The Family Jensen # 1

by William W. Johnstone

  “I understand,” she said. She stuck her head and shoulders through the opening Preacher had made and hissed to get the attention of the captives. “Wake up! Wake up, we must go!”

  Several of the prisoners exclaimed in surprise, but others were already crying and whimpering so Preacher hoped the sounds wouldn’t be noticed. The gypsy woman quickly hushed them up, saying, “It’s Mala! I have come back for you. Be quiet now, we must go.”

  Preacher held his breath, hoping the women would understand and realize their lives depended on swiftness and silence. After a moment, Mala backed away slightly from the wagon and held the canvas up so one of the captives could climb out of the vehicle. From the size of the dim shape, Preacher figured it was a girl, not a full-grown woman.

  The escaping prisoner was followed by another and another. “This is Preacher,” Mala told them. “He is a friend and will help us get away. Do as he says.”

  Preacher pointed into the hills and whispered, “Head that way as fast as you can. Be careful. Don’t make any more noise than you have to. Watch out for each other and give a hand to whoever needs it. Keep movin’ no matter what you hear goin’ on back here.”

  The women and girls were clearly terrified, but they understood it was their only chance of escaping the awful fate planned for them. They moved off into the darkness in ones and twos as others continued to climb out of the wagon.

  When the first wagon was empty, Preacher and Mala moved on to the second one. No one seemed to have missed the guards Preacher had killed. There hadn’t been any uproar yet. Preacher cut the canvas loose, then whispered, “Let’s get these other women out.”

  The second part of the rescue operation went off without a hitch. When all the women were out and moving up the hill through the trees, Preacher said to Mala, “All right, you’ll have to look after ’em now. It’ll be light soon, so you ought to be able to find your way into the foothills. Keep an eye out for that canyon Crazy Bear and I were talking about. That’s where we’ll rendezvous with you in a little while.”

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked.

  “Improve the odds as much as I can,” Preacher said. “Get goin’.”

  “Preacher…”

  “No time,” he said as he glanced at the lightening sky. “Go!”

  Mala went, hurrying up the wooded slope after the others. Preacher waited until she was out of sight, then he turned to face the camp. He sure as hell hoped Crazy Bear was ready to stampede those horses.

  Preacher pulled both the Dragoon Colts from behind his belt, looped his thumbs over the hammers, stepped out from behind the wagons, threw back his head, and let out a scream that sounded just like the cry of a blood-crazed panther.

  Chapter 9

  Men leaped to their feet, outlaws and Sioux warriors alike, shouting curses and confused questions. A few were so drunk they continued to snore, even with all the racket going on. Most of those on their feet were disoriented from the whiskey they’d consumed and from being jolted out of sleep.

  Before anyone could do much more than look around bleary-eyed, the shrill cry of another panther ripped through the night. It came from a different direction and was followed instantly by a rumble like thunder.

  Crazy Bear had slipped among the white men’s horses and the Sioux ponies and removed their pickets and hobbles. Spooked by the animal-like cries, the herd bolted just as Preacher planned. The horses charged through the camp, pounding their hooves on the ground, trampling anything in their way. Men screamed as they were caught in the stampede and knocked down. Hooves slashed and hammered at them, breaking bones and pulping flesh.

  Lupton and Red Moccasins leaped aside, barely avoiding the charge. Others scattered and got out of the way, too. Preacher was ready for them. The guns in his hands roared as he thumbed off shot after shot, firing with both hands. Each time flame gouted from the muzzle of a Colt, either an outlaw or a warrior fell, downed by a .44 caliber ball. Preacher tried for head shots, the hardest to make but the most effective. No man was going to get up after one of those .44s bored through his brain and exploded out the other side of his skull.

  Preacher emptied both guns, killing eight men with ten shots in approximately six seconds. One man had a shattered shoulder and was out of the fight. He would most likely bleed to death. Another man writhed on the ground and tried to howl in agony, but Preacher’s shot had broken his jaw and torn half of it away. All he could do was make a pathetic, bubbling moan.

  There was no time to reload. Preacher jammed the Colts behind his belt and drew his knife. As he sprang forward, he snatched up a tomahawk that had been dropped by one of the trampled Sioux warriors. With the knife in his right hand and the ’hawk in his left, he plunged among the stunned survivors and slashed back and forth. Blood spurted and bone cracked as he laid into them.

  Preacher wished Dog could have been there. The big, wolf-like cur had loved a good fight. His shaggy shape would have been tearing through the enemy, sharp teeth flashing as he ripped out throats.

  That wasn’t to be. Preacher had to handle the killing himself. Gore splattered both arms to the elbows as he wreaked havoc among the outlaws and the Sioux.

  He heard a deep, powerful voice chanting and knew that Crazy Bear had arrived and was singing a death song. Whether it would be death for Crazy Bear or just for his enemies didn’t really matter. Many spirits had already departed the realm, and more were on their way.

  Preacher spotted the giant Crow and hacked his way toward him. Several bodies were scattered around Crazy Bear’s feet, the heads twisted at unnatural angles on the necks. As Preacher reached his side, Crazy Bear grabbed two more men and slammed their heads together with such force their skulls split wide open like melons. Crazy Bear tossed the corpses aside.

  Shots began to roar. Preacher heard the hum of a lead ball pass his ear. Some of the men had taken cover behind the empty wagons and were shooting from there. The campfire was out having been scattered to glowing embers by the stampeding horses. Nobody could see very well.

  “Come on!” Preacher said. “Let’s go!”

  “There are more to kill!” Crazy Bear protested.

  “You’ll get your chance later, I reckon!”

  The gunmen were just as likely to hit their own allies as they were Preacher and Crazy Bear, even more so after the mountain man and the Crow chief turned and ran deeper into the darkness, away from the camp.

  Preacher let his instincts guide him. He nearly always knew where he was and which direction he needed to go. Within moments, he and Crazy Bear reached the timber on the slope and began to climb above the camp. A lot of futile shooting and yelling still went on below.

  “It will not take them long to discover we are gone,” Crazy Bear said. “Then they will come after us.”

  “Yeah, but there ain’t nigh as many of ’em as there was a while ago,” Preacher said. “I reckon we wiped out more’n half of ’em.”

  Even so, he knew they were still outnumbered. The survivors wouldn’t let them get away with what they had done. Dawn was less than an hour away. Once it was light enough, the men would come looking for them.

  Preacher hoped he could have a warm welcome waiting for them when they did.

  They were about a mile away from the camp when Mala suddenly stepped out from some brush and motioned to them. “Preacher!” she called softly. “Crazy Bear! Over here!”

  They veered toward her. As they came up to the gypsy woman, Preacher asked, “Are the others all right?”

  Mala nodded. “A few tripped and turned their ankles or scratched themselves on the brush while they were running in the dark, and a few are still in bad shape from what happened to them earlier, but we can all move quickly if we need to.”

  “Did you find that canyon I told you about?”

  Mala turned and pointed toward the Big Horns. Although the sun was still below the horizon, the first reddish-gold rays of the new day were starting to touch the mountaintops. There was enough ligh
t to see the black mouth of the canyon about a hundred yards away.

  “Is that the one you mean?”

  “Yeah,” Preacher said. “Are the others hidden inside it?”

  “Yes. I stayed out here to wait for you and Crazy Bear.”

  It hadn’t been necessary for her to do that, but Preacher didn’t say anything except, “All right, you can head back there now.” He added in Crow, “Crazy Bear, you go with her.”

  Crazy Bear nodded, but as Preacher started off in a different direction, Mala said, “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “I need to get our horses,” Preacher explained. “There’s not much time. We’re liable to need the ammunition that’s on my pack horse.”

  “Then Crazy Bear should go with you, to help you.”

  Preacher shook his head. “Nope, I’d rather he stayed here with you ladies. If anything happens to me, he’ll get you out of this mess.”

  “But I cannot even talk to him!”

  “He savvies a few words of English. I reckon you can make him understand if you work at it. Anyway, I won’t be gone long.”

  Without looking back, Preacher loped off in the direction of where he and Crazy Bear had left their horses the night before. He didn’t see any sign of the enemy as he moved swiftly through the timber. It took him only fifteen minutes to find the horses, which were right where they’d been left. He moved slowly as he led the animals back toward the canyon, making as little noise as possible. He didn’t want to increase the odds of drawing unwanted attention.

  A little less than an hour after leaving Crazy Bear and Mala, he reached the canyon. He made a bird call, knowing that Crazy Bear would recognize it. An answering signal came back indicating that everything was all right and Preacher should come ahead.

  The mouth of the canyon was narrow—about fifty feet wide—and its sides were sheer. It opened up a little as he went deeper into it, until the walls were a hundred yards apart. The canyon penetrated about a quarter mile into the mountainside before it took a sharp turn and ended abruptly against a rock wall. The floor of the canyon was littered with rocks and brush and scrubby trees, which provided cover for anyone trying to defend it.

  The women and girls were gathered just around the bend. Crazy Bear and Mala came out to meet Preacher.

  “Any trouble?” the mountain man asked.

  Crazy Bear shook his head. “The men who are left have not found us yet, but they will. These women gave no thought to concealing their trail.”

  “Don’t reckon most of ’em would know how to, even if they’d thought about it,” Preacher said. “That’s all right. Let those sons o’ bitches follow us. We’ll be ready for ’em when they get here.”

  “What do you plan to do?”

  The sun flooded the canyon with light as Preacher pointed up to a narrow ledge that ran along one wall all the way to the canyon mouth, ending at a tall, narrow spire of rock. “I’m gonna climb up there and be waitin’ for ’em when they come chargin’ in. You and Mala will be down here with rifles, puttin’ up just enough of a fight so they’ll think you and I are both trapped in here with the women. As soon as they’re right under me, I’m gonna drop that tall rock on ’em. The ones it don’t get, I’ll introduce to Mr. Samuel Colt.” He patted the butts of the two Dragoons.

  Crazy Bear thought for a moment, then nodded. “This plan might work. But how will you budge that rock?”

  “I figure I can snap it off at the base if I get my feet on it and my back against the canyon wall.”

  “I hope so. I am not sure we can kill all of them otherwise.”

  “We’ll kill as many as we have to,” Preacher said.

  Mala looked puzzled and was starting to look impatient. Preacher explained the plan to her in English. As soon as she heard it, she shook her head.

  “What’s wrong?” Preacher asked.

  “You cannot move that rock by yourself. It’s mad!”

  “I don’t see any other way to do it.”

  “You and Crazy Bear both go up there,” she suggested.

  “I need Crazy Bear down here to handle one of the rifles. I’m countin’ on you to use the other one.”

  Mala turned and pointed to the women. “One of them can use the other rifle. I’m sure that someone among them can fire a gun.”

  Preacher rubbed his jaw. “Well, it’d be easier with both of us up there, I reckon—”

  “Wait here,” Mala interrupted. She went to talk to the women.

  Crazy Bear said, “She likes to give orders.”

  “You understood what she said?”

  The Crow chief smiled. “No, but I know when a woman is telling a man what to do.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I guess,” Preacher muttered. He had seen the open admiration in the eyes of Crazy Bear and Mala as they looked at each other, and he thought it was a good thing. Evidently she didn’t care that the big galoot was ugly as sin. But if it was going to amount to anything, they all had to get out of there safely first.

  Mala returned with a middle-aged woman who had a weathered face and strands of gray in her brown hair. “This is Mrs. Harris,” Mala said. “She can shoot a rifle.”

  “I was raised on a farm in Ohio,” the woman said. “I could knock a squirrel out of a tree at fifty yards by the time I was ten years old.”

  Preacher grinned. “I don’t doubt it a bit, ma’am.” He got Crazy Bear’s flintlock from where it was slung on the back of the chief’s pony and handed it to her, along with powder horn and shot pouch. “There you go.”

  He gave Mala his rifle and ammunition, then reloaded his Colts and stuffed his pockets full of caps, balls, and powder charges. Crazy Bear slung a bow and a quiver of arrows on his back. The two of them waited until Mala and Mrs. Harris had taken positions behind some rocks where they could cover the canyon mouth, then Preacher and Crazy Bear began to climb the rugged wall that formed the back end of the canyon.

  It wasn’t an easy ascent, and became harder when they reached the level of the ledge. They moved sideways along the canyon wall toward the ledge, searching out handholds and footholds that sometimes were nothing more than narrow cracks in the rock. Preacher wondered if Crazy Bear’s fingers would support the weight of his massive body, but somehow Crazy Bear managed to cling to the rock and keep moving.

  Preacher reached the ledge first. After hauling himself onto the ledge he stretched out a hand to grasp Crazy Bear’s wrist and pulled the chief onto it. When they both had solid rock under their feet again, they worked their way along the ledge toward the canyon mouth and the rock spire.

  Once there, they hid behind the towering rock and waited. The sun was high enough to heat up the ledge and sweat trickled down Preacher’s face and back.

  They didn’t have to wait very long. Preacher spotted movement on the hillside below the canyon and silently pointed it out to Crazy Bear. The chief nodded. Men were working their way through the trees. He and Preacher crouched lower and didn’t move again.

  With eyes narrowed against the sun’s glare, Preacher recognized Clint Mayhew, one of his brothers, the outlaw called Lupton, and Red Moccasins. The four of them were accompanied by four more outlaws and half a dozen of Red Moccasins’ warriors. Fourteen in all, Preacher thought as a grim smile touched his lips. The stampede and the battle the night before had wiped out more of the enemy than he had realized.

  When the men were hidden behind trees close to the canyon mouth, Red Moccasins called sharply to two of his warriors. They hurried forward, carrying flintlock rifles, and started through the opening.

  A rifle cracked from inside the canyon, and one of the warriors stumbled and clutched at his side. That was good shooting, Preacher thought. A second shot roared, but that bullet whined off harmlessly.

  “Go!” Lupton shouted. “Get in there before they can reload!”

  The men sprang out of cover and charged toward the canyon opening, confident they could overwhelm the defenders.

  It was time to spring the trap.


  Chapter 10

  Preacher and Crazy Bear lodged their backs against the stone wall and lifted their feet so they were braced against the rock spire. They put all their muscles into the task of toppling the rock.

  As Preacher felt how unbudging the rock was, he knew he never could have broken it off by himself. Mala had been right. With Crazy Bear’s incredible strength coming into play, they at least had a chance. Grunting with the effort, the two men continued to push, pitting their strength against the timeless majesty of the rock.

  Down below, the howling warriors were almost at the canyon mouth. Right behind them came Lupton, Mayhew, and the other white killers.

  Preacher heard a crack and felt the rock shift slightly under his feet. That inspired him to even greater efforts. Although he didn’t have the immense strength of Crazy Bear, his rangy form packed plenty of power. Together, the two men pushed against the rock…

  And suddenly the spire was gone.

  Like a tree toppling in the forest, it fell away from them, causing both of them to drop to the ledge. Preacher grabbed hold quickly to keep from falling off. Beside him, Crazy Bear scrambled for purchase as well.

  Below them, the rock spire slammed down in the canyon mouth with a huge crash. Preacher heard snatches of several men screaming before the thunderous roar drowned them out. A cloud of dust billowed into the air as he made it back to his feet and reached down to help Crazy Bear rise as well.

  Preacher drew his Colts and waited for the morning breeze to carry the dust away. He saw that the spire had shattered into a thousand pieces when it landed. Men stumbled around the debris in a daze, and as the echoes of the crash rolled across the hills, he heard screams again. Some of the attackers had been caught under the falling rock, just as he’d hoped.

  He began firing methodically at the men still on their feet. Beside him, Crazy Bear had the sturdy bow in his hands and sent arrows whistling down into the canyon mouth. Preacher knew it took a lot of strength to pull it, the sort of strength only Crazy Bear possessed. The arrows went all the way through a man to the fletching, the head and nearly a foot of shaft standing out on the other side of the man’s body.