Preacher’s Fury

by Johnstone, William W.

“Indubitably,” Audie agreed. He hesitated. “Are we going to keep going with them, or pull out?”

  “I reckon you know the answer to that,” Preacher said.

  “Yes, I suspect that I do. Two Bears isn’t the only one around here who is proud and stubborn.”

  “Difference is, I don’t let it make me do damn fool things.”

  “Oh?” Audie asked with lifted eyebrows.

  Preacher had to chuckle.

  “We’re stayin’ with ’em,” he said. “And if they wind up in a heap of trouble, we’ll do our best to pull ’em out of it.”

  “In other words, business as usual.”

  “Call it what you want.” Preacher narrowed his eyes as he looked up at the notch. It was close now, because the war party had been climbing for a while, but the light would be gone in another half-hour, maybe less.

  They pushed on, and soon it was dark enough that Preacher could barely make out the man riding in front of him. He checked the pistols tucked behind his belt to make sure they wouldn’t hang up if he had to unlimber them in a hurry. The pistols in the saddle holsters were loaded and charged, too, as was his rifle. All he had to do was cock and fire.

  As the war party reached the gap, the two sections of the ridge loomed above them, visible as dark, hulking shapes even in the thick shadows. Earlier, Dog had roamed away from the war party, but now that it was dark the big cur padded along in his customary place right beside Preacher. A low growl rumbled deep in Dog’s throat as the riders started through the opening.

  A shiver of apprehension rippled along Preacher’s spine. Dog’s instincts told him this was a bad idea, too. Preacher guided Horse with his knees and lifted the flintlock in both hands, looping his right thumb over the hammer so he would be ready to pull it back in a hurry if he needed to.

  The war party kept moving, with Two Bears in the lead and Preacher, Audie, and Nighthawk riding together about the middle of the pack. The thud of hoofbeats echoed back from the walls of the gap. Preacher’s head tilted back a little and swiveled back and forth on his neck, but there was nothing to see up there above them. Nothing but darkness.

  Then suddenly, balls of garish red light flared into being in several places and fell out of the night like huge drops of crimson rain. Preacher’s eyes, adjusted to the darkness, narrowed involuntarily as the glare struck them almost like a physical blow. Up and down the line of riders, men exclaimed in surprise as the blazing orbs fell among them and lit up the notch.

  A second later, bloodcurdling screeches ripped out, and the whistle of flying arrows filled the air along with the war cries.

  CHAPTER 12

  Preacher knew what the Gros Ventre had done. They had gathered tinder-dry brush, rolled it into balls, and bound it together. Then they had ignited those giant, makeshift torches and kicked them over the edges of the cliffs that formed the gap.

  The blazing brush served two purposes. It blinded the Assiniboine and their allies, and it gave the Gros Ventre enough light to aim their arrows. Preacher heard some of the Assiniboine warriors crying out in pain as arrowheads drove deep into their bodies.

  He might not be able to see very well, but he could hear just fine. One of the Gros Ventre yip-yip-yipped a war cry not far above his head. Preacher lifted the rifle to his shoulder and fired in the direction of the sound.

  He didn’t know if he hit anything, and there wasn’t time to wait for his eyes to adjust. The best thing to do was to bust out of this trap if they could, so he drove his heels into Horse’s flanks and sent the gray stallion leaping ahead in a burst of speed.

  “Everybody keep goin’!” Preacher yelled in Assiniboine. “Keep movin’!”

  Hoofbeats pounded around him. He felt an arrow pluck at the fringe on his buckskin shirt as it narrowly missed him. Leaning forward in the saddle to make himself a smaller target, he galloped toward the other end of the notch.

  The brush was burning itself out now. Darkness began to gather, and as Preacher emerged from the gap he found himself surrounded by thick shadows once more. He hauled Horse to a stop and said in a quiet but urgent voice, “Dog?”

  An answering growl came from nearby. Preacher felt relief go through him at the knowledge the big cur had survived the ambush.

  But that left him with other worries. More riders milled around him.

  “Audie!” Preacher said. “Nighthawk!”

  “Here!” Audie said. “Preacher, are you all right?”

  “Yeah. How about you?”

  “I’m not much of a target. They missed me. But Nighthawk’s not here!”

  Fearing that the Crow might have been skewered by an arrow back in the gap, Preacher started thinking about a counterattack. In Assiniboine, he asked, “How many are here?”

  A number of men spoke up; then Two Bears’ rumbling voice said, “I am war chief here!”

  “Then you better take command,” Preacher snapped. He was in no mood to worry about Two Bears’ feelings after the man had ignored his warning about riding through the gap in the darkness.

  “We are between the Gros Ventre who attacked us and the rest of their party,” Two Bears said. “They will come at us again.”

  Preacher thought that was probably right. But in the meantime they had wounded men back there in the notch. Wasted time might mean lost lives.

  “You can wait here and block the trail so the Gros Ventre can’t get through,” he said. “Audie and I are goin’ back to see about the survivors.”

  “You will ride right into the enemy!”

  “That’s our problem, not yours,” Preacher said. He heeled Horse into motion again.

  With Dog bounding along beside him and Audie riding just behind, Preacher headed for the gap. He slid the empty rifle into the fringed and beaded sheath strapped to the saddle and pulled both pistols from behind his belt.

  It didn’t take long to run into trouble. Riders loomed up on the trail and charged them, yelling again. Preacher was grateful to the Gros Ventre for announcing themselves. He sent the stallion plunging into their midst.

  Preacher felt the wind from a tomahawk that swept past his head in a slashing blow. He thrust out his right-hand pistol at the shadowy figure who had swung the weapon and pulled the trigger. For a split second, the muzzle flash illuminated the hate-filled face of a Gros Ventre warrior before the heavy lead ball smashed the man’s features into a red ruin.

  An arrow struck his saddle and lodged there, the shaft trembling. Preacher twisted in the direction it had come from and fired the left-hand pistol. The Gros Ventre who had launched the arrow went backwards off his pony as the shot struck him.

  Preacher heard Audie’s guns booming behind him, and Dog snarled and snapped furiously. When one of the Gros Ventre let out a hideous gurgling scream, Preacher knew the big cur had knocked the man off his pony and ripped his throat out.

  With the empty pistols behind his belt again and the two guns from the saddle holsters in his hands, Preacher fired into the chaos of shadowy figures crowding around him. The double-shotted charges ripped into the Gros Ventre and cut down several more of them like scythes.

  More hoofbeats thundered in the night. Preacher’s charge had broken the back of the attempt by the Gros Ventre to get past the Assiniboine. The trap had backfired on the raiders. They had done some damage, but then they themselves had been trapped. Now Two Bears and the rest of the Assiniboine were closing in to finish off the Gros Ventre.

  Preacher left them to that task and galloped into the notch, followed by Audie and Dog.

  “Nighthawk!” the mountain man shouted. “Nighthawk, where are you?”

  A weak “Umm” guided him to a dark shape sitting propped against one of the cliffs. Preacher dismounted quickly and dropped to a knee next to the Crow. He put out a hand and rested it on Nighthawk’s shoulder.

  “How bad are you hit?”

  Nighthawk took Preacher’s hand and moved it to his side. Preacher felt the warm, wet blood soaking into Nighthawk’s buckskin shirt. There di
dn’t seem to be a lot of it, which was a good sign. Nighthawk was wounded, but maybe not fatally.

  “How is he?” Audie asked anxiously from the back of his horse. It wasn’t easy for him to dismount. Nighthawk usually lifted him down from the saddle.

  “Not too bad, I hope,” Preacher replied. The shadows were thick and virtually impenetrable in the gap now. “We could use some light.”

  Somewhere not too far off, Two Bears called, “White man!”

  “Over here,” Preacher responded. “We need some fires.”

  Two Bears gave orders. This gap in the ridge was barren of vegetation except for the balls of brush that had already burned to ashes, so a couple of the Assiniboine warriors rode back down the slope they had climbed earlier to look for firewood.

  While they were gone, Preacher worked by feel, easing Nighthawk’s shirt up so he could check the wound itself. It seemed to be a long, fairly clean slash in the Crow’s side, deep enough to be more than a scratch but probably not life-threatening.

  The men came back with brush and broken branches that Two Bears used to make a fire. He struck sparks with flint and steel and set the tinder alight. Soon flames leaped up and cast their reddish-yellow glow over the interior of the notch.

  The light confirmed Preacher’s estimation of Nighthawk’s injury. The Crow had lost enough blood to weaken him, but he would be all right once the arrow wound was bound up and he’d had some time to recover.

  Some of the other members of the war party hadn’t been as fortunate. Five Assiniboine warriors were dead, and another half-dozen were wounded.

  That brought the number of men healthy enough to continue the pursuit of the captives down to eighteen. They didn’t know how many warriors had been in the Gros Ventre raiding party—Stormbreaker had estimated about forty—but a good number of them were now dead, wiped out in the fight tonight.

  The odds were close enough to even, Preacher thought.

  So did Two Bears. The war chief said, “Those who are not badly injured can stay behind and care for those who are. The rest of us will go ahead, after the other Gros Ventre and the prisoners.”

  “You said they wouldn’t be able to make it through the badlands in the dark,” Preacher reminded him. “That means they’re probably not too far ahead of us.”

  Two Bears’ head jerked in a nod.

  “So?”

  “So they must be close enough to have heard the shots and maybe even the yellin’,” Preacher said. “They’ll know the warriors they left behind ambushed us. And when those men don’t show up to join them, they’ll know that we won this fight.”

  “You are saying they will be on their guard.”

  “Yep … but not until morning. Because they won’t expect us to try to make it through the badlands by night, either.”

  Two Bears snorted.

  “A man would be a fool to attempt it. He might get lost and wander for weeks. We should wait for dawn so we can see where we are going.”

  “I know somebody who can make it through, or at least find the Gros Ventre camp for us.”

  With a sneer, Two Bears said, “You think very high of your abilities, white man.”

  Preacher shook his head.

  “Not me. Him.”

  He pointed toward Dog, who sat nearby beside Nighthawk.

  “You would trust the lives of my men to that animal?” Two Bears demanded.

  “I’d trust my life to him, and I have many times. I reckon if it’s good enough for me, it’s good enough for you fellas.”

  “Preacher is right,” Audie put in. “Dog has the keenest nose west of the Mississippi. He can track those Gros Ventre through any sort of maze and lead you right to them.”

  Two Bears frowned.

  “If we could find their camp, we would take them by surprise. They would not expect any pursuit until morning.”

  “That’s the idea,” Preacher said. “What do you say?”

  Two Bears looked around at the other warriors, but their faces were impassive. The decision was his to make.

  After a moment, he nodded.

  “If we wait, they may try to ambush us again,” he said. “This way we can turn things around and fall upon them with no warning.”

  “It might be better if we went ahead from here on foot,” Preacher suggested. “Hoofbeats would echo in those gullies and canyons.”

  Two Bears looked like he wanted to argue just out of habit, but instead he nodded again and said, “A good idea.”

  Nighthawk started to get to his feet. Preacher rested a hand on his shoulder and held him down.

  “You lost enough blood it’d probably be a good idea for you to stay here. Audie, reckon you can patch up Nighthawk and the rest of these wounded hombres?”

  Audie frowned.

  “I thought I’d come with you and the others, Preacher.”

  “Yeah, and I’d love to have you along, but these fellas are hurt, and if we don’t come back, they’re gonna need a good man to see to it that they get back to Bent Leg’s village.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were just making an excuse to leave me behind, like you did with Lorenzo.”

  “Not hardly,” Preacher said. “We’ve fought side by side often enough you ought to know better.”

  Audie thought about it for a second and then shrugged.

  “You’re right. If you’ll help me down, I’ll see what I can do about tending to the various injuries among these men.”

  A few minutes later, the group of warriors that would be going on after the Gros Ventre were ready to move out on foot, taking only their weapons. One way or another, this would end tonight, so they didn’t really need the supplies anymore.

  Preacher said so long to Audie and Nighthawk, both of whom wished him luck. He led Dog out of the notch and down the slope to the area where the bodies of the dead Gros Ventre littered the ground. Preacher cut an unbloodied piece of buckskin from one man’s shirt and held it under Dog’s nose.

  “Find the rest of the bunch,” he told the big cur. “You can do it, old son. Find!”

  Dog trotted away, nose to the ground. He cast back and forth for a moment, then started on a fairly straight course, deeper into the badlands.

  Preacher hurried on, and after him came Two Bears and the rest of the Assiniboine.

  In a matter of moments, the night’s shadows had swallowed them all.

  CHAPTER 13

  They hadn’t gone very far into the badlands before Preacher felt the cold kiss of a snowflake against his leathery cheek.

  That was fine, he thought with a grim smile. Let it snow. Dog would still be able to follow the scent of the Gros Ventres, and a coating of the powdery white stuff would muffle the sounds of their approach even more.

  Whether Two Bears liked it or not, Preacher had taken the lead now. He was used to keeping up with Dog when the big cur was following a trail. He was able to keep Dog in sight, and Two Bears and the other Assiniboine followed him, trotting along single file as their path led through gullies, along ridges, and around massive piles of rock.

  Finally Dog came to such an abrupt halt that Preacher almost tripped over him. He knelt and slipped an arm around the big cur, feeling how Dog’s muscles were now tense. He felt as much as heard the growl that rumbled deeply inside the animal.

  Two Bears crouched beside them.

  “The Gros Ventre are close?” the war chief asked in a whisper.

  Preacher sniffed the air and smelled woodsmoke.

  “Yeah, they’ve built a fire. Probably too small to see unless you’re real close, but I can smell it. Better let me and Dog go ahead and do some scoutin’.”

  “We will wait here, but not for long.” Two Bears sounded like he didn’t care for the idea, but he knew Preacher was right.

  The snow was falling thickly now, and the ground was beginning to turn white, which made it a little easier to see where they were going.

  On the other hand, the lighter background would make it easier
for anybody to see them moving against it, Preacher thought as he and Dog slipped forward soundlessly. Their breath fogged in front of their faces.

  Dog led the way into a narrow passage between two huge upthrusts of rock. Preacher could have put his hands out and brushed his fingertips against the rock walls on both sides. Those walls rose fifty or sixty feet and seemed to lean in oppressively.

  The passage ran straight at first for a hundred or so yards, then began to angle back and forth. It would be impossible for the two groups to fight a battle in here, Preacher thought. There simply wasn’t enough room for anything other than mano á mano combat.

  The farther he and Dog went, the darker it got. Not much snow had fallen down here through the narrow crack above. Preacher reached down and grasped the thick fur at the back of Dog’s neck so he and the big cur wouldn’t get separated in the almost impenetrable gloom.

  He stopped short and tightened his grip on Dog’s coat as voices drifted faintly to his ears. A grim smile tugged at the corners of Preacher’s wide mouth. Dog had done his job. He had brought Preacher right to their quarry.

  Kneeling next to the animal, Preacher breathed in Dog’s ear, “Stay.”

  Dog let out a tiny whine.

  “I know, if there’s a ruckus you want to be right in the middle of it. Don’t worry, I’m just gonna go take a look.”

  Leaving the dog there, Preacher stole forward silently, guiding himself by touch as he kept his left hand on the stone wall. The voices got louder, and the smell of smoke from the campfire was stronger now as Preacher approached the spot where the rest of the Gros Ventre had stopped with their prisoners.

  Even though the raiders probably didn’t expect the Assiniboine to come after them tonight, they would still have at least one guard posted. It would be foolish to do otherwise. Preacher didn’t like the Gros Ventre, but he knew they weren’t fools.

  So he moved inches at a time, being careful before each step to search the darkness around him with every sense he possessed. He relied on his keen instincts to warn him, as well.

  It was a combination of those things that alerted him to the presence of one of the warriors in the narrow passage just ahead of him. He smelled the man first, then heard the faint sound of his breathing.