Preacher's Quest

by William W. Johnstone

  “Some among us have said that,” Badger admitted grudgingly. “That is why it has been decided not to kill you first.” The chief lifted his arm and leveled it at Rip. “That is why this man will die first . . .”

  Preacher’s breath hissed between his teeth. He couldn’t stand by and let Rip die.

  “Unless you agree to what I propose,” Badger went on.

  That perked up Preacher’s interest in a hurry. Was Badger about to offer him a way out of this mess?

  “What do you wish of me?” he asked.

  Badger’s ugly smile reappeared on his scarred face. “More than once you have dared me to fight you, Preacher. If you agree, you are about to receive what you desire. You and I will do battle . . . to the death.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Preacher’s keen brain grasped instantly what Badger probably had in mind, but before he could make sure, Faith let out a moan and asked hysterically, “What are the two of you saying? What’s he going to do? Is he going to kill poor Mr. Giddens?”

  Preacher turned his head to look at her and snapped, “Shut up.” In a slightly milder tone, he went on. “Don’t interfere, ma’am. These folks don’t like it when a woman butts in while men are talkin’.”

  “Well!” Faith sniffed, able to take offense even though she was terrified. She added coldly, “Pardon me.”

  Preacher ignored her and turned his attention back to Badger. He said, “If I fight you, will you let the others go and cause them no harm?”

  “You will fight me,” Badger said, “and I make no promise about these others. But you will have a chance to do battle for your life.”

  Preacher shook his head. “No deal. I won’t make a bargain like that.”

  Badger pointed at Rip again. “You would rather stand by and watch your friend die screaming in the flames?”

  “Don’t listen to him, Preacher!” Rip called out suddenly, having understood enough of the exchange between Preacher and Badger to know what was going on. “I don’t give a damn what he does to me. Make him promise to spare the others before you agree to anything.”

  “You may as well kill me now while my hands are tied, Bites Like a Badger,” Preacher said to the chief. “You have no honor, anyway.”

  Badger’s face darkened with anger. “For a white man to accuse one of the true people of having no honor is foolish! Everyone knows it is the white men who have no honor!”

  Preacher shrugged. “Whatever you say.” With a motion of his head, he indicated the others of the band. “But your people hear, and they know the truth.”

  Badger looked around as several of the warriors muttered under their breaths. He was the leader of a divided tribe, some of whom followed him, while others still held to the beliefs of Hairface. With a look on his face that told Preacher he knew he was boxed in, Badger said, “I agree. We will fight, and if you defeat me you and these others will go free. They will come to no harm from the Teton Sioux.”

  “Your word on that?”

  Badger nodded. “My word, Preacher.”

  “All right, then,” Preacher said. He turned so that he could hold his hands out behind him. “Cut me loose, and let me get some feelin’ back in my hands.”

  Badger drew his knife, but paused before he slashed the bonds around Preacher’s wrists. “There is one more condition,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You must give me your word that you will not speak as you did in the village of the Blackfeet, when it was thought that the Great Spirit had touched you.”

  “Don’t want me to go to preachin’, eh?” The mountain man chuckled. “All right, Badger, you got my word on that, too.”

  As the chief sawed through the rawhide strips, he said, “You have not asked what will happen to these others if you lose.”

  Preacher felt the bonds fall free. He brought his arms in front of him again, and it was a blessed relief to be able to do so, even though the muscles were stiff and his numb hands soon felt like they were on fire as the blood flowed into them again. He grinned tightly and told Badger, “I don’t intend to lose.”

  Badger scowled at him and said, “Just so you know, they will all follow you into death. But they will die quickly, rather than slowly and painfully. This I will do to honor a fallen enemy.” He turned to one of the other warriors and held out his hand. The man drew his knife and put the handle in Badger’s palm. Badger threw the knife at the ground, so that the blade buried itself in the earth next to Preacher’s right foot. As Badger backed off several steps, he went on. “Pick it up whenever you are ready to die, Preacher.”

  “Be careful, Preacher,” Switchfoot called. “That redskin’s prob’ly a tricky sumbitch.”

  Jasper Hodge asked, “What’s going on here? Why did he turn Preacher loose?”

  “Take it easy, mister,” Hammerhead Jones told him. “Preacher’s gonna fight ol’ Badger, for all our lives.”

  Willard Carling said, “Is this true, Preacher? You’re going to do battle with that savage, with our fates riding on the outcome?”

  “Yep,” Preacher said as he continued rubbing his hands together, getting as much feeling back in them as he could before he had to pick up the knife and face Badger.

  “But . . . but you’re exhausted! You haven’t eaten in ages, and you probably didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “True on both counts,” Preacher said with a faint smile.

  “How can you hope to defeat him?”

  “Easy. I don’t have any choice.” Preacher bent his knees and reached down to grasp the handle of the knife. As he straightened, he pulled the blade from the dirt. He wiped it on the leg of his buckskin trousers and nodded to the chief. “All right, Badger. You’ve got it to do.”

  With the ugly grin on his face again, Badger stalked forward, his knife held low and ready to strike viciously. Preacher didn’t know why some folks seemed to think that Indians never showed any emotion. Badger was grinning like a possum in a persimmon tree.

  Preacher moved forward to meet him. The onlookers stepped back a little, clearing an area for the two men to fight. They formed a large circle, with the post where Rip Giddens was tied to one side of it. The other prisoners huddled together near the post.

  “I will enjoy peeling the hide off you, one agonizing strip at a time,” Badger taunted.

  Preacher sounded almost bored as he said, “You gonna fight or just try to talk me to death?”

  Badger stopped grinning and snarled instead as he flung himself forward and slashed at Preacher with the knife in his hand.

  Preacher wasn’t there anymore, though, having twisted aside. He stuck out a foot, hoping that he could trip Badger as the chief’s momentum carried him forward, but Badger nimbly avoided Preacher’s leg and swung the knife in a backhanded strike that Preacher barely avoided. As it was, the point of Badger’s blade caught for a second in Preacher’s shirt and ripped it.

  Preacher launched an attack of his own, slashing at Badger and forcing the chief to step back while he was already off balance. As Preacher had hoped, Badger’s feet got tangled up with each other and he went down, falling over backward. Preacher dived after him, but Badger rolled desperately to the side. Preacher hit the ground instead.

  Badger kicked out, his moccasin-shod foot crashing into Preacher’s side. Preacher felt pain shoot through him and hoped that the kick hadn’t broken a rib. He rolled the other way, putting a little distance between himself and Badger. As he came up on hands and knees and then surged to his feet, he saw that Badger was scrambling up, too. Both men reached their feet at the same time and attacked each other simultaneously. Sparks flew from steel as their knife blades rang together.

  Preacher feinted, and when Badger twisted to meet it, Preacher swung his left fist in a blow that crashed against Badger’s jaw. Indians were skillful wrestlers but they weren’t much on bare-knuckle brawling, so the punch took Badger by surprise and landed solidly. He flew backward and sat down hard, skidding a few feet on his ru
mp. But he flipped over lithely and came up again as Preacher rushed in, trying to seize the momentary advantage. Instead, Preacher had to stop short and throw himself backward to avoid being disemboweled by a sweeping upward stroke of Badger’s knife.

  On and on the two men battled, first one gaining a slight edge, then the other. Preacher drew first blood, leaving a bloody gash on Badger’s right forearm. The cut wasn’t deep enough to disable the chief, though, or even to slow him down very much. In fact, less than a minute later the tip of Badger’s blade traced a fiery line across Preacher’s side, and this time it cut more than buckskin. Preacher felt the warm flow of blood on his skin.

  As the long minutes wore on, both men began to bleed in several more places. None of the wounds were serious enough to stop the fight, though. It appeared that nothing would do that short of death for one or both of the combatants.

  Preacher’s pulse hammered heavily in his head. Most of his attention was focused on his opponent, naturally enough, so he was only vaguely aware of the tense audience all around him and Badger. The Tetons didn’t call out encouragement to their chief, but rather watched the fight in rapt silence.

  That wasn’t the case with the prisoners. Carling and Hodge both shouted advice and warnings to Preacher, although he ignored them. Faith cried out in alarm every time it looked like Preacher was about to be defeated. Of course, she was thinking more about what would happen to her if he lost, rather than about him, but Preacher didn’t expect any more than that from the spoiled Eastern girl.

  Rip and the other mountain men watched in silence, like the Indians. They knew just as well as the Tetons did how deadly serious this was. If the fight had been a brawl between two friends, they would have been whoopin’ and hollerin’ and enjoying the entertainment. The stakes in this battle were too high for such boisterousness.

  Preacher’s weariness began to tell on him. He called on his reserves of strength and stamina and kept moving as fast as when the fight had started. Sooner or later, though, his body was liable to betray him. All it would take was a momentary lapse, and then he would die and so would the other prisoners.

  But Badger was tired, too, and Preacher could see that in the chief’s eyes. He pressed the attack, hoping that Badger would be the first one to slip.

  Instead, as Preacher lunged in, his foot came down on a small branch that had been kicked out from the pile around the base of the post where Rip was tied. The branch rolled under him, and suddenly Preacher felt himself losing his balance as he leaned far to one side. Unable to catch himself, he went down hard. At the same time, Badger swung his leg in a kick that caught Preacher on the wrist. The knife went spinning out of his hand.

  Badger cried out in triumph as he threw himself on Preacher and the knife in his hand swept downward. Preacher writhed and flung a hand up just in time to catch hold of Badger’s wrist and stop the killing stroke. The tip of the blade was barely an inch from Preacher’s chest. Both men grunted from the strain as Badger tried to drive the knife into Preacher’s body and Preacher struggled to keep him from doing it.

  Suddenly, Preacher smashed his other hand against Badger’s ear. That caused Badger to let up a little on the knife, and Preacher was able to twist the blade aside from his body. At the same time Preacher brought a knee up into Badger’s belly. That shook the chief even more. Preacher hauled hard on Badger’s arm and threw him aside. He rolled after Badger and wound up on the chief’s back, an arm looped around his neck from behind. Preacher’s other hand still had hold of Badger’s knife wrist. Now the chief didn’t have any leverage or any way to get at Preacher with the knife. Preacher increased the pressure on the arm around Badger’s neck.

  Badger began to flail and kick desperately as Preacher steadily, inexorably, choked the life out of him. Preacher dug his knee into the small of Badger’s back and levered himself upward, maintaining his grip on the chief’s neck so that Badger was forced to bend backward. Preacher knew that if he kept this up, the only question was whether Badger would choke to death before Preacher snapped his spine.

  Badger let go of the knife and tried to bring his hand around so that he could claw at Preacher. Preacher held firm. Now that he had Badger in this death-grip, nothing was going to force him to let go.

  Nothing except—himself.

  Abruptly, Preacher released his hold and stood up, stepping back so that Badger was left lying on the ground, gasping for breath and looking a little like a fish that has been pulled out of a stream and dropped on the bank.

  “Oh, my God!” Carling exclaimed in alarm. “What’s he doing? Why didn’t he go ahead and kill the Indian?”

  “Hang on,” Rip advised. “I reckon Preacher knows what he’s doin’.”

  Preacher heard that, and he sure as hell hoped Rip was right. He hoped that he did know what he was doing.

  Silence hung over the Teton village, a portentous silence broken only by Badger’s rasping breaths. After a minute or so, Badger rolled awkwardly onto his back and then sat up, glaring murderously at Preacher. He rubbed his throat and husked, “Why do you not kill me? Why do you rob me of an honorable death?”

  “Because there ain’t anything honorable about any man dyin’ when he don’t have to.” Preacher raised his voice so that all the Indians could hear him. “Your chief has fought well. He is a fine enemy, but I would have him for a finer friend, as Hairface was my friend.” He waved a hand toward the prisoners. “These people and I mean you no harm. We come to the valley of the Seven Smokes in peace. Free them, and songs will be sung of the generosity of the true people. Welcome them as guests, and they will leave as friends, forever and ever.”

  There were mutters of agreement from some of the warriors, enough so that Badger couldn’t fail to notice them. Still rubbing his throat, he said to Preacher, “Our fight was to be to the death. You would break your word?”

  “Your life is mine,” Preacher said. “It is up to me what to do with it . . . and I return it to you.” He shrugged. “Perhaps I will kill you another day, Bites Like a Badger . . . but I don’t think this will ever happen.”

  Badger continued to scowl, but finally he nodded in acceptance. He climbed to his feet, angrily waving away offers of help from some of his followers. He glared at Preacher and said loudly, “No one may kill this man but me, and I cannot kill him now without dishonoring myself. So he and his friends are free and may remain here with us as our guests for as long as they wish.” He folded his arms across his chest. “So speaks Bites Like a Badger.”

  Rip Giddens and the other frontiersmen grinned with relief, although Preacher remained suitably solemn as he stepped forward and extended a hand to Badger. The chief didn’t hesitate as he clasped Preacher’s wrist.

  “What . . . what does it all mean?” Willard Carling asked in astonishment.

  “It means they ain’t gonna kill us after all,” Rip said as one of the warriors moved to cut him loose from the post. “It means we’re gonna live . . . thanks to Preacher.”

  Luther Snell wiggled backward in the tall grass, moving carefully so as not to disturb it any more than he had to. Baldy was beside him, also withdrawing slowly and cautiously from their reconnaissance of the Teton Sioux village. The two men had crept close enough to the village so that they had been able to witness the brutal combat between Preacher and Bites Like a Badger, and they had also heard what was said after that fight was over.

  When they were far enough away that it was safe for them to stand up, they did so and hurried back to where they had left the rest of the group. “What’d you find out?” Euchre asked as Snell and Baldy trotted up to their hiding place in a clump of aspen.

  Snell was seething inside from what he had seen. The anger erupted from him now as he said, “Damn that Preacher!”

  “What did he do?” Vickery asked.

  “He went and made friends with those damn redskins, even Badger!”

  “You mean they ain’t gonna kill him?”

  “Nope,” Baldy said. “Him an
d Badger are almost blood brothers now . . . even though I got the idea that Badger still don’t like him very much.”

  “Badger can’t hate him any more’n I do,” Snell said. He wiped the back of a hand across his mouth and grimaced. “But those pilgrims ain’t prisoners no more. They’re guests of the Tetons now. It’s gonna be harder than ever to get our hands on them.”

  “Oh, hell,” Collins said. “Let’s just give it up.”

  “I’m not givin’ nothin’ up!” Snell blazed. “We’re still gonna be rich, and Preacher’s still gonna die.” He spat. “Hell, it’s better this way.”

  “How do you figure that?” Vickery asked.

  Snell summoned up an evil smile. “Because this way, I still get to enjoy killin’ Preacher myself.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Now that Preacher and the others were guests of Badger’s people, rather than captives, everything was different. Badger barked orders, and within minutes of friendship being declared, all the bonds had been cut and the former prisoners were freed. They were ushered into one of the other lodges, but this time several squaws escorted them there instead of tomahawk-toting warriors.

  This lodge was larger and already had a fire burning in its fire pit. Thick, comfortable buffalo robes were scattered around on the ground. One of the women said to Preacher, “Wait here. We will bring food.”

  When they were left alone, Willard Carling rubbed his wrists where the tight rawhide thongs had chafed them and said, “I can’t believe it. We’re not going to die.”

  Faith looked at Preacher with newfound respect in her eyes. “You saved us,” she said. “If you hadn’t fought that savage and won, they would have killed all of us.”

  “Maybe,” Preacher said with a shrug. “I’m the one Badger really had a grudge against. He might’ve been satisfied with killin’ me and maybe Rip and Switchfoot and Hammerhead and Tom. But he might’ve let you folks live and made slaves out of you.”