Preacher didn’t see any lust on their faces, despite her beauty, and said, “She is my prisoner. I plan to use her as a hostage if I need to, in order to get out of here.”
For the first time, the warriors looked uncertain about how to proceed. At a nod from the spokesman, the others lowered their spears slightly.
The man came closer to Preacher and said, “I am called Elk Horn. In the language of those who enslave us, I have another name. All of us do. But here, between ourselves, we use the words of our people.”
Preacher nodded. “It is good to remember the ways of our ancestors, along with their words.”
A savage grimace twisted Elk Horn’s face. “They try to take it all away!” he spat out. “They force us to live in these buildings of stone, instead of lodges of hide and wood. They make us dig in the dirt instead of hunting and killing our food like men should! Once we were proud warriors. We were Blackfoot! Now we are slaves.”
Angry muttering came from several of the other men.
“I know what you’re talkin’ about, Elk Horn,” Preacher said. “I wish I could help you.”
“We never saw white men before the Great Shaking. Tenoch and his priests left the valley and came back with white prisoners to be sacrificed. Outside of this valley, do the Blackfeet still roam free? Are they and the white men friends?”
Preacher hesitated before answering. He was honest, even blunt by nature. It went against the grain for him to be cunning and use a lie to gain what he wanted. But it wasn’t going to do any good for him to tell Elk Horn and the others that the Blackfeet and the white fur trappers had been at war for several decades, ever since Lewis and Clark had encountered the tribe on their famous expedition.
He nodded. “Good friends. Because of this, I would like to help you if I could. But I am only one man.”
“Tenoch searches for you and the woman,” Elk Horn said harshly. “We saw them. Tenoch might reward us if we turn you over to him.”
“He might, but why would you help a man who forces you to live in stone buildings and dig in the dirt? Why would you help a man who enslaves you?”
Elk Horn scowled but had no answer for that. Nor did any of the other men.
Finally he pointed his spear at the floor. “We will help you, Preacher. You will stay here among us until Tenoch and his men have moved on. But then you must leave. It would be very bad for my people if you and the woman were found here.” Elk Horn grunted. “Tenoch would have our hearts.”
Preacher didn’t doubt that for a second. “There was a man with me. A little fella who looks like a turtle—”
“Nazar,” Elk Horn said with a note of disdain in his voice. “We saw him. He is not as evil as Tenoch and this one”—he looked down for a second at Eztli, who glared back at him—“but he is a priest and cannot be trusted. His kind made us slaves as well.”
“Do you know what happened to him?” Preacher asked. “He went to see if the searchers had gone on, but he never came back.”
Elk Horn shook his head. “This we did not see. We can try to find out.”
“That’d be a good idea,” Preacher replied with a nod. “He could be wanderin’ around somewhere in these alleys. I swear, parts of this city are like a rat’s nest.”
“Stone buildings.” Elk Horn grimaced again and shook his head in disgust. He turned and spoke to his men, telling them to search for Nazar but to be careful. Then he said to Preacher, “Come with me. Bring the woman.”
Preacher bent, lifted Eztli, and put her over his shoulder again. She didn’t fight him. He supposed she was getting tired of her futile struggles.
Elk Horn held the torch and led them along a narrow, stone-walled corridor. As Preacher followed, he was struck by how out of place the Blackfoot looked in the cramped surroundings. He had no love for Elk Horn’s tribe, but he respected them as dangerous enemies. Seeing a Blackfoot warrior shut up between stone walls, thinking about such men tilling the soil instead of stalking their prey through the wilderness . . . well, it was just wrong, that’s what it was.
It wasn’t natural.
His comparison of the city to a rat’s nest extended to their quarters. The usual maze of corridors led from small chamber to small chamber. From what he could tell, a lot of people lived in them. He saw women and children peeking from around corners, but none dared come out in the open. Evidently, they were all afraid of the strange white man or of Eztli—or both.
They came to a larger chamber where Elk Horn halted. “We will wait here for the others to return with news of your friend.”
Preacher thought about correcting him, telling him that Nazar wasn’t exactly his friend, but there didn’t seem to be any point to it. He lowered Eztli to a pile of hides and stepped back. Pure murder glittered in her eyes as she watched him.
Elk Horn called out, and one of the women finally came out in plain sight, carrying a pitcher made from some sort of gourd. She brought it over to Preacher and offered it to him. The gourd held what looked like water, but he remembered the drink Eztli had given him in her quarters, a couple weeks earlier. That stuff had been more potent than tequila. He tasted the libation cautiously.
It was water, pure and cool and sweet. Gratefully, he drank it down and felt it invigorate him. He could have done with something to eat, too, but the water was most welcome.
He handed the gourd back to the woman. “Thank you.” She smiled shyly, and he wondered if she was Elk Horn’s wife. That seemed likely.
Eztli made noises behind her gag.
Preacher looked at her and said, “Yeah, I imagine you’re thirsty, too, after havin’ that gag in your mouth for a while. But I ain’t gonna risk takin’ it out just—”
A sudden shout nearby interrupted him.
Elk Horn jerked around and reached for his spear, which he had set aside. Preacher grabbed his spear as a man burst through a doorway leading into the room from a different corridor and yelled something in a bastardized blend of Blackfoot and Aztec that Preacher had trouble following.
He caught one word just fine, though. Tenoch.
The newcomer abruptly stumbled. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth seemed to be trying to frame a scream even though no sound came out. He staggered a couple more steps and pitched forward on his face.
The shaft of the spear buried in the man’s back swayed slightly as he lay there motionless in death.
Right behind him, yelling stridently, came several of Tenoch’s warrior-priests, brandishing spears and war clubs, primed for slaughter.
CHAPTER 34
One of the attackers hurled a spear at Preacher. The mountain man reacted instantly. Even in his less than top-notch condition, he flung himself to the side. The spear missed him, but, he heard a cry of pain behind him.
Preacher glanced over his shoulder and saw that the spear had struck the woman who had just given him the water. The point was sunk in her chest. She dropped the gourd and tried to grasp the weapon, but she was already too weak. Her fingers slipped off the shaft as she collapsed.
Elk Horn roared in rage and launched himself at the warriors. His spear ripped into the man who had injured the woman. Bullying that man aside, he caught another by the throat with both hands.
Preacher put up a fight, raking the point of his spear across a man’s throat and opening a vein that spouted crimson as the man gurgled and staggered. Preacher rammed the point into the chest of another man, but instead of pulling it free, he let go and grabbed the man’s war club. Bones snapped and shattered under the impact as he lunged into the middle of the attackers, swinging the club back and forth.
He wasn’t the only one similarly armed. A club crashed down across his shoulders and knocked him forward. As he staggered, a warrior thrust the shaft of his spear between Preacher’s calves and twisted it. No way could he could keep his balance, but as he fell Preacher dropped the club, grabbed a couple attackers, and dragged them down with him.
The fight continued once he was on the floor as he rolled and
thrashed among the enemy. Rock-hard fists lashed out and collided with jaws. The heel of his foot slammed into a man’s groin, making the warrior let out a high-pitched scream. Preacher grabbed another man’s ankles and jerked his legs out from under him, bringing him crashing down. All the while, Preacher was struggling to get back to his feet.
More and more of Tenoch’s men poured into the room. Finally, they stopped trying to fight Preacher and simply piled on, warrior after warrior flinging himself onto the mountain man until their sheer weight pinned him to the floor. Once that happened, the hubbub in the room began to die down.
Preacher lay there with his pulse pounding wildly inside his skull. A fighting fury still filled him, but held down, there was nothing he could do about it.
He was lying on his belly with his head turned to the side and his bearded cheek pressed uncomfortably to the rough stone floor by the weight of the men on top of him. He couldn’t see anything except the floor and part of a buckskin-clad body belonging to one of his captors.
But he could hear just fine. As Tenoch strode into the room and started issuing orders in his usual loud, arrogant tone, Preacher was well aware of it. He’d expected the high priest to show up sooner or later.
Little by little, the weight on Preacher grew less and less.
A shrill cry and a sudden torrent of furious, high-pitched words told him that somebody had taken the gag out of Eztli’s mouth. She kept yelling, no doubt cussing him up one way and down the other, until Tenoch said something sharply that shut her up.
A moment later, strong hands grasped Preacher and hauled him to his feet.
He wouldn’t have been surprised if they killed him out of hand while they had him helpless. If he was going to die in the next few moments, he took some small comfort in the knowledge that he had helped Audie, Nighthawk, Boone Halliday, and the other prisoners escape. He had killed a heap of vicious, bloodthirsty varmints during his various clashes, so that was something else to be pleased about.
Nobody stabbed him with a spear or dashed his brains out with a war club, but he was gripped securely by several men. Tenoch planted himself in front of him and glared.
Eztli stood just behind and to one side of Tenoch, and she looked ready to start hacking Preacher into little pieces. It appeared that she was too angry to care about being nude in the middle of the crowd of men or she didn’t care about that to start with.
Tenoch said something, but Preacher couldn’t tell anything except that the high priest was pleased with himself. Tenoch looked a little washed-out, which was understandable considering how much blood he had lost from that neck wound. Obviously, he had an iron constitution or he wouldn’t have been alive, let alone up and leading the chase after the escaped prisoners.
The stains on the bandage around his neck were more brown than red, indicating that the blood had stopped flowing from the wound and was starting to dry. As long as the injury didn’t fester, he ought to recover just fine.
Yeah, he should be dead but would live to carve the hearts out of more victims, Preacher thought grimly.
Tenoch swayed abruptly, proving he was still a little shaky from loss of blood. Eztli caught hold of his arm to steady him, then snapped something at the warriors. A couple helped him over to one of the stone slabs that served as a bench.
While the high priest was sitting down, Eztli took over giving the orders. One of the men handed her a knife, and her lips drew back from her teeth as she stepped closer to Preacher.
Tenoch spoke again. Whatever he said stopped her in her tracks. Eztli trembled slightly as if her desire for bloody revenge on Preacher was warring with whatever command Tenoch had given her. Finally, after a few seconds that seemed much longer, she stepped back.
Preacher had a chance then to look around the chamber. The woman who had given him the drink lay crumpled and twisted on the floor with the spear still sticking out of her chest. He could tell that she was dead.
Elk Horn was sprawled not far from her, his head bloody from a blow from a war club. His chest still rose and fell, though, so he was unconscious, not dead. The body of the man who had brought the warning was still there, but he was the only other Blackfoot in the room. Evidently, the others had escaped, and Tenoch hadn’t sent his men after them.
The mountain man would have bet a coonskin cap that the high priest would make things harder on the slaves who tried to maintain their Blackfoot traditions.
Tenoch spoke again. A couple men hurried out, and a minute later they came back, shoving Nazar along between them. The little priest’s face was bloody and bruised as if he had been knocked around some, but he didn’t appear to be badly hurt. Based on the wild-eyed look on his wrinkled, turtle-like face, he was plenty scared, though.
Eztli’s face contorted at the sight of Nazar. She took a step toward him with the knife gripped in her hand, and he quailed in terror. He would have collapsed if not for the firm grip of the warriors holding him up.
Eztli stopped, curled a lip disdainfully, and then spat at him. He flinched as if afraid that her spittle would burn him. She turned away from him in disgust.
Tenoch spoke.
The warriors dragged Nazar over in front of him. Tenoch had quite a bit to say to Nazar, and as the diatribe went on, the older man paled and sagged in the grip of his captors. Finally, Tenoch lifted a hand and gestured curtly toward Preacher.
The men took Nazar over to him.
Nazar swallowed hard. “Since I . . . speak your language, Tenoch has charged me with telling you what will happen to us. Tomorrow, you and I and this man”—Nazar looked at the senseless form of Elk Horn—“will be taken to the bowl of the gods, and at the moment of the sun’s farewell, our hearts will be offered in sacrifice to the great god Huitzilopochtli. This will be our punishment for daring to defy the will of Huitzilopochtli and for laying hands on the emissaries of the god in this world.”
“I can’t say as I’m surprised,” Preacher replied. “Unless it’s by the fact that he don’t plan to kill us here and now.”
“Tenoch would never miss an opportunity to display his power for the entire populace of the city. Also, this slave’s death will be a lesson to those of his kind.”
“A shame we blundered in on him and his folks.” Preacher sighed. “And got his woman killed, to boot. I’m mighty sorry about that.”
“We are to be slain, and you think of someone else?”
Preacher didn’t dignify that question with a response. “I reckon they grabbed you when you went to see if they’d gone on?”
“Yes. I was captured. And then—” Nazar stopped short.
At least he had the good grace to look a little ashamed, thought Preacher. “Then you told ’em where to find me.”
“They were going to kill me!”
“And just what is it they’re plannin’ to do at sundown tomorrow?” Preacher pointed out.
“I know.” Nazar looked at the floor. “I am sorry.”
“Don’t worry too much about it. Just be grateful you helped some other folks get out of here, so they can go on with their lives.”
Nazar made a little face and shrugged.
Tenoch started jabbering again. The men who had hold of Nazar steered him toward the door. Preacher’s captors forced him in the same direction. The mountain man glanced over his shoulder and saw a couple warriors pick up the unconscious Elk Horn and join the procession.
Within moments, they were outside under the stars again.
Preacher welcomed the fresh air, after breathing the stale, trapped atmosphere inside the hulking stone structure. He could certainly understand why Elk Horn and the rest of the Blackfeet didn’t like their living conditions.
The warriors trooped through the streets.
Tenoch and Eztli hadn’t come along, Preacher noted. They had probably returned to Tenoch’s quarters so that he could rest and recover from his injury.
After all, he had to be strong enough to hack out the hearts of three helpless victims in less t
han twenty-four hours, Preacher thought dryly.
Within a short time, they found themselves back at the same prison from which Preacher and his companions had escaped a couple hours earlier. The warriors took them inside and strung them up. Nazar began sobbing as his arms were tied to the wall above his head. Still senseless, Elk Horn hung limply from his bonds.
Preacher stood stoically as the warrior carrying a torch went out, leaving them in the darkness of the cell. A moment later, the heavy door boomed shut, and the bar thudded into its brackets. He was a prisoner again, but he wasn’t giving in to despair. He had gotten out once, and some way he’d do it again.
Granted, it was likely to be a mite harder . . . but he had never given up on anything in his life, except the idea of being happy spending the rest of his born days on a farm. That was why he had headed west in the first place, prepared to face whatever dangers the untamed frontier might hold.
Of course, he had never reckoned on anything quite like this . . .
CHAPTER 35
Boone Halliday was out of his depth and he knew it. He hadn’t been on the frontier long enough to be in charge of anything, but the men who had escaped with him seemed to be looking to him for leadership as they started along the passage through the cliffs. He took a deep breath and told himself he would just have to do the best job he could.
“Will there be guards at the other end of this trail?” he asked Zyanya as she walked alongside him with a hand resting on his arm.
“I do not know,” she replied. “There might be. Tenoch is . . .” She paused as she searched for the right word in her rudimentary knowledge of English.
A foul animal, or evil would work, thought Boone.
Finally Zyanya went on. “Tenoch is a careful man.”
“All right.” Boone’s hands tightened on the spear he carried. “Then we’ll have to be careful, too.”
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