The rope tightened around his chest as he was jerked off his feet and started rising.
More arrows whipped around him. A shot blasted and the ball hummed past him to send dirt and rock chips flying as it slammed into the canyon wall. Shooting up at an angle was difficult, but the men trying to kill Preacher were still coming pretty close.
He needed to discourage them and managed to get the quiver slung over his shoulder and pulled out an arrow. Nocking it, drawing the bow, and firing were all awkward because the movements made him sway at the end of the rope while his friends on the rimrock hauled him up. Preacher managed to send several arrows zipping into the crowd of Blackfeet and fur thieves, though. Shouts of pain and surprise rewarded his efforts.
As fast as he was rising, he knew that Hawk, Charlie, and Big Thunder all had to be pulling on the rope. Maybe even Caroline. It didn’t take long for Preacher to reach the top. The arrows fired up at him began to fall short, but the rifle balls still came too close for comfort, so he was glad when Big Thunder’s huge hands suddenly took hold of him and swung him onto solid ground again.
“Everybody all right?” Preacher asked.
“Yes,” Hawk said.
“Let’s get outta here, then. There’s a trail up here, close to the other end of the canyon, and some o’ those varmints may be on their way up it already!”
Preacher was untying the rope around his chest as he spoke, and Big Thunder unfastened the knot at the other end, where it was wrapped around the spire. Preacher tossed all the rope to Big Thunder and told him to hang on to it. Then he picked up his rifle from where he had left it lying on the ground before his descent into the canyon. He led the way along the ridge with Hawk and Caroline right behind him, Charlie next in line, and Big Thunder in the rear.
They moved fast in the moonlight. The footing was a little tricky because of the shadows, but they couldn’t afford to take the time to be careful and had to trust to luck. They had gone a few hundred yards, Preacher judged, before he heard shouts rising behind them and knew the pursuit had reached the crest.
“Keep goin’,” he called to Hawk and Caroline as he moved aside to let them pass. “I’ll slow the bastards down!”
For once Hawk didn’t argue. Preacher knew his son wanted to keep the young woman safe above all else. He didn’t blame Hawk a bit for that. He would have been surprised—and a little disappointed—if Hawk didn’t feel that way.
Charlie stumbled past him as well, but Big Thunder stopped and asked, “Is Preacher going to fight the Blackfeet now?”
“I’m just gonna take a few potshots at ’em. Nothin’ you can help me with, Big Thunder.”
“Big Thunder can shoot an arrow a long way!”
Preacher patted the stock of his rifle and said, “Not as far as this little darlin’ can throw a ball. So you go on and keep the others safe for me, all right?”
Big Thunder was clearly reluctant, but he nodded and lumbered on after Hawk, Caroline, and Charlie.
Preacher lifted the rifle to his shoulder and squinted over the barrel. The pursuers were still at least two hundred yards away and trying to aim at distant flickers of movement in the moonlight was useless.
He just squeezed the trigger and fired a round in their general direction, then reloaded as quickly as possible and squeezed off another. Spurts of orange muzzle flame winked an answer at him. He reloaded, then turned and ran after the others.
It was going to be a long chase. Preacher knew that if it had been just Hawk, Big Thunder, and himself trying to get away, they could keep running all night. But Caroline and Charlie wouldn’t be able to maintain that pace. They would have to stop and rest, probably sooner rather than later. That would give the pursuit enough time to cut into their lead and maybe even catch up.
“Preacher!” That was Big Thunder’s rumbling voice.
The mountain man spotted the massive warrior standing near the rimrock and waving toward him. Preacher angled in that direction.
“Hawk found a good way down,” Big Thunder went on when Preacher joined him. He pointed at a narrow crack that appeared to lead into a tiny side canyon.
Preacher remembered how those little passages formed a maze. This one might lead out and provide a way for them to give the slip to the Blackfeet and the fur thieves. Or it might be a dead end where they would be trapped and slaughtered. Preacher figured the odds were about even on those two options.
But shoot, life was a gamble to start with, wasn’t it? And they still had enough of a lead that if they disappeared, Angry Sky, Scarrow, and the others couldn’t be sure where they had gone.
Preacher said, “Let’s go, Big Thunder,” and plunged into the steep, talus-covered trail that led down through the crack. His feet tried to slide out from under him, but he managed to keep his balance as he descended into pitch darkness.
* * *
Jefferson Scarrow caught hold of Hogarth Plumlee’s arm and stopped him. Ahead of the two white men, four Blackfeet continued the chase, yelling incoherently.
Plumlee said, “Why’d you stop me, Jeff? That bastard Preacher’s gettin’ away!”
“For now,” Scarrow replied. “But I really don’t think blind pursuit in the darkness is a good idea. From everything we’ve seen of him so far, Preacher is exactly the sort who would decide to wait and plan an ambush. If there’s a trap waiting somewhere up ahead, we’ll let our redskinned friends be the ones to waltz right into it.”
“Those heathens are no friends of mine. I’ll kill a man who gets in my way and never lose a lick o’ sleep over it, but what Angry Sky did to that kid . . .” Plumlee finished with an eloquently disgusted shake of his head.
“Let’s get back to camp,” Scarrow said. “Angry Sky has lost four more men. He’s down to eight now, and half of them are up here on this ridge chasing Preacher, so he may be getting desperate. I don’t trust him. He may decide he has to go ahead and eliminate some of our men.”
“You and him were about to go to fightin’ over that gal, before all hell broke loose,” Plumlee pointed out. “I’m startin’ to think this might be a good time for us to cut our losses, Jeff. Just let Preacher and the others go.” He held up a hand to forestall Scarrow’s objection. “I know, it’d stick in your craw to do that. Mine, too. But you and me and the rest o’ the boys could sorta just drift away and head back to where we cached them furs. We can still be rich.”
“And let Preacher get away with stealing what’s mine not once but twice?” Scarrow shook his head. “I can’t do that, Hog. I’m sorry.”
Plumlee couldn’t hold in his frustration. “But she’s just a gal!” he exploded. “She ain’t worth nowhere near as much as them pelts are. I don’t care how pretty she is, or if she’s red or white. If we keep chasin’ after her, we’re all gonna wind up dead!”
“If that’s the way you feel, then perhaps you should withdraw,” Scarrow suggested coldly. “And any of the others who agree with you can go back, too. But I’m going to have that girl again, and more important, I’m going to watch Preacher die with my own eyes.”
Plumlee hesitated by saying, “Well . . . well . . . hell! You’ve been doin’ the thinkin’ for both of us ever since I threw in with you, Jeff, and I ain’t ever been sorry about that so far. You ain’t steered us wrong yet.” He sighed. “So maybe you’re right about this, too. I ain’t gonna run out on you, no matter what. That’s for damn sure.”
Scarrow clapped a hand on his burly friend’s shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that.”
As they started back along the ridge toward the trail that would take them down into the canyon, Scarrow went on.
“Those men who launched the attack a short time ago have to be working with Preacher. Where he found such allies, I have no idea, but the timing of everything makes it clear the attack was a diversion so Preacher could free the prisoners. They were on horseback, so we can follow them as soon as it’s light enough to see. They’re bound to rendezvous with Preacher and the others. We’ll find them that
way.”
“What about the Blackfeet?”
“That’s up to Angry Sky. However, I have a feeling that our days of working together may be coming to an end.”
“Best thing might be just to walk in and shoot the son of a bitch.”
“Simple, but direct and effective,” Scarrow said. “Unfortunately, if he is willing to cooperate, he and his men give us even more of a numerical advantage. I suppose we shouldn’t squander that if there’s a chance to salvage it.”
“So you ain’t gonna kill him?”
“Not right away. I’d still like for Preacher to die first, just to be certain. But it’s really up to Angry Sky. He can die now,” Scarrow said, “or he can die later.”
* * *
Preacher reached the bottom of the treacherous path and found Hawk, Caroline, and Charlie waiting for him and Big Thunder. The side canyon in which they found themselves was so narrow it amounted to little more than a fissure in the earth. The amount of light that penetrated into its depths was so small that Preacher could barely make out the others.
Even so, his instincts were good enough that he had a pretty good idea which direction they should go. “We’ll head this way,” he said, pointing to the right. “That ought to take us toward the western edge of the basin, and that’s where Broken Pine and the others will be waitin’ for us.”
“Who are these warriors you speak of?” Hawk asked as the group set out again. Caroline and Charlie were both still breathing a little hard, but at least they’d gotten a chance to rest for a few minutes and in the narrow canyon they had to move at a slower pace instead of a flat-out run.
Preacher explained how he had run into the Crow hunting party from Falling Star’s village. “And it’s a good thing I did, too,” he added. “I don’t think we could’ve pulled off that escape without Big Thunder’s help, not to mention the distraction Broken Pine and his pards gave us.”
“The Crow are good people,” Hawk said. “I have always known it is so. Thank you for your help, Big Thunder.”
“When do we fight the Blackfeet?” Big Thunder asked.
“Might be sooner than you think,” Preacher said, although in reality he hoped their enemies would never be able to track them in that labyrinth of small, twisting canyons.
Their route forked frequently, with Preacher choosing the paths he thought were more likely to lead them out. He called a halt from time to time to give the others a chance to rest, but perhaps just as important, to listen closely for any sounds of their pursuers closing in. Although the way the maze muffled and distorted sounds, the varmints could be very close by and not sound like it, he thought. But he didn’t hear anything, so his hopes kept rising.
He warned himself not to get too confident of their getaway. Trouble seemed to have away of finding him, no matter what he did.
In a situation such as that, time didn’t mean much. Hours passed and seemed more like days or months, especially to the exhausted Caroline and Charlie. They kept going valiantly, though, and tried not to slow the others down. Finally, in the gray light of dawn, they stumbled around a bend and found semiarid plains opening in front of them and in the distance the mountains. Preacher could see, perhaps five miles away, the line of green that marked the course of the river on which Falling Star’s village was located.
“Take a minute to catch your breath,” he told the others.
“Thank God we’re out of there,” Charlie said as he sank wearily onto the ground. “I had visions of wandering around in there forever and never finding our way out.”
Hawk said, “Preacher knew where he was going the whole time.”
“Is that true, Preacher?” Charlie asked.
The mountain man smiled. “Let’s say it is.” He was glad to be out of the canyons as well and to have their real destination in sight.
But the fact of the matter was that their situation had just gotten more dangerous. They would be traveling out in the open, and if Angry Sky and Scarrow had any sense, they would have abandoned the search back in the canyons in favor of riding out there to look for the fugitives. Riders on horseback could cast back and forth and cover a lot of ground.
And if they were spotted, Preacher and his companions couldn’t outrun the pursuit on foot.
While the others were resting, he stood and stared toward the mountains, studying the terrain and trying to figure out where that rock formation called the Devil’s Eye was. He had seen it the day before and marked it in his mind in relation to other landmarks, and now he had to locate those peaks and figure out the best route to reach the rendezvous.
When he had a pretty good idea of the direction they needed to go, he turned to the others and told them, “Hate to say it, but I reckon we’d best get movin’ again.”
Charlie suppressed a groan but climbed to his feet. Hawk and Caroline were sitting on the ground, too. Hawk got up and took Caroline’s hand to help her. Big Thunder had stood close to Preacher the whole time, as tireless as a tree.
As Preacher led the way out and the others fell in behind him, Charlie said, “I’m sorry we have to leave Aaron’s body behind. He . . . he should have had a decent burial. If I ever make it back to Virginia, I don’t know what I’ll tell his family.”
“Tell them he died with his friends close by and that he was laid to rest in a beautiful spot,” Hawk said.
“You mean I should lie?”
“Sometimes the truth serves no purpose but pain. And if a lie serves to ease unnecessary pain, that is the more noble path.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Charlie said. “I’ll think about it. I guess first we need to get out of here alive. If we don’t, there won’t be anybody to tell what happened to us, truth or lies.”
The boy was right about that, Preacher thought.
Five miles never seemed so long as it did that early morning. Their steps seemed to bring them no closer to their destination. It hung there in front of them, forever out of reach.
But as the sun rose, its golden rays spreading across the landscape, Preacher’s keen eyes spied the ragged cluster of rocks ahead of them. Viewed from higher on the slopes beyond them, those boulders were arranged in the rough semblance of an eye, with a huge, rounded rock in the middle representing the pupil. Nobody had placed them that way. From what Preacher understood of such things from talking to natural scientists he had met in the past, the boulders probably had been spewed from some volcano eruption millions of years in the past and landed that way by accident. Or maybe God had dropped them there while He was walking around putting the earth together. Preacher figured either explanation made sense, and the only thing he was really worried about was whether Broken Pine, Kicking Elk, and Dark Neck would be there waiting for them with the horses.
“That’s them,” he said as he pointed out the boulders to his companions. “That’s where we’re headed. Looks like it’s only about half a mile more.”
“Preacher . . .” Hawk said in a warning tone.
Preacher looked around. Dust rose behind them, enough that Preacher knew it had to come from horses’ hooves.
“Is it them?” Charlie asked with panic edging into his voice.
“Can’t be anybody else,” Preacher said, “but we don’t know if they’ve spotted us yet. Come on. Time to hustle again!”
They ran for their lives.
CHAPTER 30
When Jefferson Scarrow and Hog Plumlee got back to the camp the night before, they had found a definite air of tension hanging over the canyon. The fire had been built up, probably so the two sides could keep a better eye on each other. Angry Sky, with a bloodstained bandage wrapped around his left thigh where a pistol ball had creased him during the fracas, was on one side of the canyon with his remaining warriors, while the rest of Scarrow’s men were on the other side. They all eyed each other warily.
“Did you find Preacher and the prisoners?” Angry Sky demanded as soon as Scarrow and Plumlee walked into the circle of firelight.
Scarrow shoo
k his head. “The rest of your men are still chasing them, but I doubt if they’re going to have any luck. And those people aren’t exactly prisoners any more, are they? They got away from us, there’s no denying that.”
“Preacher stole them!”
“Well, yes, we’re in agreement on that,” Scarrow said. “Preacher is to blame for all our troubles. He’s killed your men, he’s killed my men, he’s frustrated us at every turn. He’s either the most damnably lucky man I’ve ever seen . . . or perhaps he actually deserves the reputation he has.”
Angry Sky clenched a fist in front of him and rasped, “It is time for Preacher to die!”
“We have to find him first. I’d suggest following the men who staged that attack on our camp to distract us while he freed the prisoners. It’s highly likely they plan to meet up later.”
Angry Sky looked like he wanted to argue just on general principles, but what Scarrow said made sense and the war chief knew it. After glaring for a moment longer, he jerked his head in a nod and said, “We know which way they went when they fled. We will pick up their trail as soon as it is light enough to see.”
“My thinking exactly,” Scarrow said. All they had to do was to keep from killing each other before the night was over. That might be a challenge, but he believed he was up to it. He desired Preacher’s death more than Angry Sky’s.
But he would get around to killing the Blackfoot, too, he promised himself.
Far into the night, the Blackfeet who had continued chasing Preacher and the others dragged back into camp, their efforts having turned out as unsuccessful as Scarrow expected. Angry Sky berated them for failing, which accomplished nothing, of course. Scarrow had harbored some hope that the men would get lost and not make it back to camp by the time he and the others rode out. That would have put Angry Sky at even more of a disadvantage. But the savages were still outnumbered, and all of them might come in handy once Preacher was cornered and it was time to wipe out the mountain man and his allies once and for all, so Scarrow supposed he could live with the turn of events.
Preacher's Rage Page 22
