Preacher's Rage

by William W. Johnstone

  He was aware of Butterfly screaming and then shouting in anger. She wouldn’t just allow them to take her without resisting, but too many shadowy figures swarmed around her. Around Hawk, too. Someone kicked him in the back of his right knee and made the leg buckle. A weight landed on his back and forced him to the ground. Feet thudded into his ribs in vicious kicks.

  Hawk gasped, “Butterfly!” then something hit him in the head again and he passed out.

  CHAPTER 24

  As soon as Preacher realized Hawk and the others were gone, he knew the Blackfeet and the fur thieves had been there. If it had not been for the signs of a struggle, he might have thought it was possible Hawk had moved the party on purpose, say, in case he’d discovered that pursuit was closing in on them.

  The sign told a different story, though. At least he didn’t see any dark splotches on the ground where blood had splashed . . . and no sprawled corpses to be seen, either.

  Dog whined at his side, and Preacher said, “Yeah, you knew somethin’ was wrong, didn’t you, old son? You can pick up the scent, though, ain’t no doubt about that. Find Hawk!”

  At that command, Dog bounded off while Preacher turned back toward the area where he had left Broken Pine and the other young Crow hunters. “Broken Pine!” he called. “Come on in!”

  A moment later, the five warriors emerged from the shadows.

  Broken Pine looked around curiously and asked, “Your friends are not here?”

  “Looks like somebody took ’em,” Preacher said. “In these parts, I reckon only one bunch could responsible for that.”

  “Angry Sky and the Blackfeet,” Broken Pine said grimly.

  “Yeah, and Scarrow and the rest o’ those renegade whites.”

  “There are no bodies?”

  “Not that I’ve seen so far.” Preacher turned toward the river. “But I’m gonna take a better look around, just to be sure.”

  “We will help,” Broken Pine offered. He turned his head and added to his companions, “Be careful and watch for trouble.”

  With the assistance of the Crow, Preacher thoroughly searched the immediate area. No bodies and still no blood. He found a couple of other places where the grass looked like struggles might have taken place. Whatever had happened, it had been violent but also quick and apparently not fatal.

  But after trying so hard to kill all of them except Caroline, why would Angry Sky and Scarrow have left Hawk, Aaron, and Charlie alive? The answer Preacher thought of immediately was that they wanted to use his son and his friends as bait. Angry Sky had been hoping to kill Preacher, too, and the easiest way to do that would be to lure him into a trap.

  That was what the war chief believed, anyway, Preacher thought. But it might turn out that idea was wrong . . .

  When they had all assembled again, Preacher told the Crow, “My hunch is that Angry Sky carried off the rest of ’em to lure me into comin’ after him. Dog will have picked up the trail by now, so he’ll be back any minute. It won’t be hard to find the varmints I’m lookin’ for. You fellas can head on back to your village and let Falling Star know what’s goin’ on. Tell him I’ll be there with the rest of ’em as soon as I can.”

  Big Thunder surprised the mountain man by saying in his rumbling voice, “Preacher is going after the bad men alone?” Maybe he understood more about what was going on than Broken Pine gave him credit for.

  “Well, that’s what I figured on doin’.”

  “Preacher should not go alone.”

  “Big Thunder is right,” Broken Pine said. “We will come with you.”

  “Now hold on just a minute. This ain’t your fight—”

  “You were bringing the girl Butterfly to our village knowing the Blackfeet would follow you.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t have any other choice if I was gonna save her life,” Preacher said.

  “We would help you save her life.”

  “I didn’t even know you fellas until a little while ago. You ain’t part of this trouble.”

  Kicking Elk said, “I want to see this girl so beautiful many men fight over her.”

  Mutters of agreement came from the other Crow warriors, except for Big Thunder, who just stood there gazing at Preacher. Maybe because he had whipped the galoot, Big Thunder had sort of latched on to him like a puppy, Preacher realized.

  Angry Sky and Scarrow expected him to be alone, he thought. They probably figured that with the size of their combined group, he wouldn’t stand a chance against them. If he had a few folks fighting on his side, it might throw all their plans out of kilter. The five Crow wouldn’t be enough to even the odds, by any means, but if they went along, they would give him the element of surprise, Preacher decided.

  But four could do that just as well as five, so he said, “All right, I’ll go along with it, but you’ve got to send one man back to the village so Falling Star will know what’s goin’ on. That’s the only way I’ll agree with what you’re sayin’.”

  Broken Pine considered that countersuggestion, but only for a moment before he nodded. “Moose Horn, you have the fastest pony. Take him and ride for home.”

  Moose Horn wanted to argue that he should get to go along and kill some Blackfeet, but Broken Pine overrode his objections and sent him on his way.

  About then, Dog came trotting back and sat with his tongue lolling out and an eager expression on his face that Preacher could see in the gray light. The sun would be up before too much longer.

  Dog wasn’t the only one who showed up. Shaking his head up and down, Horse emerged from the trees. All the other mounts were gone, no doubt taken along with the prisoners, but it didn’t surprise Preacher that they hadn’t been able to catch Horse.

  “Your stallion?” Broken Pine asked as Horse came up and bumped his head against Preacher’s shoulder.

  “Yeah,” the mountain man said. “He’s pretty much a one-man horse, although he’ll tolerate Hawk takin’ care of him. But I’m thinkin’ that when they tried to catch him, he broke loose and headed for the tall and uncut.”

  “So we will all be mounted.”

  “Yeah, and that’s good,” Preacher said, “because it won’t be much longer until we’re burnin’ daylight.”

  * * *

  The pain Hawk felt as consciousness seeped back into his brain made him aware that he was still alive. When his thoughts became coherent, he was a little surprised to realize that the Blackfeet hadn’t killed him out of hand as soon as he was knocked out. For some reason they must have decided to keep him alive.

  And that didn’t bode well at all.

  He kept his eyes closed and used his other senses to figure out where he was and what was going on. He didn’t want to let on that he had regained consciousness until he had a better idea of the situation.

  He felt warmth on his face and felt a steady light through his eyelids, so he knew the sun was up and shining on him. Woodsmoke tickled his nose and brought with it the smell of roasting meat. Even under those circumstances, the aroma caused his stomach to cramp and made him realize he was hungry, as bizarre as that seemed.

  Voices sounded nearby. Men were talking in harsh tones. Some of the words were Blackfoot, but snatches of English were mixed in with them.

  “—them alive is a bad idea.”

  “As soon as Preacher—”

  “—don’t like the looks on those redskins’ faces—”

  “—away from the girl—”

  The girl. They were talking about Butterfly. So she was still alive, which Hawk expected considering how much trouble men had gone to in order to recapture her. But in the chaos of battle, accidents could always happen, and some misfortune could have befallen her. Hawk was greatly relieved to know that evidently it hadn’t.

  He was lying on the ground, on his right side, he realized as he continued taking stock. Dirt was in his mouth. He’d probably gotten it there when his captors pitched him on the ground. He risked opening the right eye but only to a narrow slit.

  The first
thing he saw was Aaron Buckley sitting in a dejected posture about five feet away. His knees were drawn up and his head leaned forward, resting on them. Rawhide thongs were lashed around his wrists, binding them.

  Beyond Aaron, Hawk could see a man’s leg clad in buckskin trousers. From the leg’s position, he could tell that the man was sitting on the ground, too. That had to be Charlie, Hawk thought. So his friends were still alive.

  Why?

  Why hadn’t the Blackfeet killed all three of them? The war party had managed to sneak up on them while they were waiting for Preacher. That knowledge rankled, but it didn’t do anything to ease Hawk’s puzzlement. The Blackfeet could have shot him and Charlie and Aaron from concealment, and they never would have known what happened.

  Instead they had taken him and his friends prisoner. Hawk couldn’t help but wonder if they intended to torture the three of them to their deaths.

  Another possibility existed, Hawk mused. Preacher had been gone when the war party attacked. The Blackfeet might intend to use their captives as bait to lure the mountain man into a trap. Hawk knew how the Blackfeet felt about Preacher. They would do almost anything for a chance to kill their legendary nemesis.

  Beyond Aaron and Charlie, a couple of Blackfoot warriors walked past, but no one else came into Hawk’s very limited field of view. His curiosity overwhelmed him. He had to know where Butterfly was. He opened both eyes, lifted his head, and looked around.

  He saw immediately that they were in a narrow canyon with rocky, almost sheer walls. Patches of grass grew on the canyon floor, and off to Hawk’s left were a few scrubby trees. Back to the right, the canyon narrowed down to a small opening. Several Blackfeet stood near there, apparently posted as guards.

  The rest of the Blackfeet were scattered around in small groups. So were the bearded, hard-looking white men, except for two who sat with a tall, burly Blackfoot who wore a scowl on his face as he talked to them. Hawk wondered if that was Angry Sky. The name would fit him.

  Hawk didn’t pay too much attention to that trio because a few feet beyond them, sitting on a rock with her head down and her eyes turned to the ground, was Butterfly. She didn’t appear to be injured, as far as he could tell, and she wasn’t tied up, but her shoulders slumped and an unmistakable air of defeat and despair hung around her.

  Hawk couldn’t blame her for feeling that way. Despite everything he and the others had done to try to get her to safety, including White Buffalo making the ultimate sacrifice, she was back in the hands of her worst enemies.

  One of the white men talking to the surly Blackfoot noticed that Hawk was awake and nudged his companion with an elbow. He was thick-bodied, with rusty hair and a face that bore a distinct resemblance to a hog. The other man was much leaner, with dark, bushy side whiskers.

  That man spoke to the Blackfoot. “Our young friend has regained consciousness.”

  “No Absaroka is a friend of mine,” the man replied in good English. “They are all vermin that should be exterminated from the face of the earth.”

  Hawk felt the same way about the Blackfeet.

  The three men got to their feet and walked toward him. Their path took them past Charlie and Aaron. Hawk could see the young trappers better now. Both had some scrapes and bruises to show that they had put up a fight when they were captured, but they didn’t look to be seriously injured.

  Hawk couldn’t bring himself to believe that that condition would prevail for much longer.

  The Blackfoot snapped a command as he and the two white men approached. Several warriors closed in around Hawk. Two of them took hold of his arms and jerked him to his feet. His head still pounded from the blow earlier, and he was unsteady enough that he might have fallen if they hadn’t been holding him up.

  The Blackfoot and the two fur thieves came to a stop in front of Hawk. He glanced past them and saw that Butterfly had lifted her head and was watching the confrontation with an anxious expression on her face.

  “I am Angry Sky,” the Blackfoot declared, confirming Hawk’s hunch.

  Hawk’s chin jutted out as he answered with pride in his voice, “I am Hawk That Soars.”

  Angry Sky’s right arm came up and the back of his hand cracked across Hawk’s cheek, jolting his head to the side. The pain inside his skull thundered even worse, but he didn’t show it as he hung in the cruel grip of the two warriors and snarled defiantly at Angry Sky.

  “I care nothing about who you are,” the Blackfoot war chief said. “Only that the one called Preacher values your life. Or will he abandon you here to die?”

  “Preacher cares nothing for me,” Hawk replied in a rasping voice. He didn’t want his captors to know of the blood relation between the two of them and hoped that Charlie, Aaron, and Butterfly hadn’t said anything about it. “But he will hunt you down anyway. Because killing Blackfeet is what he does best.”

  Several warriors standing nearby glared at him and moved closer, their hands reaching for knives or tomahawks.

  Angry Sky waved them back. “You live only because you will help us kill Preacher.”

  “I will never—”

  “Preacher will come to free you and your friends and the Crow girl, and then we will kill the Ghost Killer, at last. No longer will he prey on our people.”

  Aaron and Charlie had lifted their heads, too, casting off their dejected poses at least for the moment.

  Aaron protested. “Preacher never preyed on anyone. All he’s ever done is protect innocent people from evil.”

  Angry Sky gestured toward Aaron. One of the warriors drew his knife, grabbed Aaron’s hair, and jerked his head back. Hawk tensed his muscles, but the shape he was in, he couldn’t break free as the warrior brought the blade to Aaron’s throat.

  He didn’t swipe the keen steel across the taut flesh, though, just held it there threateningly.

  The white man with the side whiskers said, “It would probably be a good idea if you kept your opinions to yourself, lad. Angry Sky doesn’t need all of you to serve as bait for Preacher, you know. I daresay, just Butterfly herself would be sufficient, if it came down to that.”

  Aaron didn’t say anything more, but he was pale and motionless while the Blackfoot warrior held the knife at his throat for a moment longer. Then the man moved the blade away, let go of Aaron’s hair, and stepped back.

  “The next time, blood will be spilled,” Angry Sky promised. He nodded to his men and added, “Tie this one and guard them all. Preacher will come soon, and then this canyon will run red with blood.”

  He might be right about that, Hawk thought as his captors jerked his hands behind his back and wound rawhide thongs around his wrists. But Angry Sky was wrong about just whose blood was going to be spilled.

  CHAPTER 25

  Dog never wavered from the scent as he led Preacher and the four young Crow warriors back to the east, away from the river and toward a wide basin.

  As they rode side by side, Preacher asked Broken Pine, “Do you fellas ever hunt over yonder?”

  “Not very often,” Broken Pine answered. “More game can be found west of the river. There are few streams or waterholes in the basin, and trees and grass are sparse, so deer and elk and antelope have no good reason to venture in there. Mostly there are snakes and lizards, and we do not hunt them.”

  “Snakes and lizards is a pretty good description of the varmints we’re huntin’ today,” Preacher muttered. “Except when critters kill, they’re just doin’ what comes natural to them for their own survival. They don’t kill outta pure meanness and greed, like the fellas we’re after.”

  Preacher couldn’t be sure how much of a lead their quarry might have, since he didn’t know exactly when in the night Hawk and the others had been captured. Because of that, he proceeded cautiously, although it was unlikely Dog would allow them to stumble right into the midst of their enemies.

  Around mid-morning, as they entered the area where vegetation was sparse, Preacher spotted horse tracks along the path Dog was following.
He reined in and swung down to take a closer look. Unshod, just as he expected, which meant Indian ponies. Jefferson Scarrow’s gang of fur thieves hadn’t been mounted during Preacher’s first encounter with them, but they were now.

  “We can follow these tracks,” he said. “That means Dog can go on ahead and maybe find out where they’re holed up. Hunt, Dog! Find Hawk!”

  The big cur whirled and dashed off, soon vanishing in the rugged terrain. Preacher and the Crow warriors took advantage of the opportunity to rest their horses for a few minutes.

  “How many men did you say we are following?” Kicking Elk asked.

  “Around twenty,” Preacher replied. “Maybe a few more than that. Some Blackfoot, some white. And all bad.”

  “There are many more of them than us,” the fourth warrior said. He was a stocky youngster who had been introduced to Preacher as Dark Neck. A deep brown birthmark covered the right side of his neck and extended up to his jaw.

  “I still say you fellas don’t have to come along,” Preacher said. “I sure wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to head on back to your village.”

  Dark Neck bristled a little. “That is not what I meant,” he declared. “If there are so many enemies, then vanquishing them will bring great glory and honor to our names!”

  Big Thunder let out an exultant yip of agreement.

  Preacher smiled at them. “I’m proud to have you fellas on my side, that’s for sure. Let’s mount up and ride.”

  He had no trouble following the sign left by the Blackfeet and the fur thieves. They weren’t going to any trouble to hide their trail, and Preacher knew why that was. They wanted him to follow them. Now that Angry Sky had recaptured Caroline, he was getting greedy. He wanted Preacher dead, too.

  Preacher had been in that region before, but it had been awhile. Mountain ranges surrounded it on all sides, with only a few gaps. The semiarid basin between the peaks was a two-day ride from one side to the other. Bony ridges and deep canyons broke up stretches of dusty plains. A river ran through there somewhere, one of the rare streams that ran from south to north because of a quirk of geography, but the vegetation that grew along it was a mere ribbon of green in a broad, sweeping vista of browns, tans, and reds. Looking out over the basin from the heights of any of the surrounding mountain ranges, the horizontal streaks of different colors were visible in the places where those ridges reared up. In its own stark way, the basin was beautiful, but that impression didn’t last long when a person was actually trying to make his way through it. Then it was just ugly and dangerous.