Preacher's Hell Storm

by William W. Johnstone

  Buckley said, “I take it this is a council of war, Preacher?”

  “Reckon you could call it that,” the mountain man replied. “Here’s what I’m thinkin’. Tomorrow mornin’ we’ll pull back farther into the badlands, makin’ sure to leave enough sign so Tall Bull can follow us without it bein’ too obvious we’re leadin’ him on. Now, this is the important part for you two fellas. We’re gonna be on the lookout for someplace where we can draw ’em in and then bottle ’em up from behind. That’ll be your job. You block their retreat, and we’ll have ’em trapped between us.”

  “We can do that, can’t we, Charlie?” Buckley said, nodding.

  “Sure,” Todd replied, but he didn’t sound as confident about it as his friend did.

  In English, Hawk asked, “What do we do when Tall Bull and his men are all dead?”

  “Then it’s over,” Preacher said. “Leastways, it is for me. I came out here after beaver plews, and I intend to get some. So did Aaron and Charlie, but they lost their outfits.” He turned his head to look at the two young white men. “There’s a tradin’ post southwest o’ here. Take about a week to get there. If you want, I’ll take you there. The fella who runs it might be willin’ to stake you to new outfits in return for a share of whatever you make.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Preacher,” Buckley said. “It sounds like the best course of action for us.”

  Todd nodded. “We’d be obliged to you if you did that, Preacher.”

  The mountain man looked at Hawk and asked, “How about you? You and White Buffalo’d be welcome to come along, too.”

  “You seem to think we will all live through this battle,” Hawk said.

  “I don’t see no reason to think otherwise.”

  Hawk scowled. It was a familiar expression, even though Preacher hadn’t seen it as much lately.

  “The rest of the Blackfeet will still live.”

  “We’ve talked about this,” Preacher said. “I’ll be damned if I help massacre a whole village. I wouldn’t be no better ’n Tall Bull if I did that.”

  “You will regret leaving them alive.”

  “Maybe . . . but even if I do regret it one of these days, I’ll sleep a whole hell of a lot better between now and then.”

  Hawk sighed. “You are right. White Buffalo will not like it. He has so much hate in his heart he would see all the Blackfeet dead. But alone there is nothing he can do.”

  “You ain’t said whether or not you’re gonna go with me and Aaron and Charlie.”

  “What else is left?” Hawk asked. “White Buffalo and I are the last of our band of Absaroka. We will travel with you to the trading post, and from there . . . I do not know.”

  “Fair enough,” Preacher said. “Let’s get some sleep. I don’t reckon there’s much chance o’ Tall Bull showin’ up tonight, but just in case, we’d best have some guards.”

  “Charlie and I can do that,” Buckley said. “You and Hawk have done your share for now. Let us handle it. You can trust us.”

  “You know,” Preacher said, nodding slowly, “I reckon I can.”

  * * *

  When the sun came up the next morning, Preacher was sprawled atop one of the big rocks he had dubbed the Gates of Hell. Behind him, a mile back in the badlands, Hawk and the others would be breaking camp and heading farther west into the broken land. Hawk would make sure Preacher could follow their trail.

  Preacher’s gaze was turned toward the lake, which was a dark blue smudge among the trees in the distance. He watched patiently, waiting for the inevitable pursuit.

  When he spotted movement, he concentrated on it until he was able to make out the group of men striding toward him, led by a tall figure that had to be the Blackfoot war chief. The warriors were too far away to make an exact count, but he could tell there had to be fewer than two dozen.

  Given what he had learned the day before, he knew he had finally accomplished his goal. Tall Bull was leading all of his remaining warriors on the trail of their enemies. However it turned out, it would be the final showdown with the Blackfeet. The only ones to leave the badlands would be the victors.

  Or the survivors, depending on how you wanted to look at it.

  Preacher slid down from the rock and grinned at Dog waiting on the ground behind it. “Come on. Let’s go find the others and get this over with.”

  CHAPTER 39

  To Preacher’s experienced eye, the trail leading to the mesa where he and his companions had camped the night before was plain to see. Maybe not as plain as a line on a map, but he knew the Blackfeet would be able to follow it without a lot of effort.

  Setting out from the mesa to penetrate deeper into the broken land, he saw overturned pebbles, faint scrapes on rocks, even the occasional scuffed footprint. Those were the kinds of marks inexperienced frontiersmen like Buckley and Todd might leave anyway, but Preacher knew Hawk was making sure the Blackfeet would have sign to follow.

  The trail led him to a ridge with a trail zigzagging up its face. As Preacher climbed, he spotted a head peeking out from behind a rock on top of the ridge, near the head of the trail. “Howdy, Charlie,” he called.

  “Blast it,” Todd said as he stepped out into the open. “I was trying to be stealthy.”

  “You’ll have to try a mite harder,” Preacher said when he reached the top of the trail. “Start by takin’ your hat off when you’re tryin’ to sneak a look around somethin’. Don’t make any jerky movements, neither. That’ll draw the eye quicker ’n just about anything. Whatever you do, keep it smooth.”

  Todd sighed and nodded. “I’ll try to remember that for next time.”

  “If you don’t, the enemy’s liable to remind you. Of course, you won’t like the reminder.”

  Todd let out a nervous laugh.

  “Where are the rest of the bunch?” Preacher asked.

  “Aaron and White Buffalo are in a gully on the other side of this ridge with Horse and the mule. Hawk said he was going to scout on ahead. I guess you saw Tall Bull and his warriors, or you wouldn’t be back yet.”

  The mountain man nodded. “They’re on their way. Best I could tell, it’s the whole lot of ’em, too, which is just what we wanted.”

  “So . . . bad odds.”

  “It’s what we need to finish this, Charlie.”

  The two of them went to join the others. Again Preacher took note of the tracks they had left and nodded in approval. Following the trail would be just enough of a challenge to convince Tall Bull he wasn’t being led into a trap . . . Preacher hoped.

  By the time they reached the gully where Buckley and White Buffalo were waiting, Hawk had returned, as well.

  “There is a canyon about two miles from here that will serve our purpose,” the young warrior reported. “It is narrow with cliffs on both sides stretching as far as the eye can see, so the canyon is the only way through that tableland. Not far inside the mouth of the canyon on both sides are ledges where brush grows, so Aaron and Charlie will be able to hide there while Tall Bull and his men go past. Preacher, you and I will wait ahead of them, around a bend in the canyon. Once a stream flowed there, so it twists like a snake. When we open fire on them, Aaron and Charlie can shoot any who try to flee.”

  Preacher nodded. “Sounds like you put some thought into it. But you know Tall Bull and his men. Most of ’em ain’t likely to turn tail and run. Fact is, there’s a good chance they’ll try to stampede right over us. And since we’ll be outnumbered quite a bit . . .”

  “We will be ready for them. Once there were trees growing on the rim of the canyon. They have died and fallen, and several of them are in one place just above the spot where we will ambush the Blackfeet. White Buffalo can go on through the canyon and then double back with the horse and the mule. There is a trail he can follow. It will not be easy, but they can make it to the rim, and when the time comes White Buffalo can use the animals to push the deadfall off the edge and down onto the Blackfeet. That will kill some of the warriors and scatter th
e others.”

  “Damn, boy, you have been doin’ some plannin’,” Preacher said, clearly impressed. “Settin’ all this up is gonna take some work, though, and I figure Tall Bull and his bunch will be here about an hour from now, so we’d best get busy.”

  * * *

  Once they arrived at the canyon where the ambush would take place, Hawk went over White Buffalo’s part of the plan with the old-timer while Preacher showed Buckley and Todd the ledges where they would position themselves. Even though he hadn’t seen the place until then, all Preacher had to do was glance at the layout to know what needed to be done.

  “There’s just one problem,” Todd said as he tipped his head back to look up at the ledges about thirty feet above the ground. “How are we going to get up there?”

  “You’ll have to climb,” Preacher said.

  “Climb? But those walls are sheer!”

  “Not really. Not when you look close at ’em. See that rock stickin’ out?” Preacher pointed. “You can grab hold of that. And that little crack? You can get your toe in there. Just look for the kinds of places like that. The walls ain’t as straight up and down as they look. They’ve got a little slope to ’em. Not much, but you’d be surprised how much even a little bit can help when you’re climbin’.”

  Buckley looked nervous, too, but he said, “I’m willing to give it a try.”

  “Of course you are,” Todd said. “You’ve always been braver than me as well as smarter than me.”

  “You can do it, Charlie. I have faith in you.”

  “Those ledges aren’t very wide, either. And we’re supposed to hide behind those little bushes? The Indians will see us and fill us full of arrows!”

  “No, the brush is thick enough to hide you if you get down on your belly and don’t move or make any noise,” Preacher assured them.

  Todd sighed “I guess we can give it a try.”

  “The worst they can do is kill us,” Buckley told him.

  “If you’re trying to encourage me, Aaron, you’re failing.”

  Preacher rigged slings for them so they could carry their rifles over their shoulders while they climbed. Each young man picked a side of the canyon and started his ascent while Preacher watched and called out suggestions and encouragement to them.

  Buckley climbed fairly quickly, hauling himself up from handhold to foothold and vice versa. The more rotund Charlie Todd had a harder time of it, grunting and sweating as he struggled to lift himself along the slope. Buckley reached his ledge first and rolled over the rim onto it. He turned and called to Todd, “Come on, Charlie, you can do it.”

  Todd cast a despairing glance over his shoulder, but he kept climbing.

  Red-faced and puffing by the time he finally reached the ledge on his side of the canyon, he sat there for several moments, breathing heavily as he tried to recover, then abruptly he let out a groan.

  “What’s wrong?” Preacher asked.

  “I just realized something,” Todd said. “When this is all over, I have to climb down!”

  Preacher tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t hold back a soft chuckle. “You’ll do fine,” he told Todd. “You fellas get behind that brush, now. Hunker down good. Make sure your rifles are loaded, and don’t fire unless some o’ the Blackfeet try to get back past you.”

  “If none of them attempt to retreat, we won’t have anything to do,” Buckley said.

  “You can count yourselves lucky, then.” Preacher waved to the young men and then turned to trot up the canyon and rendezvous with Hawk.

  The canyon had a number of twists and turns, as Hawk had said, and as Preacher rounded one of them, he saw the young warrior coming toward him. Preacher stopped to wait and looked up at the rim to his left, having spotted the deadfall up there. The fallen trees were close to the rim. If White Buffalo could get Horse to cooperate, the stallion could knock the deadfall loose and send those logs plummeting into the canyon.

  Looked like the old-timer’s ability to talk to animals was going to come in handy, Preacher thought with a smile.

  “You are pleased?” Hawk asked as he came up to the mountain man.

  “You picked a good spot. If we have a little luck on our side to even the odds, I’d say we’ve got a chance against Tall Bull and his bunch.”

  “Whether I live or not, as long as Tall Bull dies, my mother and Little Pine will have been avenged. As for the rest of my people”—Hawk paused—“a man can do no more than to give up his life for a cause.”

  “That’s true enough, I reckon.” Preacher looked around. “This is where we’re gonna take ’em?”

  “It seems like a good place to me.”

  Preacher nodded. He had trusted Hawk with the responsibility of picking the spot for the ambush, knowing it might do him some good. On the other hand, Preacher wouldn’t go ahead with the attack unless he thought it stood a good chance of working.

  Strategically, that canyon was fine, he decided. They needed close quarters to have a chance, and there they could strike at the Blackfeet from three directions. The first few minutes of the battle would tell the story. They needed to kill enough of the warriors right away to be able to tackle on fairly even terms the ones who were left.

  Preacher looked at the sides of the canyon lined with rocks and scrub brush. He told Hawk, “Pick your spot and find some cover. They ought to be here before too much longer.”

  “Aaron and Charlie are in position?”

  “Yep. White Buffalo will be where he needs to be in time?”

  “He is already there,” Hawk said.

  Preacher looked up at the deadfall again. White Buffalo stood beside the logs. The old-timer raised one arm in a solemn gesture that Preacher returned with a wave and a grin.

  “Seems like we’re ready,” he said. “All we need now is some Blackfeet for the killin’.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Preacher positioned himself in a thicket of brush on one side of the canyon while Hawk stood behind a boulder across from him. The mountain man had taken the extra pistols from his saddlebags and loaded them. He checked the rifle and all four pistols to make sure they were ready to fire. Satisfied they were, he went down on one knee and waited for the Blackfoot warriors to arrive.

  “Preacher!” Hawk called across to him.

  Preacher frowned. They needed to be quiet. He wasn’t sure how close the Blackfeet were, and voices might echo and carry in the canyon. “What?”

  “Tall Bull is mine to kill.”

  Preacher’s frown deepened. He hadn’t told Hawk about it, but his plan had been to go ahead and put a rifle ball in the war chief’s head with his first shot. That went against what he had thought earlier, his desire to kill Tall Bull close-up and personal-like, but on reflection Preacher had decided it was the best thing to do. Killing their chief right away would dishearten the rest of the warriors. Preacher didn’t expect them to give up, but they might not fight quite as hard.

  “Preacher?” Hawk prodded him.

  Preacher thought about Bird in the Tree and Little Pine, and he jerked his head in a curt nod. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he knew what was in Hawk’s heart. The rage that burned there would never subside if Hawk didn’t get the chance to face the man responsible for the deaths of the two women he loved.

  Hawk returned the nod, then focused his attention on the nearest bend of the canyon. That was where the Blackfeet would appear.

  Some men found waiting for a fight worse than the battle itself, but Preacher never had. He possessed the ability to clear his thoughts and concentrate solely on the matter at hand. Once he was satisfied he had done everything he could to get ready for the trouble that was coming, he was content and able to wait in a cool, calm state.

  He felt that way as he waited, but when he looked across the canyon at his son, he could tell Hawk was nervous. A part of him wished there was something he could do to help, but that time had passed. The two of them weren’t father and son at the moment. They were fellow fighting
men.

  A few minutes later, Preacher’s instincts as much as his senses warned him the moment had come. He heard low-pitched voices approaching. They sounded like they were arguing.

  Maybe some of Tall Bull’s warriors didn’t cotton to the idea of following the trail into the canyon. Maybe they thought Tall Bull’s angry heart was getting the best of his brain.

  A lone Blackfoot warrior appeared. He wasn’t Tall Bull. Preacher figured the war chief had sent the man around the bend to scout what was up ahead in the canyon. The warrior looked nervous but determined as he stalked forward, bow and arrow held at the ready.

  Preacher held his fire and so did Hawk. Either of them could have killed the scout without any trouble, but to do so would have warned Tall Bull of the ambush. They waited. Not that patiently on Hawk’s part, maybe, but they waited.

  The warrior turned and called in the Blackfoot tongue, “There is nothing here.”

  The others came in sight, led by Tall Bull. It was the best look Preacher had gotten at the big war chief. The lines of brutal arrogance in his face were easy to see. He strode forward, holding his favorite weapon, the war club that had known the blood of many of his enemies. The necklace of buffalo horns draped across his chest rattled.

  Preacher glanced across the canyon at Hawk. He could see the eagerness that gripped the young warrior. With an arrow nocked and the bowstring drawn back halfway, it would take only a second for him to step out, line up his shot, and fire.

  Tall Bull let out an ugly laugh and turned his head to address the remaining warriors following closely behind him. “You see, our enemies still flee. They are too cowardly to stand and face us. They can only strike at night, when they have the cover of the shadows. One is a white man, one is an Absaroka, and both are craven dogs! Soon they will all be wiped out, and this land will belong only to the Blackfeet!”

  That was more boasting than Hawk could take. With the Blackfeet in range, the young warrior made his move. In little more than the blink of an eye, he stepped out and let fly with his arrow.