“See for yourself,” St. John invited. “You’re welcome to load and fire it.”
Manning looked at Deaver, who thought about it for a second and then nodded. Manning used his own powderhorn and a ball from his shot pouch to charge the rifle.
When it was ready to fire, Manning lifted it to his shoulder. He hesitated, then swung the barrel around swiftly until it was lined on St. John’s chest.
“How about I see just how well it works on a real target?” he asked with a savage grin.
Odell St. John didn’t seem worried.
“If you did, you’d be dead a split-second later yourself,” he said coolly. “Brutus is standing behind you with an axe in his hands. It would be interesting to see how far your head flies after he cleaves it off your shoulders.”
“Stop it, you crazy bastards,” Deaver grated angrily. “Caleb, point that thing somewhere else. St. John, tell your man to back off.”
St. John made a languid motion as Manning lowered the flintlock.
“Sorry,” Manning muttered. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I was just havin’ some sport.”
“Give me that,” Deaver snapped. He took the rifle out of Manning’s hands, turned, and aimed at a tree branch on the other side of the creek. The tree was a good fifty yards from him. He drew in a breath, held it, and squeezed the trigger.
The rifle boomed, and the branch at which Deaver had aimed went flying, cut off cleanly. Deaver squinted as the powdersmoke stung his eyes a little.
He gave the rifle back to St. John and said, “It shoots true, all right. And the rest are all the same?”
“One hundred rifles, brand-new, just as we agreed six months ago in St. Louis,” the Englishman said. “And here’s the really intriguing bit … I can lay my hands on more of them, if you like. As many as you want.”
That offer convinced Deaver more than ever that St. John was lying about stealing those rifles. The man was working for the British government. The English had been carrying a real grudge ever since ol’ George Washington and his friends had booted them out more than fifty years earlier.
They had raised hell in the former colonies on numerous occasions since then, sometimes openly, like back in 1812, but often in secret. More than once they had tried to disrupt the fur trapping business and make things hot enough on the frontier that the Americans would pull back.
Deaver figured this was just more of the same. St. John had to know these guns would wind up in the hands of the Indians. That was exactly what the Englishman wanted.
“Well,” St. John went on, “do we have a deal?”
“I want to take a look at every gun,” Deaver said. “You’ve got powder and shot, too?”
St. John looked a little annoyed, but he forced a smile onto his face and nodded.
“Of course. And you’re welcome to examine the merchandise. Actually, I’ve thrown in some extras: two dozen jugs of whiskey for our coppery-hued friends.”
Deaver couldn’t help but chuckle when he thought about how much havoc a bunch of liquored-up redskins with brand-new rifles could wreak. There wouldn’t be a fur trapper between here and halfway to Bent’s Fort who was safe. It could turn into a bloodbath, all right.
But it would put plenty of money in his pockets, or at least it would once he sold all the furs that the Indians would trade him for these guns.
“If everything is the way you say it is, St. John, then yeah, you’ve got a deal.”
The Englishman grinned at him, took the open jug away from one of the other men, and lifted it.
“Then here’s to a long and prosperous partnership, my friend!”
CHAPTER 9
The first few days in the village of the Assiniboine passed pleasantly for Preacher and his companions. Bent Leg gave them an empty lodge to use, although it was understood that the men would probably wind up spending the winter with some of the unattached female members of the band in their lodges.
Preacher was in no hurry to do that, although Lorenzo soon made the acquaintance of a plump, middle-aged widow and began talking about moving in with her.
“Of course, I don’t understand a word the gal is sayin’, but she’s right friendly and I figure we can get to where we communicate all right in other ways, if you know what I mean. And I think you do,” Lorenzo said. “Besides, a fine figure of a woman like that is bound to be a good cook, and Lord knows she could keep a man from freezin’ to death on them cold, cold nights.”
“What’s her name?” Preacher asked dryly as they sat beside the fire in the lodge they were sharing for the moment.
“Name?” Lorenzo repeated. “I don’t know her name, exactly. I’ve taken to callin’ her Honey Gal, and she seems to answer to it all right.”
“You seem to have everything settled,” Audie said. “I’m glad for you, my friend.”
“What about you?” Lorenzo asked. “I’ve noticed that several of these ladies been flockin’ around you since we been here.”
“Audie’s got a reputation,” Preacher drawled. “Reckon those gals are curious if it’s true.”
“Reputation? What sorta reputation?”
“Well, you know how they call him Little Man?”
Lorenzo nodded.
“Yeah?”
“Let’s just say that in one particular respect that name don’t fit him at all.”
“I don’t quite get what you’re— Wait just a doggone minute. Are you sayin’ that … well, that he … I mean …”
Audie smiled across the fire and said, “The word you’re looking for is prodigious.”
Lorenzo held his hands up quickly.
“No, sirree, I ain’t lookin’ for nothin’, and you can be mighty sure about that!”
The corners of Nighthawk’s mouth moved about an eighth of an inch, Preacher noted. That was as close as the Crow ever came to a grin.
The next day, Lorenzo moved in with the widow he called Honey Gal. Audie, being fluent in the Assiniboine tongue, didn’t have to guess the name of the woman he chose to warm his blankets for the winter. She was called Wildflower, and she was pretty enough to deserve the name. Nighthawk paired up with a widow named Otter’s Pelt who was just about as quiet as he was. If they didn’t go loco from the silence, they would probably have a pretty good winter together, Preacher thought.
That left him alone in the lodge Bent Leg had given them, except for Dog.
He had seen Raven’s Wing around the village a few times since they’d been here, but he hadn’t spoken to her. Sometimes the warrior Two Bears was with her, and sometimes she was with the other women. The mountain man was surprised but pleased when the deerhide flap over the lodge’s entrance was pulled back and he looked up to see Raven standing there.
“Preacher,” she greeted him. “You are well?”
He got to his feet and nodded.
“Yes’m, I reckon I’m fine. How about you?”
“It has been good to be back, after being captured by Snake Heart’s warriors.”
Preacher frowned slightly.
“I’ve heard mention of this fella Snake Heart. Gros Ventre war chief, ain’t he?”
“That’s right. He has risen to power among them in recent years by leading successful raids against the Assiniboine and other tribes. His war parties have captured many horses, many prisoners. And he has killed many of his enemies. Some say he would rather kill than capture.”
“But he didn’t come along on this latest raid.”
Raven shook her head.
“No. And for that I count myself lucky. You might not have prevailed against him, Preacher.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Preacher said.
“But in this case, it would have been my life you were wagering with, as well as your own,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, you got a point there,” he admitted. He gestured toward the bearskin robe spread on the ground. “You want to sit for a spell?”
She thought it over, but not for long. She sank gracefully onto the
robe with her legs tucked under her. Preacher sat cross-legged nearby, close but not improperly so. Dog lay on the other side of the lodge, his chin resting on his paws as he watched them.
“You have not found a woman with whom to spend the winter,” Raven said.
“Not yet. But I ain’t been in any big hurry.”
“Your friends have all moved in with others.”
“Yep. I’m glad for ’em. But that’s them, not me.”
Raven smiled.
“You do not want a woman?”
“I never said that.” Preacher tried to steer the conversation in another direction. “How’s ol’ Two Bears doin’?”
She frowned.
“Why would you ask me?”
“Well, I’ve seen the two of you spendin’ time together, and I figured—”
“Perhaps you figured incorrectly,” Raven said.
“Maybe so.”
“Two Bears is my friend, and as far as I know he is well. I have not spoken to him for several days.”
Preacher nodded slowly.
“All right. I got the feelin’ from the way he acted that it was more than that. He was the one who persuaded Chief Bent Leg to send men after you when the Gros Ventre carried you off.”
“And I am grateful for that,” Raven said. “But as for it being anything more … I cannot control what is in Two Bears’ heart, any more than I can control what is in … mine.”
She gave him a frank look, and it would have been pretty hard not to see what she meant by it. Preacher saw, all right, and under different circumstances he probably would have welcomed it.
It was true that he was considerably older than her, but she was a woman full-growed and perfectly capable of making her own decisions. She was smart and pretty and would be a pleasure to spend time with, in more ways than one.
But if he moved into her lodge, or if she moved into this one with him, there might be trouble with Two Bears. Whether it was true or not, the warrior thought he had staked a claim, and he wouldn’t appreciate some other fella moving in on it.
Preacher wanted to spend the whole winter here with Bent Leg’s people, and that wouldn’t be easy if one of the band’s leading warriors had a grudge against him.
“Raven, I appreciate that,” he told her, “but I ain’t so sure it’d be a good idea.”
“You do not find me comely?”
Dang it, he’d insulted her, he thought. He had worried about that, too.
“You know good and well I do. Any man’d have to be plumb blind and a tarnal idjit on top of it not to find you comely, Raven’s Wing. But I came to your village to spend a nice peaceful winter, not to have a fight on my hands.”
“You are afraid of Two Bears?”
“Not hardly,” Preacher answered honestly. He wasn’t really afraid of any man. “But I respect him,” he went on, which was also the truth. “I don’t want to have trouble with him, and I don’t want your uncle havin’ to deal with problems like that.”
“What about what I want? What about what you want in your heart?”
“It ain’t just me I’ve got to consider,” he tried to explain to her. “If I had to leave this village, then my friends would probably have to go, too. They’re happy here. I don’t have any right to ruin that for them.”
“I thought you had more courage,” she said, giving him a scornful look.
He shrugged.
“You can think whatever you want. I still got to do what I believe is best.”
Raven got to her feet. Preacher followed suit.
“I am sorry you feel the way you do.”
“Believe me, Raven’s Wing,” he said, “you ain’t any sorrier about it than I am.”
Saying that was a mistake, he saw as soon as the words were out of his mouth. They gave her hope that she could still change his mind. He could tell by the way her eyes lit up, even though she was still a mite angry with him.
He was going to say something else to try to disabuse her of the notion, but before he could, she moved with swift grace to push the entrance flap aside and step out of the lodge. Preacher stepped out of the dwelling as well and watched her walk away.
She didn’t look back.
Feeling eyes on him, he glanced to his right. Two Bears stood about fifty feet away.
There was no way the warrior could have missed Raven’s Wing leaving Preacher’s lodge. Judging by the scowl on Two Bears’ face, he had jumped to the wrong conclusion.
Preacher muttered a curse. It wouldn’t do any good to go over there and try to explain things to Two Bears. If he did, likely it would just make things worse. Maybe when Preacher and Raven’s Wing didn’t move in together for the winter, Two Bears would figure out that he was wrong about things.
Preacher hoped so, anyway.
The next day the sky was overcast, the sort of gunmetal-gray sky that presaged a winter storm. The snow was probably still a few days away, but it was out there and it would arrive relatively soon. Preacher was resigned now to spending a chilly winter by himself. If he invited another woman to share his blankets after refusing Raven’s Wing, she would just be more insulted.
He sat cross-legged outside the lodge with Lorenzo, Audie, and Nighthawk.
“I was thinkin’ that we might ought to go huntin’ tomorrow or the next day,” Preacher said. “Probably be a good idea to lay in a supply of fresh meat before the storm blows in. We’re liable to be stuck here for a while.”
“All the ice from that other storm melted off pretty quick,” Lorenzo pointed out.
Preacher shook his head.
“The storm that’s comin’ won’t be like that. This’ll be snow, not ice, and it’s liable to dump a couple of feet on us. It’ll take a good while for it to melt off, too.”
“Of course, we can still get around even after it snows,” Audie put in, “but it’ll be more difficult. If we have plenty of food, though, we won’t need to. We can just hole up in our lodges until the weather is better.”
“Bein’ stuck inside with Honey Gal for a week or so don’t sound so bad,” Lorenzo said. “I reckon we could find plenty o’ ways to pass the time.”
Audie smiled.
“Yes, there’s nothing like cold weather to bring out the friskiness in a woman.”
“Umm,” Nighthawk said.
“I reckon that means the three of y’all are gettin’ along all right with your gals?” Preacher said.
“Fine and dandy,” Lorenzo replied. “I’m even startin’ to pick up some of the lingo. For instance, I know how to say—”
What Lorenzo had learned how to say went unspoken as a commotion erupted on the other side of the village. Preacher looked up as he heard the sound of excited voices.
“We’d better find out what that’s all about,” he suggested as he got to his feet.
The four men walked across the village to find Chief Bent Leg, Two Bears, and a number of the other warriors gathered around a young man. The youngster’s face was bloody from a cut on his forehead. He was in obvious pain as he talked in a halting voice.
“What’s goin’ on?” Lorenzo asked quietly as he leaned close to Preacher.
“More trouble,” the mountain man replied. “The Gros Ventre are back.”
CHAPTER 10
Preacher kept up a low-voiced, running translation for Lorenzo’s benefit.
“That young fella and some of his friends had the same idea we did. They went out huntin’ to lay in a supply of fresh meat. But while they were over toward the western side of the valley, some Gros Ventre jumped them. They killed a couple of the Assiniboine boys and captured the rest. This younker is the only one who got away, and he got walloped in the head by a glancin’ blow from a tomahawk before he could manage to.”
“What are they gonna do with the prisoners?” Lorenzo asked. “Makes slaves out of ’em?”
“They make slaves out of women and kids,” Preacher replied grimly. “The warriors they captured today may be young, but they’re old enough t
o provide some entertainment for the rest of the band once the Gros Ventre get back with ’em.”
Lorenzo’s eyes widened as he said, “You mean they’re gonna torture ’em?”
Preacher shook his head.
“The Gros Ventre ain’t big on torture. Not like, say, the Comanch’ down in Texas. But they’re cousins to the Blackfeet, so they got plenty of meanness in ’em. Likely they’ll kill those prisoners by burnin’ ’em at the stake, just like the Blackfeet planned to do to me once.”
“You was gonna be burned at the stake?”
Audie said, “I’ll tell you the story sometime, Lorenzo, if Preacher doesn’t want to. Right now, though, there are more pressing concerns.”
“That’s right,” Preacher said. “I reckon Bent Leg will send some of his warriors after those varmints to try to rescue the boys who got grabbed, and I think we ought to go with ’em.”
“Volunteer to help, you mean?” Lorenzo asked.
“They’re lettin’ us spend the winter with them. That makes us part of the band as long as we’re here, to my way of thinkin’.”
“I ain’t disagreein’ with you,” Lorenzo said. “I was just makin’ sure what was goin’ on, that’s all.”
Preacher looked over at him.
“Might be a good idea for you to stay here. We’ll be movin’ fast.”
“And you think I’m too old to keep up, is that it?” Lorenzo asked, puffing up a little in anger. “Think I’m just some feeble ol’ codger who can’t take care of hisself in a fight? Hell’s fire, Preacher, you oughta know better’n that!”
“That ain’t what I said at all,” Preacher replied … although the sentiments expressed by Lorenzo were exactly what he had been thinking. “I just figured it’d be a good idea for one of us to stay here and keep an eye on things in the village. This whole thing could be a trick. If there’s one bunch of Gros Ventre raiders in the valley, there could be another.”
“A trick, eh?” Lorenzo repeated. “Like the first bunch wanted to lure most of the warriors away from the village, and then the second bunch could swoop in and raid the place?”
“Exactly,” Preacher said. He didn’t really believe that was the case, but now that Lorenzo had put it into words, it was sort of a worrisome possibility, Preacher thought.
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