When All Hell Broke Loose

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  He motioned to the crowd. A tall warrior, lean with youth, stepped out and strode forward.

  Katarina thought he wasn’t more than twenty years old, if that. His arms were covered with ropy strands of muscle and his face was cold with hate as he stared at von Eichhorn.

  Stone Bear held out the scabbarded swords to him. The young man grasped the handle of one and pulled the blade out. He hefted the sword, then slashed it back and forth in the air. He raised it high, brought it down swiftly, then cut from side to side again.

  Apparently satisfied, he nodded to Stone Bear.

  The chief turned to von Eichhorn and held out the other saber. Von Eichhorn took it, raised the blade in front of his face, and bowed toward the young warrior, who just scowled at him and didn’t return the bow. No one in the Blackfoot village in the middle of the untamed frontier cared anything about the protocol of fighting a duel.

  Tossing the empty scabbards to the man who had brought them, Stone Bear backed off and said simply, “You will fight now.”

  Instantly, von Eichhorn launched his attack. He sprang forward, thrusting and jabbing with the saber. The young warrior met the attack clumsily but effectively.

  At first, Katarina had believed that he would be at a huge disadvantage against the much more experienced Prussian, then she realized that the “long knives,” as Stone Bear had called them, were just that: knives.

  And the Blackfeet were expert knife fighters.

  For the first few minutes, she could tell that the young warrior was struggling to adapt to the new weapon. Several times, von Eichhorn’s blade came within a whisker of inflicting a serious wound. But always, the young warrior turned his opponent’s sword aside or leaped out of the way at the last instant.

  Von Eichhorn had the training, but the young Blackfoot had the speed, reflexes, and instincts to counteract that.

  Katarina saw the frustration growing on von Eichhorn’s face. She knew that he had a problem controlling his temper and tended to do rash, impulsive things when he was angered. If he gave in to that urge, it was likely he would make a mistake that could prove fatal.

  “Peter, be careful!” she called to him in German. “Don’t lose your head!”

  “Kill him, my love!” screamed Marion von Arnim. “Gut the filthy savage!”

  That was the wrong kind of encouragement, thought Katarina.

  As the two fighters broke apart and put a little distance between them, von Eichhorn glanced toward the women.

  “Kill him!” Marion screeched again.

  Katarina saw the fury well up in von Eichhorn’s eyes, fueled by the strident cries of his fiancée. She said, “Peter, no!” as von Eichhorn rushed toward the young Blackfoot again, clearly determined to put an end to the battle and vanquish his enemy.

  Von Eichhorn ignored Katarina’s plea and crowded in on the warrior, hacking and slashing madly. The youth gave ground, which made von Eichhorn increase the ferocity of his attack.

  The warrior didn’t look desperate or afraid, and a chill went through Katarina as she realized his expression was one of cunning. He was luring his opponent into some sort of trap . . .

  And von Eichhorn was falling for it completely.

  So were Marion and Joscelyn and the servants, who were caught up in the battle and shouting encouragement to von Eichhorn in German. Marion started laughing gleefully, thinking that her fiancé was about to win. The sound had a hysterical edge to it.

  The Blackfeet watched in near-silence, their attention rapt on the flashing, darting blades.

  The young warrior stumbled. The sword in his hand sagged. With an exultant shout, von Eichhorn lunged in to strike the killing blow.

  But as he did, the warrior leaped aside. Von Eichhorn couldn’t check his momentum as his powerful thrust missed completely. He began to fall forward, his rush out of control.

  The sword in the warrior’s hand rose, the blade catching the morning sun for a split second in a brilliant flash, and then it swept down too fast for the eye to follow.

  Katarina turned away and pulled Walter against her as she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch.

  But she couldn’t close her ears to the horrible sound, a dull thunk! combined with a slight grating noise, followed instantly by a huge roar from the crowd. Even though it was the last thing Katarina wanted to do, a seemingly inexorable force made her turn her head and open her eyes.

  Graf Peter von Eichhorn’s body lay belly down. His head was lying on the ground a few feet away.

  Katarina clutched Walter harder. The other women stared in shock and horror, as if they couldn’t quite comprehend what they had just seen.

  Then Marion let out a terrible wail and fell to her knees. She screamed as she dug her fingers into her tangled dark hair and yanked on it as if she wanted to pull every strand from her head.

  Her maid Lotte finally broke free of the stunned stupor that gripped her and hurried to Marion, kneeling beside her and putting her arms around the distraught countess. Joscelyn, Ingeborg, and Gerda began to cry.

  “Mama?” Walter said, his voice a little muffled beside Katarina as she held him against her so tightly. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

  “N-Nothing, Walter,” she managed to say while patting him on the back with one hand. Taking care of him was the only thing keeping her from breaking down completely.

  Don’t lose your head, she had warned Peter when he began attacking so rashly. Clamping her jaws together so tightly at the memory, Katarina fought to control her emotions that it was a wonder her teeth didn’t crack and shatter.

  The Blackfeet were still whooping gleefully, out of control with joy over what they had just seen. The celebration continued until Stone Bear raised his arms and signaled for silence. He went over to the young warrior who stood over von Eichhorn’s body with the saber in his hand still dripping blood. The chief threw his arms around the young man and pounded him on the back in congratulations. Then he spoke to the young warrior.

  The young warrior wiped the saber on the corpse’s clothes, as the other man had done after winning his battle, then solemnly returned it to Stone Bear. Another warrior took charge of both sabers and their scabbards.

  Stone Bear turned, walked over to Reese Coburn, the last male captive standing, and said, “That leaves you, white man. What is your choice?” A sneer curled Stone Bear’s lip. “How will you die?”

  Chapter 22

  Only the presence of several guards standing around Coburn with lances held ready to pierce his body had held him back while von Eichhorn was fighting the deadly duel with the young Blackfoot warrior. He had felt an almost overpowering urge to rush forward, grab von Eichhorn, and try to shake some sense into the arrogant young Prussian.

  But all that would have gotten him was a quick death, and Coburn knew it. Interfering with von Eichhorn’s battle would have been committing suicide just as surely as Lieutenant Barton had.

  So he had waited and watched in stony silence, knowing all too well how this fight was going to end, unless fate somehow intervened miraculously.

  Fate had not been kind enough to do that.

  Coburn looked levelly into Stone Bear’s eyes and said, “I choose tomahawks.”

  “You have fought with them before?” Stone Bear wanted to know.

  Coburn smiled thinly. “A time or two.”

  In fact, he had fought for his life with tomahawks on numerous occasions, although never against the Blackfeet.

  He went on. “How about it, Stone Bear? You want to take me on?”

  Stone Bear’s smirk turned into a scowl. “Have a care,” he said. “If you seek to disgrace me in front of my people, you will die screaming from torture.”

  “So you’re sayin’ you won’t fight me.” Coburn smiled. “Want me to ask it louder, in your lingo?”

  Stone Bear didn’t reply as his hand went to the tomahawk that rested in a rawhide loop at his waist. He pulled the weapon free, raised it in the air, and shouted to the villagers, who returned the
cry and added some whoops of their own. Stone Bear gestured with the tomahawk in his hand. One of the other warriors drew his own ’hawk, carried it over to Coburn, and extended the handle to the frontiersman.

  Smiling, Coburn took the weapon. He knew that Stone Bear wouldn’t have been the chief of these people if he wasn’t a formidable warrior. He couldn’t take anything for granted—including the fact that Stone Bear had promised to grant the victor his life, although not his freedom, if any of them defeated their opponent.

  Would Stone Bear honor that promise if he was the one who was defeated? How could he do otherwise without being dishonored in the eyes of his people?

  If he actually killed Stone Bear, Coburn warned himself, the chief wouldn’t be alive anymore to ensure that his pledge was kept. If Coburn defeated him but didn’t kill him, Stone Bear would have a constant reminder of what had happened, and there was no telling how he would take out the resentment he was bound to feel.

  Maybe it would have been better if he hadn’t challenged the chief, mused Coburn. He had been so horrified and outraged over what had happened to von Eichhorn, though, not to mention how much Stone Bear’s arrogance just flat rubbed him the wrong way, that he hadn’t thought it all out.

  Too late to do anything about it now. In a manner of speaking, he and Stone Bear were trapped. Neither of them could do anything except go ahead with the fight.

  In that case, Coburn intended to win.

  “Are you ready, white man?” asked the Blackfoot chief.

  “More than ready,” Coburn replied. “I’ve been achin’ to do this ever since we first ran into you, old son.” With that, he lunged at Stone Bear and swung the tomahawk. He didn’t follow through on the blow but stopped short as Stone Bear leaped back to avoid it. Coburn laughed.

  Stone Bear’s face darkened with anger. His enemy had made him look foolish, almost cowardly. Stone Bear rushed forward, slashing back and forth with his tomahawk.

  Coburn flung up his left arm and blocked Stone Bear’s arm, then turned sharply and rammed his right shoulder into the Blackfoot’s chest. The impact knocked Stone Bear back. Coburn chopped at his head. Stone Bear twisted aside. The tomahawk missed him, but the wooden handle slammed down on top of his left shoulder. Stone Bear grimaced in pain and swung the tomahawk at Coburn in a backhanded swipe. Coburn jumped back to avoid the blow.

  Stone Bear followed and tried to kick his legs out from under him. With a nimble move, Coburn danced out of the way. Stone Bear slashed at him again. The tomahawk scraped along his ribs but didn’t do any damage. With his left fist, Coburn hooked a punch to the chief ’s jaw that rocked Stone Bear to the side.

  Coburn smashed the flat of the tomahawk’s head against Stone Bear’s forearm. He could have used the edge and left a significant wound, but he didn’t want to kill his opponent. If he could disarm Stone Bear, the chief might declare him the victor rather than continue.

  Even though Coburn’s blow caused Stone Bear to drop the tomahawk, he reacted instantly and dived forward, ramming into Coburn’s thighs and knocking him off his feet. As the American sprawled on the ground, Stone Bear scooped up the fallen tomahawk and whirled it high in the air before bringing it down in a strike almost too swift for the eye to follow.

  Coburn’s eyes followed it, though, and he rolled desperately aside just in time. He felt the tomahawk whip through the air only inches from his ear. The head struck the ground, embedding its sharp edge.

  Coburn jerked his leg up and snapped his foot out in a kick that landed on Stone Bear’s ribs. The chief grunted in pain and tried to grab Coburn’s leg with his left arm, but it wasn’t working too well because of the blow to that shoulder a few moments earlier. Coburn broke free of the clumsy grasp and scrambled a few yards away to put some room between them before he climbed back to his feet.

  Breathing hard, Coburn’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he watched Stone Bear stand up. The chief looked a little winded, too. Neither of them was as young as they had been, although both were still in the prime of life. But a fight like this was hard, tiring, and dangerous work.

  Even so, Coburn worked up a grin and said, “Want to call it a draw?”

  With an angry shout, Stone Bear charged him again.

  For a fast couple of minutes, the tomahawks flashed back and forth and the men wielding them jumped and twisted this way and that. The Blackfoot onlookers roared in anticipation every time it seemed that Stone Bear was about to strike a fatal blow. They held their breath when the chief faltered and the white captive appeared to get the upper hand. The battle ebbed one way and flowed the other, and neither combatant was able to seize the advantage for more than a moment.

  During one of the inevitable lulls when both men tried to catch their breath, Coburn saw from the corner of his eye that Countess Katarina and the other women had recovered a little from the sick horror that had gripped them at von Eichhorn’s gruesome death. All were watching this fight avidly. Coburn couldn’t afford to take much of his attention off of Stone Bear, but he thought he spotted a bit of hope in Katarina’s gaze.

  He didn’t want to let her down. He didn’t know if he would be able to do anything to help her and the other women if he survived the battle—but he sure as blazes couldn’t do anything for them if he died!

  Then he had his hands full again, warding off a fresh attack from Stone Bear.

  For the first time, Coburn thought he detected a little desperation in the chief ’s manner. Stone Bear’s expression was every bit as flinty as ever, but his movements were just a bit jerkier, a little rushed and not quite as crisp and swift as they had been.

  Wary of letting himself get overconfident, Coburn didn’t attack any more aggressively than he had been so far. He didn’t want to fall into the same trap von Eichhorn had. As long as he could defend himself, it wouldn’t hurt anything to let Stone Bear get even more worn out.

  As if he knew the fight had to end soon, Stone Bear pressed his attack. Each man was bleeding from several scratches inflicted during the battle, but neither had suffered any serious injuries—a testament to their mutual skill with the tomahawks.

  Finally, Stone Bear missed a blow completely, and the wild swing made him stumble. Coburn kicked the back of the war chief ’s right knee, causing that leg to buckle, and Stone Bear tumbled to the ground with his right arm outstretched.

  Coburn planted a foot on that wrist, pinning the arm and the tomahawk to the ground. He bent, cupped his left hand under Stone Bear’s chin, and jerked his head up. Putting the edge of his tomahawk’s head against Stone Bear’s throat it wouldn’t take much pressure to cut deeply into the taut flesh.

  The crowd of villagers had gone silent in shock at seeing their chief in such a helpless position.

  Marion von Arnim shrieked, “Kill him! Kill the savage!” She added a flood of German curses or further exhortations for him to finish off Stone Bear.

  Coburn leaned closer and told the chief, “Nobody ever said this had to be a fight to the death. I’d just as soon let you up and call it over and done with, old son.”

  Through gritted teeth, Stone Bear said, “You should . . . kill me. Sparing my life . . . will gain you nothing.”

  “I don’t know about that. I don’t trust all those other warriors to honor your word and spare my life if you’re dead. Not to mention, I don’t want them takin’ out their anger at me on those women . . . and poor Walter.”

  “No one . . . will hurt them.”

  “I believe you. Like I said, it’s them I don’t trust.” Coburn pressed a little harder with the keen edge. “What’s it gonna be? If I don’t have anything to lose either way, I’d just as soon cut your throat.”

  For a long moment, Stone Bear didn’t respond. Then, still struggling to get the words out because of his position, he said, “The fight . . . is over. You have . . . triumphed. I keep my word, white man. No one . . . will kill you . . . but you will live among us . . . as a slave.”

  “Deal,” said Coburn. For now, he
added to himself. No telling what the future might bring.

  He pulled the tomahawk away from Stone Bear’s throat and took a step back. The chief rolled onto his side and then hands and knees. He climbed to his feet and looked at his assembled followers.

  In their native tongue, he called out, “The white man has won! I have given him my word that he will not be killed. From now on, he is a slave to our people and will be treated as such, as are the women.” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “It is done!”

  Subdued and obviously disappointed there had been no more white man’s blood spilled, the crowd began to disperse. Coburn tossed the tomahawk back to the warrior who had handed it to him and walked over to Countess Katarina, who waited for him with her arm around von Stauffenberg’s shoulders.

  “I . . . I did not think you would win,” she said quietly. “I prayed that you would, but I could not make myself actually believe it.”

  Coburn’s heart was still beating heavily as he drew in a deep breath and smiled. “To tell you the truth, neither did I. But I figured I’d give it my best shot and see what happened.”

  “What will happen? Will they truly let you live?”

  Coburn glanced at Stone Bear, who was regarding him with an expression of pure hatred.

  “For now,” he told Katarina. “Right now, his word means more to him than the anger he’s feelin’ toward me. But who knows if that’ll change in the future.”

  “My people will come and find us,” she said. “We cannot just disappear into this . . . this wilderness without someone wanting to find us. Someday help will come.”

  “I hope you’re right, Your Countessship.” He squeezed Walter’s uninjured arm and gave the young man a reassuring smile. “If you are . . . it’s gonna be up to us to stay alive somehow until that help gets here.”