Preacher's Bloodbath

by Johnstone, William W.

  He walked all the way to the opening and peered into it. The fissure angled back to the right for fifty yards, then bent to the left so he couldn’t see any farther than that. It was about ten feet wide, and even though it ran all the way to the top of the cliff, the bottom was so deep that the sky was only a thin blue line from where he stood. The shadows were so thick that the passage was cloaked in perpetual gloom.

  As soon as Preacher got a good look at it, his instincts told him it was where the chief of that strange war party had gone. This had been the Indian’s destination all along.

  If Audie and Nighthawk were still alive, they were at the other end of wherever the sinister passage led.

  The mountain man turned and waved for Boone Halliday to join him. The young man loped out of the trees and hurried toward him. From where he was, Boone couldn’t see what Preacher could, but as he approached, the fissure in the cliffs would become visible to him.

  Boone wore a look of astonishment as he trotted up to Preacher a few moments later. “This must be where that fella went!” he exclaimed.

  “Yep,” Preacher agreed. “The trail’s well hidden until you’re right up on it.”

  “You think it actually leads somewhere?”

  “I reckon it has to. That varmint’s tracks brought us here, and he wouldn’t have gone in there if he didn’t think he could get out at the other end.”

  “No, I suppose he wouldn’t. Are we going through there, too?”

  “I’m gonna see where it leads,” Preacher said. “Whether you do is up to you.”

  “I’m sticking with you, Preacher. You ought to know that by now.”

  “Figured as much,” Preacher said with a smile. “But it’s a plumb spooky-lookin’ place, and I wanted to give you one more chance to back out if you were of a mind to.”

  “I’m in this to the end,” Boone declared.

  “Then come on. Let’s see where this giant snake track leads.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The passage zigzagged into the cliff, and it didn’t take long for Preacher to lose track of how many twists and turns it had made as he and Boone followed it. The air was stagnant and dusty and had a chill to it. Down where the sun shone so little, only a few minutes a day when it was directly overhead, it probably never warmed up much.

  The rock walls on either side rose so high that even though they were perpendicular, they seemed to lean inward as if threatening to close up and crush Preacher and Boone between countless tons of stone, but that wasn’t likely to happen unless there was another earthquake. If such a thing ever happened while a man was in there, he would be plumb out of luck.

  The passage seemed to run for miles through the cliffs, although Preacher knew it wasn’t really that far. He didn’t know how long they had been in it, how far they had come, or how much farther they had to go before they reached the end when he and Boone went around another sharp bend and suddenly found themselves confronted by half a dozen of the strange warriors.

  They all carried spears, yelled, and charged at the two intruders. Preacher hadn’t wanted to fire any shots in there, but outnumbered as he and Boone were, they had no choice. He yanked out both pistols, thumbed back the hammers, and pulled the triggers.

  The roar of exploding powder was so loud it pounded the ears like the biggest clap of thunder ever. A split second after Preacher’s pistols went off, so did Boone’s. Powder smoke clogged the narrow passage. As it began to clear, two of the Indians charged out of the gray cloud. The other four had been knocked off their feet by the heavy lead balls. In the narrow confines, it had been almost impossible for the shots to miss.

  Preacher used his left-hand pistol to bat aside a spear that one of the howling savages thrust at him. At the same time, he lashed out with the right-hand gun and smashed the brass ball at the end of its grip against the man’s forehead. The warrior’s knees folded up. He dropped to the ground, either unconscious or dead.

  Boone had dropped his guns, grabbed the last man’s spear, and was wrestling over it. The warrior’s wiry strength was too much. He wrenched the spear free and slashed its point toward Boone’s throat.

  The young trapper flung himself backwards and avoided the thrust, but his feet tangled together and he sat down hard. The warrior cried out in triumph and was about to spring forward and jab his spear into Boone’s body when Preacher’s tomahawk crunched into the back of his skull, shattering bone and pulping brain matter. The Indian dropped the spear and pitched forward.

  With blood dripping off the tomahawk in his right hand, Preacher stepped forward and extended his left to Boone. The young man clasped it and let Preacher help him up.

  “You saved my life,” Boone said breathlessly.

  “And you probably saved mine when you helped me get away from those varmints yesterday,” Preacher said. “I reckon we’re even, although out here it don’t pay to keep up too much with such things. Folks just do what they have to and help each other out when they can.”

  Boone nodded. “I’m much obliged to you, anyway.”

  Preacher turned to check on the warriors they had shot. All four were dead. At close range those flintlock pistols were devastating weapons.

  He reloaded the pistols. “Whoever’s at the other end of this trail probably heard those shots. Of course, they probably had a pretty idea we were comin’, anyway. That chief must’ve told somebody we might be trailin’ him. That’s why these fellas were waitin’ for us.”

  “So we’re walking into a trap,” Boone said.

  Preacher shrugged. “Could be, but whether we are or not, I plan on findin’Audie and Nighthawk . . . or findin’ out what happened to ’em, anyway. I ain’t lettin’ no trap stop me. There’s still time for you to turn back, though.”

  Boone shook his head. “I’m not going to do that. I’ll stick, Preacher.”

  “Figured you would,” the mountain man said with a smile. He tucked the reloaded pistols behind his belt. “Let’s go.”

  They each picked up a couple spears. Having extra weapons wouldn’t hurt anything.

  They hadn’t gone very far when they heard a faint rumble, like thunder or the sound of distant drums. He paused and looked up.

  “What’s that?” Boone asked.

  The noise began to get louder.

  Preacher had thought earlier that another earthquake might cause trouble, but anything loud enough—like gunshots in a tightly enclosed area—could sometimes cause an avalanche. “Run!” he snapped.

  Both men lunged forward as the rumble turned into a mighty roar. Rocks crashed down behind them, small at first but then larger and larger chunks that had sheared off above them, and a cloud of dust billowed and rolled over them, so that they were almost running blind.

  The crashing and roaring began to subside, and after a couple hundred yards, Preacher slowed and then stopped. Boone followed suit. They coughed at the choking dust as they looked back the way they had come. As the dust began to clear, they saw the wall of stone blocking the narrow passage. Those six warriors he and Boone had killed were buried permanently under tons of rock.

  More important as far as Preacher was concerned, the passage was closed. He and Boone couldn’t turn back even if they wanted to.

  Neither could those strange Indians continue their depredations in Shadow Valley, not unless they had some other way out. or else they would have been killing and mutilating trappers all along, instead of just in recent months following the earthquake.

  “Lord!” Boone exclaimed. “That was too close.”

  “Yeah. We’re alive, and that’s all that counts. Let’s see if we can get out of here before somethin’ else happens.”

  They were alert for more trouble as they hurried along the passage. It became brighter and light from around a bend up ahead relieved the gloom somewhat.

  Preacher knew they had almost reached the end. Soon they would know what was waiting for them. He held out a hand to stop Boone. “We’d better make sure there ain’t another ambus
h waitin’ for us right around the corner. I’ll take a look.”

  He pressed his back against the stone wall and edged forward until he could lean out and gaze around the bend. Sure enough, after another fifty yards, the passage came to an end, opening into what appeared to be another valley, judging by what Preacher could see from where he was.

  The fissure in front of him was empty, but of course there was no telling who or what might be waiting just outside.

  Only one way to find out.

  He waved a hand to Boone. “Come on. Be ready for trouble, though.”

  “I reckon that would be good advice for anybody who plans on spending much time around you, Preacher.”

  The mountain man let out a grim chuckle. Boone was right.

  The afternoon sunlight seemed really bright after spending so much time in the shadows, but their eyes adjusted to it by the time they reached the mouth of the fissure. Preacher motioned for Boone to stay back, then stepped out first. His eyes darted back and forth as he intently studied the landscape spread out before him.

  CHAPTER 14

  Just as he had thought, a valley lay below the ridge, just as it did on the other side. It was considerably smaller than Shadow Valley, however. Only a few miles wide, it extended perhaps ten miles from its southern end to its northern. The passage Preacher and Boone had followed opened into the valley approximately in its center.

  Mountains that appeared to be impassable rose on three sides of the valley. On the eastern side where Preacher and Boone were, cliffs blocked the way. They were as tall and steep and sheer as the ones on the other side of the ridge, although they lacked the peculiar sawtooth formations along the rimrock. Even without that, they were as much of a geographic barrier as the mountains.

  Anyone who lived there would have to spend their entire life there . . . or at least that had been the case until the earthquake opened the fissure through the cliffs. Preacher was more convinced than ever that was what had happened.

  “See anybody?” Boone asked from behind him.

  “Nope,” Preacher replied. “Come on out and have a look.”

  The valley was something to see, all right. A little pocket of perfection covered with stands of tall, straight pine and fir trees broken up by grassy meadows bright with wildflowers. Sunlight sparkled on a stream that meandered roughly through the center of the valley.

  The most amazing thing about it, however, was the city that sat beside that river. It was no Indian village of hogans or tipis or wickiups. It was made up of dozens of stone buildings. Quarrying and stacking those big blocks of rock must have been an incredible undertaking. Some of the streets between the buildings even appeared to be paved with cobblestones, such as Preacher had seen back east.

  A more impressive structure stood at the head of the broad main avenue. It rose in receding tiers until it towered over the other buildings in the city, tapering at its highest point to one square stone platform. Preacher had never seen anything like it.

  Evidently neither had Boone. The young trapper said in a low, astonished voice, “Good Lord! What’s that? What is this place, Preacher?”

  “Damned if I know,” the mountain man replied. “From the size of that settlement, though, there’s a whole heap of people livin’ here, not just the ones we’ve run into.” He stiffened. “And it looks to me like some of ’em are on their way up here to find out what all the commotion was about a little while ago.”

  Several trails led down into the valley from the opening in the cliffs. Preacher had spotted a group of men hurrying along what appeared to be the main trail from the city. They were still about half a mile way, so he and Boone had time to get out of there . . . only there was nowhere to go except into the valley.

  With the fissure blocked by the avalanche, the two of them were trapped just as effectively as the people who had built that amazing city.

  We’ll figure that out later, Preacher told himself.

  They needed to concentrate on escaping capture.

  “Come on.” He broke into a trot along one of the narrower trails leading down into the valley.

  The trees closed in around them. Anything could be lurking in that cover, but Preacher didn’t think about that. He just kept moving. All his instincts were on high alert. If anything threatened them, he would be ready to act.

  The trail led toward the river. Preacher thought he had caught a glimpse of some cultivated fields along the stream, which came as no surprise. He had seen—and eaten—the tortillas the Indians used as food. They had to be growing corn somewhere, although so far north wasn’t a very good climate for it.

  On the other hand, the way the mountains towered around the valley, maybe they shielded the place from the worst of the winter storms. The air felt warmer than it had on the other side of the cliffs, Preacher realized. Hot springs were scattered throughout that part of the country. If some of them bubbled up in the valley, they might make the climate temperate enough to allow the inhabitants to grow corn, peppers, and other vegetables.

  Every so often, Preacher and Boone paused to listen. During one of those stops, they suddenly heard voices not far off. Neither could make out what was being said, but Preacher knew they didn’t want to be discovered just yet, so he jerked his head at Boone to indicate that they should get off the trail.

  They disappeared into the trees and kept going. There wasn’t much underbrush, but the trees were dense enough to provide some cover.

  The voices got louder. Evidently they were headed straight toward whoever was talking, instead of away from them.

  A woman laughed.

  Preacher frowned. He slowed and motioned for Boone to do likewise. He heard water running and knew they weren’t far from the river. The smart thing to do would be to move off in a different direction, but Preacher was curious. He wanted to learn as much as he could about the people who lived in that land-locked valley. Cautiously, he edged forward.

  Suddenly spotting movement up ahead, he pressed himself to the trunk of a pine. Boone did the same a few yards away. Preacher leaned over to look through the trees. What he saw shocked him.

  Boone was pretty surprised, too. The young trapper muttered, “Good Lord!”

  The flashes of reddish-gold skin Preacher saw resolved themselves into the bodies of young women moving around the banks of the river as they washed clothes in the stream. As far as he could tell, every one of them was as naked as the day she was born.

  CHAPTER 15

  Preacher glanced over at Boone and saw that the youngster’s face was almost as red as a beet. Having seen his share of unclothed female flesh over the years, Preacher wasn’t embarrassed by the sight before them, but neither was he particularly interested . . . when there might well be a search party armed with spears and war clubs looking for him and Boone.

  “Come on,” he whispered to the young trapper. “We’ll see if we can circle around ’em without bein’ noticed.”

  Boone nodded, but he had some obvious difficulty taking his eyes off the women and pulling back away from the river.

  Just as a practical matter, during the brief moment he had looked at the women, Preacher had noted that most of them were on the short and stocky side, but a few were taller and more gracefully formed. Their skin had a more golden hue to it, as well.

  Those differences were an indication that two tribes had intermarried and merged somewhere along the way. Preacher suspected that one group had originated much farther south, perhaps even in Mexico. The taller women looked more Spanish than Indian.

  He and Boone left the women behind and moved south along the river until they were well out of sight of the group washing clothes.

  When they stopped, Preacher said, “We need to get across this stream and head back north, toward the city we just saw. If my friends and all those other fellas who’ve disappeared are in this valley, chances are that’s where they’re bein’ held.”

  “Preacher”—Boone swallowed hard—“you saw that city. What kind of
a place is this? I never saw anything like that in all my born days!”

  Preacher rubbed his chin and frowned. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that. Seems like I heard tell of some fellas who used to have cities like that down in Mexico a long time back. Can’t recollect what they were called, and I might be makin’ the whole thing up. You never know. But some of those gals we saw looked a mite Mexican to me.”

  “I don’t recall ever seeing any Mexican women back home. And I never saw any women like . . . well . . . without any, uh, clothes on like that . . .” Boone’s face turned red again.

  Preacher clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. You’re young yet. Plenty of time left for you to see nekkid women.”

  “If we ever get out of here,” Boone muttered. “I don’t see how we’re going to do that, with that trail through the cliffs blocked like it is.”

  “We’ll find some other way,” Preacher said confidently. He wasn’t just putting up a brave front. That was just his way. He always believed in himself. So far that had pulled him through plenty of dangerous scrapes.

  The river looked like it was deep enough they would have to swim across. Preacher made sure Boone could swim, then they took off their powder horns and held them above their heads along with their pistols as they slipped into the stream and began kicking toward the other side.

  The water was surprisingly warm, which made Preacher think again about the possibility of hot springs in the valley. It had a fairly strong current to it, but neither man had to struggle much to get across. When they reached the far side, they stepped out with water dripping from their buckskins. The sun wouldn’t take long to dry them.

  “You plan to go all the way into that city?” Boone asked as they started north.

  “I don’t reckon we’ve got any choice,” Preacher said. “We’ll just try to stay out of sight as much as possible until we figure out what we’re dealin’ with.”

  There could be hundreds of warriors living there. Overwhelming odds, he thought, but he didn’t see any point in saying that to Boone and worrying the young trapper even more.