see what all the commotion was about. When they spotted Preacher, they yelled warnings and grabbed for weapons of their own.
A thrown tomahawk flew through the air only inches from the mountain man’s head. Preacher ignored the man who had thrown it, since he wasn’t armed anymore, and thrust a pistol toward another bare-chested warrior who had his arm drawn back to fling a tomahawk. The pistol roared and blew the Gros Ventre warrior off his feet before he could make the throw.
Preacher could have fled toward the woods then, but instead he ran deeper into the village. Somewhere among this cluster of lodges were Raven’s Wing and the rest of the Assiniboine captives. If he could find them, he might still be able to free them and get them away during the confusion.
Shots rang out behind him, but when Preacher didn’t feel the impact of lead balls smashing into his body, he glanced over his shoulder and saw tongues of orange muzzle flame spurting from the shadows under the trees.
His heart leaped at the sight. Audie and Two Bears had gotten those rifles into the hands of the rescue party, and now they were joining the fight. Preacher saw several of the Gros Ventre go down, probably with no idea what had hit them.
The unexpected attack threw the village into even more confusion. Men shouted, women screamed, and dogs barked frenziedly. One of the Gros Ventre grabbed at Preacher and got a broken head for his trouble as the mountain man slammed the empty pistol against his skull.
“Raven’s Wing!” Preacher shouted. “Raven, where are you?”
He didn’t know if she could hear him with all the racket going on, but he probably wouldn’t have time to check all the lodges for the prisoners. And even though the rescue party had the advantage of surprise right now, that wouldn’t last. They were still heavily outnumbered, and if the Gros Ventre were able to get over their confusion and get organized, they could fight off the Assiniboine attack.
“Preacher!”
The sound of a woman’s voice screaming his name made him jerk his head around. He looked for Raven’s Wing, knowing that she was the one who had called him.
“Raven!”
“Preacher!”
There! The shout came from a lodge to his left. But as he veered in that direction, a pair of Gros Ventre warriors armed with bows sent arrows flying toward him.
Preacher flung himself down and felt pain shoot through him from his wounded side as he landed on the snowy ground. The arrows sliced through the air above his head. As he lay on his belly, he tilted up the left-hand pistol and pulled the trigger. Both balls ripped into the groin of one of the bowmen.
They were armed with bows because they had been guarding the lodge where the prisoners were being held, Preacher realized. Even though he had done for one of the men, the other was still on his feet and had another arrow nocked. He let fly, forcing Preacher to roll aside. The arrow buried itself in the ground next to the mountain man.
Before Preacher could get up, a familiar figure rushed past him. Nighthawk drove his tomahawk deep in the Gros Ventre’s skull before the man could get another arrow ready to fire.
Preacher scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his side, and said, “Nighthawk, the women are in that lodge! Get ’em out of there and head for the trees!”
The Crow didn’t respond even with his customary “Umm!” He ducked into the lodge.
Preacher knew there was no time to reload. He shoved the empty pistols behind his belt and drew his knife again. A fierce war cry behind him made him swing around in time to see Snake Heart lunging at him. The garish light from a nearby campfire made the chief’s pockmarked, hate-twisted face look like something out of a nightmare as he swung a tomahawk at Preacher’s head.
Preacher’s left hand shot up and grabbed Snake Heart’s wrist, stopping the blow in midair before it could land and dash his brains out. At the same time, the knife in his right hand darted at Snake Heart’s throat, but the Gros Ventre got his left hand on Preacher’s wrist just in time to turn the strike aside.
For a heart-stopping moment, the two men stood there like that, muscles straining against each other, each man knowing that the slightest slip meant sudden death.
Then Snake Heart thrust his foot between Preacher’s calves and hooked it behind the mountain man’s knee. A quick jerk threw Preacher off his feet, but his iron grip on Snake Heart’s wrist pulled the Gros Ventre down with him.
Preacher landed on his wounded side again. Blinding pain went through him and took his breath away. He didn’t loosen his hold on Snake Heart’s wrist, though. The two men rolled over a couple of times, and Preacher got a face full of snow. The cold white stuff blurred his vision and choked him for a moment.
Snake Heart wound up on top, and that gave him an advantage. The Indian was thin as a rail, but his rope-like muscles seemed to be as strong as river-boat hawsers. Preacher sensed that his own strength was giving out.
Indians loved to wrestle, and Preacher had spent enough time among them that he had picked up some of the tricks. He flung his right leg up and got it in front of Snake Heart’s face. Bucking up from the ground, Preacher threw his strength into the move and used his leg to peel Snake Heart off of him. The chief sprawled on the snowy ground a few feet away.
Preacher rolled onto his good side and tried to get his hands and knees under him so he could push himself to his feet. Snake Heart recovered first, though, and bounded up to aim a vicious kick at Preacher’s midsection.
The mountain man twisted his body and reached out to grab Snake Heart’s foot before the kick could land. He heaved up on it and sent Snake Heart flying backward. The Gros Ventre came crashing down on his back and was obviously stunned.
Preacher had dropped his knife. He looked around on the ground, spotted it, and grabbed it before he struggled to his feet. The pain made him hunch over as he stumbled toward Snake Heart. He knew he had only seconds to seize this opportunity before the chief recovered.
Too late! Snake Heart snapped a kick at Preacher’s groin. Preacher twisted to take the blow on his thigh, but the impact still drove him backward and almost made him fall. Snake Heart leaped nimbly to his feet and charged. He had lost his tomahawk in the fight, but his hands were extended like talons and from the look on his face, he intended to choke the life out of his enemy.
Preacher slashed back and forth with the knife, forcing Snake Heart to haul up short in his attack. Snake Heart gave ground, snarling as he began to circle and search for an opening.
All around the two men, the clamor of battle went on, but neither dared to take hi
s eyes off the other. Suddenly, Snake Heart darted forward again, but the Gros Ventre had made a bad mistake. By delaying his attack for a moment, he had given Preacher a chance to catch his breath, and now the mountain man was able to respond with his usual cat-like speed. His free hand shot out, grabbed Snake Heart’s wrist, and jerked the chief toward him.
Snake Heart’s eyes widened in shock as Preacher’s knife sank itself in his belly. Preacher turned the blade and ripped it upward, opening a gaping wound in Snake Heart’s body. The Gros Ventre’s entrails began to spill out.
Even mortally wounded, Snake Heart didn’t stop fighting. His left hand locked around Preacher’s throat in a death grip. Their faces were only inches apart, and as Preacher struggled in vain to draw air into his lungs, he saw the insane light blazing in Snake Heart’s eyes. Snake Heart’s lips drew back from his teeth in a hideous smile, and it was clear that if he had to die, he intended to drag Preacher right along with him into the spirit world so they could continue their epic battle there.
Preacher pulled his knife out of Snake Heart’s steaming, ripped-open belly and swung his arm up and around in a looping blow that brought the blade flashing down on Snake Heart’s wrist with all the power the mountain man could muster. The razor-sharp edge cleaved through flesh, muscle, and bone. Preacher put his other hand against Snake Heart’s chest and gave him a hard shove. Snake Heart went over backward with blood spouting from his wrist where his hand had been attached only instants earlier.
Preacher ripped the nerveless fingers from his throat and gasped for breath as he tossed Snake Heart’s severed hand aside.
He turned away from the dead chief to see how the rest of the fight was going, but as he did the world spun crazily around him. He felt wet heat flooding his side and knew that he had lost a lot of blood again. As his balance tried to desert him and he staggered to the side, a screaming Gros Ventre warrior charged at him with knife upraised for a death blow.
Preacher lowered his head and drove himself forward to meet the attack. The knife went past his shoulder and sliced a painful but shallow furrow in his back. The two men crashed together, and Preacher went over backward. The Gros Ventre landed on top of him and raised the knife again.
A gunshot roared somewhere nearby. The warrior’s head exploded before he could drive the blade down into Preacher’s chest. Preacher felt the warm shower of gore and brains splattering across his face.
Then utter darkness came down around him, and when he tried to breathe there was nothing there, no blessed air to fill his lungs. Only a black, terrible weight that blotted out everything else, including Preacher’s consciousness.
CHAPTER 29
The first thing he was aware of was motion.
The second was that he was sick.
Preacher hadn’t had time to eat much in recent days, but as his belly convulsed, it emptied itself of everything that was in it. The motion stopped, and after a moment he felt himself being lowered to what felt like the ground. It was cold. That was snow, he thought. Its frigid touch felt good on his face.
“Well, that’s one way to wake up,” Lorenzo said. “I ain’t sure Nighthawk cared much for it, though, seein’ as how he was the one carryin’ you.”
Preacher forced his eyes open. A number of men stood around him, vaguely visible in the gray light of dawn. Nighthawk was using handfuls of snow to try to clean off his buckskins where Preacher had thrown up on them.
“Umm!” the Crow said in emphatic response to Lorenzo’s comment.
Audie bent over Preacher and studied the mountain man with a concerned expression on his face.
“You’ve been unconscious for a long time,” Audie explained. “How do you feel, Preacher? Can you see all right?”
A terrible taste filled Preacher’s mouth. He turned his head to the side and tried to spit, but without much success.
“Gimme … some snow,” he husked.
Audie pressed a handful of snow into Preacher’s palm. He brought it to his mouth, gulped it down, rolled it around, and spat it out. That helped a little.
“I feel like … I been busted apart … and put back together wrong.”
“I’m not surprised,” Audie said. “The wound in your side opened up again during the fighting, and you lost quite a bit of blood. Plus with that head injury, you were in no shape to be doing all that brawling anyway. Any normal man who had to endure as much punishment as you do would be dead three or four times over, Preacher.”
“Help me … sit up.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Blast it …”
“All right, take it easy,” Audie said quickly. “I know better than to argue with you. Nighthawk, Lorenzo, give me a hand here.”
Together they lifted Preacher into a sitting position. That caused another wave of dizziness to go through him, like the one he had experienced before he passed out.
When the feeling subsided, he managed to ask, “Where are we? What happened?”
“We whipped them Gros Ventre, that’s what happened,” Lorenzo replied with a note of pride in his voice. “Beat ’em so bad, they ain’t even chasin’ us.”
“Is that true?”
Two Bears came over to join them. The war chief nodded and said, “It is true. Because you killed Snake Heart, the Gros Ventre lost their will to fight, at least for now. We go back to Bent Leg’s village, where we will be safe for the rest of the winter.” He held up one of the new rifles. “And well armed, so the Gros Ventre will think twice about attacking us again!”
“In all the confusion, we were able to grab even more of those rifles,” Audie put in.
Preacher nodded, satisfied in knowing that at least some of the weapons intended by the British to be used against their enemies would now be used to defend the friends of the American fur trappers instead. If there was such a thing as poetic justice, this was a good example of it.
“What happened … after I passed out?” he asked. “I remember not bein’ able to get my breath …”
“There was a good reason for that,” Lorenzo said. “We found you with one of them varmints draped over your face, and he was dead as he could be. Reckon it was just good luck the son of a gun didn’t suffocate you!”
Preacher recalled the Gros Ventre warrior who had been about to stab him.
“Somebody shot him in the head,” he said. “Who was that?”
Audie grinned.
“I’ll take credit for that shot, thank you very much. I didn’t mean for him to fall on top of you like that, however.”
Preacher gripped his friend’s shoulder.
“Thanks,” he said simply. Among men such as these, that was enough.
Another thought occurred to him, prompting him to look around the place where they had stopped. The sky was brighter now, even though the sun still wasn’t up.
“The prisoners!” he said, alarm in his voice because he didn’t see any of the women. “Where are they? Did we get ’em all?”
“I sent them ahead with some of the warriors,” Two Bears said. “We freed them.” His normally dour face grew even more bleak. “Except for Raven’s Wing.”
Preacher’s head jerked up.
“She … she didn’t make it?” he rasped.
Audie said, “We didn’t find her, Preacher. We don’t know what happened to her. She wasn’t with the other women when we freed them.”
Preacher’s head throbbed from the punishment he had taken. He would have liked nothing more right now than to stretch out and go to sleep.
But he forced his brain to work instead and asked, “The women who’d been brought to Deaver and his men … you got them out, too?”
“They’re all right,” Audie assured him. “The only one we couldn’t find was Raven’s Wing. One of the women said …” He hesitated as if he didn’t want to go on. “One of them said that Snake Heart came to the lodge where they were being kept and took her with him, not long before the trouble started.”
So Sna
ke Heart had claimed her as his own, Preacher thought. Given Raven’s beauty and defiant nature, it wasn’t surprising that the Gros Ventre chief had chosen her.
But Snake Heart was dead now. Preacher had killed him. There was no doubt about that. No one could have survived the wounds that the mountain man had inflicted on him.
“She must’ve been in Snake Heart’s lodge when the commotion broke out,” Preacher said. “If he ran out and left her there …”
“She would have tried to escape,” Two Bears finished the thought for him. “She would have seized the chance.”
“So she’s liable to be wanderin’ around in the woods somewhere by herself?” That possibility brought Preacher to his feet. All the weakness from his injuries was forgotten now. “We got to find her. If we don’t, the Gros Ventre might capture her again.”
“If she is free, she will make her way back to Bent Leg’s village,” Two Bears said. “There were other prisoners. We must make sure they reach their homes safely.”
Preacher heard the pain in Two Bears’ voice. The woman he loved was missing, but as the war chief of the Assiniboine he had a responsibility to the other captives they had rescued. Those women all had people who loved them, too.
“Where are we?” he asked. “Have we crossed the badlands yet?”
Two Bears shook his head.
“It is not far.”
“You really think she can get through there on her own? She might get lost and wander around until the Gros Ventre find her, or she starves to death. There are wild animals in these mountains that might get her, too.”
Two Bears said, “You are not telling me anything I do not already know, white man.”
“Listen here,” Preacher said. “You fellas go on to Bent Leg’s village. I’ll go back and find Raven’s Wing.” Something nuzzled his hand, and he looked down at the big cur. “Dog and me’ll find Raven’s Wing.”
“You ain’t goin’ nowheres by yourself,” Lorenzo said. “I come this far with you, Preacher, and I intend to stick.”
Preacher’s Fury Page 19