“Just move as quiet as you can,” he told Big Thunder as he rose to his feet.
The giant warrior did likewise. Big Thunder was surprisingly light on his feet as he followed the mountain man.
Within minutes they arrived at their destination. Preacher took the coiled rope off his shoulder and started to loop it around the rock spire he had chosen to anchor it.
Big Thunder stuck out a paw and said in a quiet rumble, “Big Thunder can tie rope. Big Thunder is good at tying knots.”
Everything he had claimed so far had turned out to be true, so Preacher handed him the rope. While Big Thunder was tending to that chore, Preacher stepped to the rim and looked along the narrow canyon. He saw a campfire burning at the other end, a quarter of a mile away. A few dark figures moved around it, coming between him and the flames. Preacher searched for the other captives but couldn’t see them from where he was.
That was all right, he told himself. He would be seeing them soon enough, when he freed them.
“The rope is ready,” Big Thunder said behind him.
Preacher turned and stepped over to the spire, which was about four feet in diameter and maybe twice that tall. He took the rope when Big Thunder held it out to him and leaned back against it, testing the strength of both the spire and the knot. It was absolutely secure, he decided, just as Big Thunder had promised.
“Here’s how we’ll work this,” Preacher said. “You hold on to the rope while I climb down into the canyon. When I reach the bottom, I’ll tug on it a couple of times to let you know I got there all right. Then you just hang on to the rope and wait. When you feel me tug on it twice again, that’s when you start haulin’ up whoever’s on the other end. I’ll try to send the girl up first, if I can. You won’t have any trouble with her, because she don’t weigh much. Charlie will come next, but he’s bigger.”
“Big Thunder can pull him up.”
“I know you can. Then, if there’s time, me and Hawk will come up. If I don’t make it out of the canyon but Hawk does, he’s in charge. You understand, Big Thunder?”
The massive warrior nodded.
“And if neither one of us make it,” Preacher went on, “you take Charlie and the girl and follow this ridge as far as it goes, got that? You know where that place is, the one Broken Pine and I talked about? The Devil’s Eye?”
“Big Thunder knows. Big Thunder can find it.”
“Then we’re all set,” Preacher said with a grin as he clapped a hand on Big Thunder’s upper arm.
“Big Thunder wishes he was going down to kill Blackfeet, too.”
“Let’s just get those prisoners out of there, and then . . . well, I got a feelin’ you might still get a chance to do that, Big Thunder.”
CHAPTER 28
Aaron’s horrific death at the hands of Angry Sky left the other three prisoners numb with shock and grief. For Hawk, however, that feeling didn’t last long before pure fury replaced it. Somehow, Aaron’s death would be avenged. Hawk didn’t know exactly how that would come about just yet, but he swore to himself that Angry Sky would pay.
And not just the war chief. Hawk blamed the other Blackfeet, and the white renegades, as well. Jefferson Scarrow, Hog Plumlee, and the other fur thieves had played a significant part in the deaths of Aaron Buckley and White Buffalo, too. Everyone in the combined group deserved to be wiped out, as far as Hawk was concerned.
Given his current state of helplessness, most people would consider his current thoughts nothing more than bravado. But Hawk knew better. Justice would triumph, and those evil men would get what was coming to them.
Preacher was still out there somewhere. It was only a matter of time . . .
Time that passed slowly during the afternoon. Hawk and Charlie both managed to struggle into sitting positions and scoot up against the canyon wall. Scarrow led Butterfly back to the slab of rock near the campfire and sat her down on it again. The rest of the men drifted back into whatever activities they had been doing to pass the time before the body of the dead sentry was discovered.
Angry Sky paced like a caged animal, too full of pent-up hatred to remain still. From time to time he glared over at Hawk and Charlie, and Hawk could tell that he wanted to go ahead and slaughter them, too.
It might have been his imagination, but Hawk thought he could hear the thousands of flies that were already buzzing around Aaron’s corpse and realized those flies might be feasting on him or Charlie, or both of them, before the day was over.
The hours dragged past until the sun began to sink in the western sky. The oppressive heat eased a little.
Charlie said in a strained voice, “Preacher’s not coming back, is he? If he was, he would have been here by now.”
“I never expected him to make his move during the day,” Hawk replied. “Night is when the Ghost Killer moves.”
“All that Ghost Killer talk may unnerve the Blackfeet, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’d be outnumbered about twenty to one. He’d have to be insane to think that he can do anything to help us. He must have realized that.” A shudder went through Charlie. “We’re going to end up like poor Aaron—”
“No,” Hawk said flatly. “I know that will not happen. We may not live through the night, but Preacher will not abandon us.”
Charlie just shook his head glumly. A few minutes later, Hawk heard soft sobs coming from him as his shoulders shook. Charlie’s nerve had broken. Hawk couldn’t blame his friend for that, but his own resolve was still steely.
In the narrow canyon, night fell quickly once the sun was down. One of the Blackfeet stirred up the campfire and rekindled it. Despite the heat of the day, it usually got cool at night in those parts.
In the flickering light from the fire, Jefferson Scarrow went to the rock where Butterfly was sitting and sat down beside her. He spoke to her quietly enough that Hawk couldn’t hear what he was saying. Butterfly kept her head down and didn’t give any sign that she heard Scarrow’s words, even though she had to, with him right beside her.
Hawk wasn’t the only one who noticed the one-sided conversation. Angry Sky stalked over, planted himself in front of the rock, and said sharply to Scarrow, “What are you doing, white man?”
Scarrow looked up and in a cool voice replied, “Simply reassuring the young lady that everything is going to be all right.”
“I say what happens here, not you!”
“I was under the impression that we’re equals of a sort. After all, our forces number approximately the same.” A confident smile tugged at Scarrow’s mouth. “In fact, I believe I have a few more men under my command than you do, Angry Sky.”
Hawk wondered if Scarrow was trying to force a confrontation between his men and the Blackfeet. The renegade leader could have decided that Preacher wasn’t going to make a move against them after all, despite the guard’s death. Scarrow was wrong, if that was what he thought, but he might not know that. He could think the time had come for the showdown with Angry Sky, and nothing would provoke that faster than paying more attention to Butterfly than the war chief liked.
The scene on the other side of the campfire had broken through Charlie’s gloom and caught his attention. He sniffled and then whispered to Hawk, “What’s going on? Are they about to fight?”
“I do not know,” Hawk replied, “but that may be true.”
“I hope Scarrow and his men win. If they do, they’ll just shoot us in the head, I’ll bet, instead of torturing us to death like those savages would.”
“Perhaps neither of those things will happen.”
“I wish I could hope so, but—”
Charlie stopped short as Angry Sky reached to his waist and pulled out a sheathed knife. Scarrow came to his feet, his hand moving toward the butt of a pistol stuck behind his belt. Like a thunderstorm about to break, an air of wild, impending violence hung over the canyon.
* * *
Preacher was ready when the first rounded sliver of moon appeared over the eastern horizon. He took hold of th
e rope, wrapped it one turn around his waist, and told Big Thunder, “Wait for those tugs, like I told you.”
“Big Thunder will be ready.”
Preacher backed up to the rim, felt underneath him with a foot, got it planted, and then let his weight carry him out into the open air above the drop into the canyon. He pushed off, swung back in as he dropped several feet, and let the powerful muscles in his legs absorb the impact as the soles of both boots struck the canyon wall. He pushed off again, out, back, and down, playing out the rope as he did so. It was a quick way to make such a descent. He had learned it several years earlier from a Prussian trapper who’d climbed up and down mountains all over Europe before coming to America.
Even so, it took Preacher several minutes to reach the bottom of the canyon because he was careful and didn’t get in a hurry. A fall would be disastrous. It would bust a leg, at the very least, and doom all his plans, not to mention the prisoners.
Relief went through him when he had solid ground under his feet again. He unwound the rope from his waist, stepped back, and gave it two sharp tugs. An answering tug came from Big Thunder. Preacher released the rope and let it hang there as he turned toward the camp at the canyon’s other end.
The shadows were thick and the orange light from the fire didn’t reach near that far, so Preacher wasn’t worried about being spotted as he moved stealthily. Angry Sky really should have posted some guards at that end, too, but his arrogance must have prevented him from doing so. That was a break for Preacher, although he was confident he could have dealt with that problem if he’d needed to.
As he moved closer, he finally spotted the captives and mentally heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that Hawk, Charlie, and Butterfly were all still alive and apparently unharmed. Hawk and Charlie were tied up, sitting with their backs against the canyon wall. Butterfly was over by the fire with Jefferson Scarrow perched beside her on a bench-like slab of rock. As Preacher watched, Angry Sky went over and started talking to them. Evidently it wasn’t a friendly conversation, because Angry Sky pulled a knife and Scarrow stood up and reached for a pistol.
Before things had a chance to get any more interesting between the two of them, shots rang out. Preacher heard whooping and pounding hoofbeats and the Blackfeet at the canyon mouth started shooting out into the main canyon.
Broken Pine, Kicking Elk, and Dark Neck had just showed up right on time.
Preacher broke into a run. Even at that faster pace, his feet made almost no sound on the hard ground as he hurried toward the camp. In the firelight, he saw not only Angry Sky but also Scarrow, Plumlee, and most of the other Blackfeet and fur thieves running toward the canyon mouth to meet the attack. Only a couple of warriors hung back, probably at Angry Sky’s command, to keep an eye on the captives.
Butterfly stood up from the rock and started to run around the fire toward Hawk and Charlie. One of the pair moved to block her path. She tried to dart around him, but he grabbed her arm and jerked her to a stop. The other warrior watched what they were doing, and in doing so he turned his back toward Hawk and Charlie.
Preacher wasn’t a bit surprised when Hawk seized the opportunity. The young Absaroka got his feet under him, surged upright, and drove forward, lowering his shoulder to ram it into the back of the guard watching the struggle between Butterfly and the other man. The unexpected impact knocked the startled warrior off his feet.
Charlie, whose hands were tied in front of him rather than behind his back like Hawk’s, had gotten to his feet, too, and charged forward. As Hawk rolled aside, Charlie dropped onto the fallen warrior’s back with both knees. He grabbed the man’s long hair, jerked his head up, and slammed it down against the stony ground as hard as he could. In a seeming frenzy, Charlie kept smashing the Blackfoot’s face into the ground.
Realizing what was going on, the warrior holding Butterfly let go of her and whirled toward Charlie and Hawk. He yanked an arrow from his quiver, and drew back his bow to launch the shaft aimed at Charlie.
Preacher had already pulled his tomahawk from his belt. Running full speed, he whipped his arm back and forward and threw the tomahawk. It whirled blindingly across the intervening space and struck perfectly, the head burying itself in the center of the warrior’s forehead. He was able to loose the arrow, but it flew high as he fell over backward with blood and brains oozing out around the tomahawk.
Hawk got to his knees and exclaimed, “Preacher!”
The mountain man raced up to them. The diversionary attack was still going on, but Preacher didn’t figure it would be long before somebody looked back in his direction and saw what was going on. He pulled his knife out and bent down behind Hawk, who knew what he needed to do and raised his bound wrists away from his body to give his father room to cut him free.
While doing that, Preacher said, “Charlie, grab Butterfly and head for the back end of the canyon. There’s a rope hanging there waiting for you.”
“We can’t climb out before they discover what’s happening!” Charlie gasped.
“Just wrap the rope snug around Butterfly under her arms and make sure she’s got a good hold of it,” Preacher said. “Then tug on the rope a couple of times. There’s a friend up on the rimrock who’ll haul her outta here. Once she’s safe, you can go up.”
“What about you and Hawk?” Charlie asked.
Hawk’s wrists came free as the last of the rawhide strands parted under the keen blade of Preacher’s knife. “We will make sure you have the chance to escape.”
“Go!” Preacher barked.
Charlie took hold of Butterfly’s arm and tugged her along with him as he broke into a run toward the far end of the canyon.
“Are you all right?” Preacher asked Hawk as he helped his son to his feet.
“Yes, and so are Butterfly and Charlie. But Aaron—”
“I know. I saw. One more score to settle with that bunch. But not here and now.”
Hawk argued, “If we attack them from behind, while they are not expecting it—”
“They’ll still kill us,” Preacher said. “There are too many of ’em. But they’ll come after us, and then we’ll fight ’em at a time and place of our choosin’.”
Hawk looked like he still didn’t care for the idea, but he didn’t protest again. He just stripped the dead guards of their quivers of arrows and picked up the fallen bow. Preacher wrenched his tomahawk free of the cleaved skull and glanced at the other Blackfoot. Charlie had busted the varmint’s head to pieces by slamming it against the ground.
Side by side, Preacher and Hawk began backing away from the campfire.
They were still at the edge of the circle of light it cast when shouts of alarm went up from the combined force of Blackfeet and white renegades who had taken cover behind the rocks at the canyon mouth to return the fire from outside. The escape had been discovered, and Preacher had a hunch that Angry Sky was smart enough to realize everything else had been a diversion.
At least half the bunch ran toward them, several firing arrows as they came. The shafts fluttered around Preacher and Hawk as they turned and broke into a run.
Preacher’s eyes adjusted quickly once they were away from the firelight, and the moon was high enough to be casting silvery illumination over the ridge. He spotted a bulky shape about halfway up the canyon wall. Charlie was trying to climb and help himself get to the top, but Preacher figured Big Thunder was doing most of the lifting.
The fact that Charlie was on the rope meant that Butterfly was safely atop the ridge. Preacher felt some relief at that. Things were going to be mighty close for him and Hawk, though. But he had known there was a good chance it would turn out that way.
“Keep an eye on Charlie,” he told Hawk as they stopped at the bottom of the wall and turned to face the killers hurrying toward them. “As soon as he gets to the top, Big Thunder will toss the rope back down. You get up it as quick as you can.”
“We will go together,” Hawk said.
Preacher shook his head. “Nope. Y
ou don’t know Big Thunder, but he’s mighty, well, big. But not big and strong enough to haul both of us outta here. You can scramble up in a hurry, though, and then cover me while I come after you.”
“Preacher, no—”
“I know you ain’t ever been very good at doin’ what your ol’ pa tells you to, but this time you ain’t got any choice.” Preacher glanced up over his shoulder and saw Charlie disappear over the rim. A few seconds later, the rope came tumbling back down. “Damn it, boy, go!”
Hawk still hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. Then he grabbed the rope, leaped up, planted his feet against the wall, and started climbing as fast as he could, grunting from the effort as the muscles in his arms and shoulders and back worked smoothly.
Preacher turned, pulled both pistols from his belt and cocked them, then grinned as he waited for the onslaught to wash over him.
CHAPTER 29
The men in the forefront of the charge were Blackfoot warriors, but Preacher didn’t see Angry Sky among them. Some of the others had raced out ahead of the war chief. Nor did he see Scarrow or Plumlee.
But all of them were the enemy, so as soon as they were in range, he raised the pistols and pulled the triggers.
The weapons boomed and bucked in his hands as the heavy powder charges sent the double-shotted balls scything into the attackers’ front ranks. Two men went down and another stumbled badly from an obvious hit. Preacher rammed the empty pistols behind his belt again and reached for his knife and tomahawk.
Before he could draw those out, something clattered beside him. He glanced down and saw a bow and a quiver of arrows lying there on the ground that must have been thrown from the top of the stone wall.
The rope tumbled down beside him as well. Hawk shouted from the rimrock, “Tie it around your chest!”
Preacher understood instantly. He grabbed the rope, wound it around his chest, and tied it in place with a fast knot, ducking an arrow that flew near his head. Then he snatched up the bow and quiver and yelled, “Go!”
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