“Good,” Jamie said. “Those trees will give Preacher plenty of cover.”
“They will catch the man you call Preacher and kill him,” warned Helmuth.
“Not likely. You don’t know Preacher.”
“You do not know these savages. They are evil. They cannot be defeated.”
“You’re wrong about that, too. And for your information, mein freund, I’ve fought plenty of Indians and know them pretty well, including the Blackfeet.”
Helmuth shook his head. “Your accent when you speak my language is terrible.”
That made Jamie chuckle. “You talk better English than I talk Deutsche. I won’t argue about that.”
A short time later, he called a halt and gathered Preacher, Colonel Sutton, Baron von Kuhner, and Roscoe Lomax together to discuss the situation. It feels like a council of war, Jamie mused.
Probably because that might well be what it amounted to.
“I think we should stay here until after dark,” he began. “Then most of the men can move up to the ridge crest without taking a chance on the Blackfeet spotting them.”
“While you’re doin’ that,” said Preacher, “I’ll go over the ridge and down into Stone Bear’s village. I should be able to get amongst the lodges without bein’ spotted. If I can, I’ll find the captives and get ’em out of there. If I can’t do that, I can at least locate where in the village they’re bein’ kept, so we’ll know more on the next attempt.”
“Just do not allow the savages to discover you,” von Kuhner said. “That will ruin everything. If they know we are nearby, they will be ready for us. We won’t even be able to take them by surprise if we attack them.”
“We’re not going to attack them if we can help it,” Sutton said. “We didn’t come here to start a war with the Blackfeet. The less bloodshed, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
Von Kuhner’s lip curled in a sneer that revealed what he thought about the colonel’s approach, but he didn’t say anything else.
“I’m comin’ with you, ain’t I, Preacher?” asked Lomax. “That’s what you and MacCallister said earlier.”
“That’s right. I’ll be the only one goin’ into the village, at least startin’ out, but you and a couple more men will be close by in case I need a hand. Colonel, if you’d pick out a couple of good boys—”
“I would like for Feldwebel Becker to accompany you,” von Kuhner broke in, causing the others to look at him in surprise.
After a moment, Preacher responded, with an unusual amount of diplomacy for him, “I ain’t so sure that’s a good idea, Baron.”
Lomax wasn’t so diplomatic. “Becker,” he repeated, sounding like the name tasted bad in his mouth. “He don’t need to come along. Not hardly.”
“I realize the two of you have clashed in the past, Herr Lomax,” von Kuhner said, “but nevertheless, I feel that a representative of the German Empire must be present when these captives are recovered . . . if they are.” His broad shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Besides, his services as a translator may be required.”
“Maybe that fella Helmuth could come along,” Lomax suggested. “He’s the one who’s been here before, after all.”
Jamie said, “No, I promised him he wouldn’t have to go near the village. Baron, are you saying you don’t think any of those captives will speak English?”
“How would I know, one way or the other?” Von Kuhner spread his hands. “It seems possible to me that, by now, after five years of living among the Indians, they may not be able to speak any language other than the grunting and jabbering of the savages.”
That was possible. Sometimes captives forgot their native tongues and had to learn them all over again. Their language usually came back to them, but it could take a while.
Jamie’s forehead creased in thought for a moment before he said, “I suppose you’ve got a point, Baron. And Becker’s a fighting man. We know that.”
“I still don’t like it,” said Lomax, “but I’ll go along with whatever you decide, MacCallister.”
Preacher said to von Kuhner, “Make sure Becker knows that I’m in charge and he’d damned well better do as he’s told. If he can do that, I reckon he can come along.”
Von Kuhner nodded. “Very well. I shall make certain he understands. When will you be leaving to make your approach to the village of the hostiles?”
“A couple of hours after it gets good and dark. Stone Bear and his people won’t be expectin’ any trouble. Thanks to Helmuth, we found the village quick enough so there’s a good chance the Blackfeet ain’t got wind yet of us bein’ in these parts. They’ll all be good and asleep.” The mountain man grunted. “That’s the plan, anyway. But we’ll see how the hand plays out.”
Chapter 33
In addition to Preacher, Lomax, and Becker, two of the dragoons were chosen to go on the scouting mission: a grizzled, middle-aged corporal named Conroe who had never aspired to any higher rank because of his hatred of responsibility, and a young private named Willis who came from the backwoods of Tennessee. He had grown up skulking through the woods after game, he told Preacher, so he knew how to be quiet and how to shoot.
“That’ll do, boy,” the mountain man said. “Just listen to what I tell you, and you’ll be fine.”
The full group of rescuers made a cold camp, of course. Close to the village, they couldn’t afford the smell of smoke drifting to the Blackfeet. Instead, they gnawed jerky and biscuits and waited.
Preacher and Jamie sought out Helmuth, who sat on a log, hugging himself against the cold and rocking forward and back in a steady rhythm.
“Helmuth,” Jamie said gently, “we just want to make sure what Preacher will be looking for. You said there are seven white captives in that village, three ladies and their maids, plus a baron. Is that right?”
“Ja. Countess Katarina, Countess Marion, and Countess Joscelyn. Countess Katarina’s maid is named Gerda. I liked her. She was my friend. I . . . I don’t remember the names of the other two. And Baron von Stauffenberg, my master. The poor baron.” Helmuth lowered his voice to a whisper. “From what I saw, I don’t think he’s right in the head anymore.”
Jamie and Preacher glanced at each other in the gathering shadows. They hoped Helmuth was right in the head—at least, enough so that he wasn’t completely wrong about what they would find in the Blackfoot village.
“Can you tell me what they all look like?” asked Preacher. “Or the way you remember ’em, anyway. After all this time bein’ slaves, they may have changed a lot.”
For the next few minutes, Helmuth described the Prussians to the best of his recollection, veering off a few times into stories about things they had said or done in the past. Jamie and Preacher gently steered his memories back on track.
When they had gotten all the information out of him they could, Jamie clapped a hand on the man’s bony shoulder and said, “Thank you for helping us, Helmuth. We have a better chance of rescuing those captives now than we would have had without you.”
“I hope you save them,” Helmuth said. Then he looked up at the two frontiersmen. “But even if you do . . . after all this time, won’t they be more Indian than white?”
“That’s been known to happen,” Jamie admitted. “But I’ve got a hunch that what those folks want more than anything else is to go home.”
“I hope so.” Helmuth added wistfully, “I would like to go home, too.”
“Maybe you will, before too much longer,” Jamie told him.
A short time later, the entire group moved higher on the ridge, stopping just before they reached the crest. Jamie and Colonel Sutton went with Preacher’s smaller detail to the top of the slope, where they all knelt behind some brush and looked down into the valley on the other side.
Full night had fallen, but a quarter moon and millions of stars provided enough illumination for the men to make out the valley’s general outlines.
Clouds had blotted out stars far to the north as the storm bringing th
e snow Jamie and Preacher had smelled approached at a steady rate. The wind wasn’t blowing hard where the men were, but it would pick up in the next couple of hours.
As Helmuth had said, the forest was thick with towering pine, spruce, and fir trees growing close together on the slope leading down into the valley. Underbrush clogged the spaces between the trunks, preventing the men from seeing any fires in the village below, but wood smoke carried to them on a vagrant breeze. That gently moving air also brought the sound of dogs yapping.
“I’d planned to go with you,” Jamie said quietly to Preacher, “but the colonel wants me to stay here with him and the rest of the bunch.”
“And that’s a good idea,” said Preacher. “No sense in riskin’ the Blackfeet catchin’ both of us. If ol’ Stone Bear grabs me, I’ll feel a heap better knowin’ you’re still on the loose to pull my fat outta the fire, Jamie.”
Jamie grunted and said, “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Becker said, “It’s almost pitch black down there. How will we see where we’re going?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Preacher told him. “I can see well enough to get us there. You and these other fellas will wait in the brush while I sneak into the village. If we’re lucky, that’s all you’ll have to do. But if I yell for help, you’d best come a-runnin’.”
“Jawohl.”
“That means yes, don’t it?” Preacher waved a hand. “Never mind. You boys ready to go?”
“You think it’s dark enough?” asked Lomax.
Preacher eyed the sky and said, “We could wait for the moon to go down, but by then the night’d be half over. I’d rather make our move now. If we can sneak the captives out and get away from here, we can put some distance behind us ’fore the Blackfeet even know they’re gone.”
“All right,” Lomax said. “I’m ready.”
Mutters of assent came from the two dragoons. Becker said, “Ja, das ist gut.”
Preacher took that to mean he was ready to go, too.
The mountain man shook hands with Jamie and Sutton and said, “See you fellas later.”
“You’d better,” Jamie told him.
The five men started down the far side of the ridge as Jamie and Sutton withdrew down the near side to rejoin the others. Dog slipped alongside Preacher like a shadow.
Becker said, “That hund is coming with us?”
“That hound, as I think you just called him, is the best scout west of the Mississippi. He can see better, hear better, and smell better than me, and since I’m the second-best scout west of the Mississippi . . .” Preacher left the rest of it unsaid and let the other men draw their own conclusions.
When Becker didn’t respond, Preacher went on. “All right, no talkin’ from here on out. Those damn Blackfeet have pretty good ears, too. Just keep an eye on me and watch what I do.”
“It is too dark to keep any eye on anything,” Becker grumbled.
“No talkin’,” Preacher repeated. “Do the best you can.” He let Dog lead the way.
The big cur was skilled at picking the best route. He even seemed to take into account that the humans were bigger than he was and made allowances for their size.
Some small noises were unavoidable, but nocturnal animals were abroad in the forest, too, and Preacher hoped if the Blackfeet heard anything, they would figure it came from varmints moving around.
And they wouldn’t be far wrong where Becker was concerned, thought Preacher. He didn’t trust the big Prussian soldier.
They didn’t get in any hurry as they descended toward the village. Stealth was more important than speed. Later, it might very well be the other way around.
Eventually, they reached the bottom of the slope. The brush thinned. Preacher reached back and put an arm across Lomax’s chest to stop him. Lomax turned and brought the man behind him to a halt, and that man passed it on until Becker, who was bringing up the rear, stopped, too.
Preacher put his mouth close to Lomax’s ear and breathed, “Hold everybody here. Dog and I will go into the village and try to find the captives.”
Lomax didn’t say anything, but Preacher’s head was close enough to the bullwhacker’s that he felt the brim of Lomax’s hat brush his face as Lomax nodded. Preacher reached down, touched Dog lightly on the head, and drifted forward to the edge of the brush. Man and cur stretched out full length on the ground to study the scene in front of them. Dappled shadows made them virtually impossible to see, even if someone in the village happened to be looking in their direction.
Preacher couldn’t see all the lodges from where they were, but he could see enough to estimate that approximately eighty of the dwellings were scattered on the creek bank. The village stretched for more than two hundred yards along the stream.
On the far side of the creek, the band’s pony herd grazed in a large meadow. The horses were spread out, and it would take a while to round them all up. That was a point in favor of the rescue party.
Embers in some of the cooking fires still glowed faintly, but none of them were actually burning. Thick, gloomy shadows covered the entire village. Preacher lifted his head to glance up at the sky. Clouds were starting to obscure the moon. It was fixing to get even darker, which Preacher didn’t mind a bit.
After a few minutes of study, he started crawling, following the line of the forest’s edge. Dog bellied along beside him. They couldn’t sneak up to every lodge in the village and call softly to its inhabitants, hoping to find the white captives that way. One mistake would be enough to ruin everything if they did that.
But Preacher had narrowed down the most likely lodges where the slaves were kept—farthest from the creek, on the roughest ground, and near the area where the Blackfeet dumped human waste, offal, bones that couldn’t be used for anything, and other garbage. He followed his nose as he crawled toward that handful of lodges.
If so much time hadn’t gone by, Dog might have been able to identify the captives by smell. After five years, though, their scent would be the same as their captors, a mixture of smoke, buckskin, bear grease, and unwashed flesh.
Preacher hoped that by eavesdropping, he might overhear the prisoners talking together in their native language. There was also a possibility that guards still watched the lodge where they slept, although again, after so much time, Stone Bear might not deem such a precaution to be necessary.
Slowly, carefully, Preacher and Dog approached the rear of the lodge the mountain man figured was mostly likely to house the captives. Fifty feet of open space lay between the trees and that lodge. Preacher and Dog took fully half an hour to cover the distance.
At last they were very near the back of the lodge. Preacher was able to reach out and grasp the dwelling’s hide wall. He pushed closer and lifted the hide a few inches, just enough to put his ear next to the opening and listen.
He heard deep, regular breathing. People were asleep in there. Somebody shifted around restlessly. As slaves, the captives would be worked so hard that exhaustion probably claimed them every night as soon as they stretched out on their buffalo robes. At the same time, aching muscles made it hard to sleep soundly.
Minutes dragged by before he heard someone inside move around again, and a sleepy voice muttered, “Mein Rüchen schmerzt! Verdammt Blackfeet!”
Preacher recognized the Prussians’ language instantly. He had a hunch some of what the woman said might translate as damn Blackfeet or something close to that.
“Tut mir leid, Gerda,” another woman replied.
To Preacher, her tone of voice sounded sympathetic. What really mattered, though, was the name the second woman had uttered. According to Helmuth, Countess Katarina Falkenhayn’s maid was named Gerda.
That confirmed he had come straight to the lodge he was looking for. Some might consider that an incredible stroke of luck, but actually, it was more a matter of instinct and the ability to make a highly educated guess about where the Blackfeet would keep captives they had enslaved.
He wa
sn’t a bit surprised he had found the right place.
Lifting the hide wall a little more, he moved closer . . . and remembered Helmuth had said some of the ladies spoke English. He just hoped they hadn’t forgotten how during their captivity.
Preacher was just about to call softly to them when a cold, hard wind hit and rattled the lodge’s hide covering. At the same moment, a shot roared and a scream ripped through the night, both coming from the spot where he had left Lomax, Becker, and the two dragoons in the forest.
Chapter 34
Roscoe Lomax figured that he was in charge of the small group of scouts once Preacher had moved off toward the Blackfoot village. After all, he had more experience on the frontier than any of the other three men.
Of course, Becker, being the arrogant, surly Prussian son of a gun he was, probably believed that he was the boss of things. He would find out just how wrong he was if he tried throwing his weight around, thought Lomax.
Apart from an occasional woof-woof from a bored dog or an outburst of snapping and snarling as some of the curs got into a scrap, the Blackfoot village was quiet. That silence started to get on Lomax’s nerves after a while. He couldn’t see Preacher and Dog anymore, hadn’t been able to follow their progress for more than a moment after they left. The uncertainty of not knowing where they were or what they were doing gnawed on Lomax’s guts.
Finally, Becker crawled over next to him and whispered, “Shouldn’t he be back by now?”
“Quiet,” Lomax breathed. “Preacher said no talkin’.”
“Something must have happened to him.”
“Naw, he’s just bein’ careful. Just be patient, blast it. Preacher’ll be along directly.” Lomax wished he felt as confident as he tried to sound.
On the other hand, if the Blackfeet had stumbled over Preacher, a great commotion would have ensued. The mountain man wouldn’t let himself be killed or captured quietly. Lomax didn’t doubt that for a second. The fact that they hadn’t heard any sort of ruckus was actually a good thing.
When All Hell Broke Loose Page 21