Preacher’s Fury

by Johnstone, William W.

  Then Preacher was behind them. The blade severed the bonds holding them.

  “Go!” Preacher told them in Assiniboine. “You’re not prisoners anymore. It’s time to teach those Gros Ventre a lesson!”

  CHAPTER 15

  The captives’ hands had been tied, but their feet were free. They leaped up and charged toward the Gros Ventre clustered around the mouth of the passage. They were eager to avenge their friends who had been killed and to pay their captors back for the rough treatment they had received.

  Their eagerness erupted in angry shouts, which warned the raiders that something else was wrong. A couple of them were able to swing around and loose arrows at the charging young warriors. One of the shafts missed, but the other thumped into the chest of a young man, causing him to stumble and fall.

  But then the rest of the group slammed into their former captors, and the other Assiniboine warriors led by Two Bears came yelling and fighting out of the passage, and suddenly all hell was breaking loose on the ledge.

  Preacher pulled the loaded pistols from behind his belt and stalked forward. The melee was so closely packed that he couldn’t fire into it at the Gros Ventre without risking hitting the Assiniboine, too. So he held his fire and waited for clear shots.

  He didn’t have to wait long. One of the raiders grabbed one of the former prisoners, catching him by the throat and forcing him down. The Gros Ventre lifted his tomahawk. He was poised to smash open the young man’s head when Preacher blew a hole in his back and sent him toppling forward.

  Movement in the corner of his eye made him swing around instinctively just in time to see another of the Gros Ventre lining up an arrow that was aimed at Two Bears’ back. The war chief had hold of one of the raiders and was choking the life from him, but he was about to be cut down from behind and didn’t know it.

  Preacher squeezed the trigger of his other gun before the warrior could send the arrow hurtling at Two Bears. The man toppled to the side as the ball ripped into his side and smashed through his lungs. His fingers let go of the arrow anyway, but it flew high and wide since he was already falling when he released it.

  As Two Bears’ opponent slumped in death, the war chief glanced around to see what the shot was about. His dark eyes widened slightly as he saw the smoke curling from the muzzle of Preacher’s pistol and the dead Gros Ventre lying only a few yards away with a fallen bow next to him.

  Two Bears was smart enough to figure out what had just happened, Preacher thought, and judging by the scowl on the war chief’s face, he didn’t like knowing that the mountain man had saved his life.

  The Gros Ventre were being overwhelmed now. Preacher waded in and smashed the skull of one raider with an empty pistol, then tucked the guns away and used his knife to slit the throat of another. The men still struggling on the ledge had to wade through pools of blood to do so. This little corner of the badlands had become a charnel house.

  In a matter of moments, the fight was over. All the Gros Ventre were dead. Two Bears used his knife to make certain of that as he stalked among the fallen enemies.

  Five of the Assiniboine warriors had been killed, too, including two of the former prisoners. Preacher knew they would have considered their deaths to be for a good cause, and those deaths had been avenged.

  Two Bears ordered his men to take the bodies of the Gros Ventre and throw them into the ravine.

  “A feast for the wolves and the other scavengers,” he growled. “It is all that such as them deserve.”

  In the morning, the bodies of the Assiniboine dead would be taken back to the village and laid to rest with the proper customs and respect.

  Preacher whistled for Dog. The big cur bounded out of the passage a few minutes later. He had stayed where Preacher told him, and as a result he had missed the fight. Preacher would have sworn that the look Dog gave him was reproachful.

  The snow was still falling. Preacher hadn’t even noticed it during the battle. All his thoughts had been focused on staying alive and accomplishing what he’d set out to do.

  Now as he looked up at the night sky, he thought the way the flakes swirled down through the orange glow from the fire was beautiful. It was like a brief dance in the light before they reached the flames and hissed out.

  Sort of like the way men lived their lives, he thought as he reloaded his pistols.

  By morning, the badlands were covered with nearly a foot of snow. The stuff had come down all night, and even though it had stopped by the time Preacher and the Assiniboine left the ledge, the sky was still leaden with the promise of more.

  At least with all the snow on the ledge, you couldn’t see the dried blood anymore, Preacher thought as the group got ready to leave.

  They reached the notch in the ridge by mid-morning. The going was a little slower now because they had to slog through the snow and the even deeper drifts. When they got there, they found Audie, Nighthawk, and the wounded warriors anxiously awaiting their return.

  Audie hurried out to meet them. Nighthawk came along behind him, taking it easy because of the bandaged-up wound in his side.

  “Preacher! You’re all right?”

  The mountain man nodded.

  “Yeah, I didn’t get a scratch. I was one of the lucky ones, though.”

  Audie grew more solemn as he said, “Yes, I can see you suffered some casualties.”

  “Two of the prisoners and three of the fellas who came with us,” Preacher confirmed. “But all of the Gros Ventre are dead.”

  “Umm,” Nighthawk said.

  “I don’t know,” Audie replied, “but I’ll find out. Was Snake Heart among them?”

  Two Bears had to answer that one, since Preacher didn’t have any idea what Snake Heart looked like.

  The war chief shook his head and said, “No, that evil one was not among the enemy. He sits back in his village, sending forth his warriors to die.”

  “From what I’ve heard of him, he doesn’t lack courage,” Audie said. “You’ll probably be seeing him again.”

  “Yes,” Two Bears agreed. “In the spring, we will seek revenge on the Gros Ventre for the things they have done.”

  And then the Gros Ventre would be out for blood in return, and on it would go, thought Preacher. The way of the world on the frontier. No use debating whether or not it should happen like that. Things were what they were.

  If the Assiniboine waited until spring to renew hostilities, though, there was a good chance he and his friends would be gone by then. They only planned to stay in Bent Leg’s village through the winter. When the weather warmed up, they would be moving on.

  As the reunited group mounted up and started across the valley toward the Assiniboine encampment, Preacher saw more snowflakes start to drift down. Within minutes they were flying thicker and heavier.

  Winter was closing in good and proper now, so the tribes would observe the usual truce until better weather. These recent raids were the last shots for now in the ongoing war.

  When it was cold and the snow was several feet deep on the ground, nobody wanted to be out killing or being killed. It was better for a man to be in his lodge, curled up in his robes with a warm, willing female. That just made good sense.

  But thinking about it reminded Preacher of the things left unsettled between him and Two Bears … and of Raven’s Wing.

  The Assiniboine knew every foot of this valley, so there was no danger of them getting lost, even in a blinding snowstorm. The drifts were really deep by now, so the horses didn’t make much noise as they approached the cluster of lodges along the creek bank.

  The dogs smelled them coming, though, and ran out barking to greet them. That alerted the village’s human occupants that something was going on. Some of them began to emerge from the lodges.

  Preacher saw one figure in particular hurry toward them, bundled in a bearskin robe. Raven’s Wing let out a cry of recognition, tossed the robe aside so she could move faster, and broke into a run toward them.

  She dashed righ
t past Two Bears, who was riding in the lead, and came up to Horse instead, where she threw both arms around Preacher’s left leg.

  “You live!” she said.

  “You were afraid I wouldn’t?” he asked with a wry smile.

  “I feared that the same spirits who brought you to me might take you away,” she said. “You know how fickle they can be.”

  Speaking of fickle, he thought, then decided that wasn’t fair. Raven had insisted all along that she had never promised herself to Two Bears. That was what he had decided would happen, and he hadn’t consulted her about it.

  But he still wasn’t happy about Raven’s decision, and he half-turned on his pony to glare at her and Preacher as more of the villagers gathered around the men who had just ridden in.

  “Two Bears!” Bent Leg said exuberantly. “You brought back our young men!”

  “Two of them are dead,” the war chief said, “along with five of the warriors who went after them. But all of the Gros Ventre are dead, and we brought their horses back with us.” He waved a hand at the extra ponies.

  Bent Leg nodded solemnly.

  “You have done well.”

  Two Bears returned the nod, obviously pleased by the chief’s praise even though he was upset about the situation with Raven’s Wing and Preacher.

  Preacher had dismounted by the time Lorenzo reached him. The old-timer had a big grin on his face.

  “Well, you look all hale and hearty. Chasin’ redskins must agree with you.”

  Lorenzo put out a hand. Preacher clasped it firmly and asked, “Any trouble here while I was gone?”

  “Nope. There wasn’t no second bunch of Gros Ventre raiders.”

  Preacher nodded.

  “I’m glad to hear it. We had enough trouble with just the one bunch.”

  Bent Leg limped over to him.

  “You are well, old friend?”

  “I am well,” Preacher replied with a nod.

  “And so is Little Man. But the Crow is hurt.”

  “Umm,” Nighthawk said disdainfully.

  “He’ll be fine,” Audie said. “An arrow just ripped a gash in his side. I patched it up, along with the injuries suffered by the other men.”

  “You are a good friend to the Assiniboine, Little Man.” Bent Leg raised his voice and lifted his arms. “We would have a feast to celebrate this homecoming, but the spirits have brought us this snowstorm instead. When the weather is better, then we will dance and eat.”

  Several of the warriors let out yips of appreciation and agreement.

  Everyone dismounted to put away the horses and scatter to the various lodges. Raven’s Wing took Horse’s reins from Preacher and insisted on leading the rangy gray stallion. They walked through the deep snow toward Preacher’s lodge with Dog padding along behind in the trail they had broken.

  “I have moved my things into your lodge,” Raven’s Wing said quietly.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  She stiffened beside him.

  “You do not want me?”

  “I never said that. I want you plenty, if you want to know the truth.”

  The smile spread across her face again.

  “You have me. I am yours.”

  Preacher looked across the village. Just as he expected, Two Bears was over there about twenty yards away, watching them. And the same hatred that had been etched on the war chief’s face when he was battling the Gros Ventre was visible there now as he stared at Preacher.

  Raven’s Wing might be his woman right now, Preacher thought, but the trouble wasn’t over between him and Two Bears.

  Not by a long shot.

  CHAPTER 16

  When the snow began to fall, Willie Deaver and his companions were still fifteen or twenty miles from their destination. Deaver muttered a curse under his breath.

  Why wouldn’t the damn weather cooperate? First that ice storm that could have cost them the rendezvous with Odell St. John, and now this, which threatened to delay their plans for the rifles the Englishman had turned over to them.

  Caleb Manning edged his horse up alongside Deaver’s mount.

  “Are we pushin’ on, Willie?” he asked.

  “What do you think?” Deaver snapped. “I want those pelts the redskins promised us. They’ll be worth a small fortune when we sell ’em to the fur traders next spring.”

  “Yeah, but if this storm gets much worse, we won’t be able to travel in it. Those pack horses can’t make it through the drifts, carryin’ the load they are.”

  Plunkett, Heath, and Jordan were leading the horses that had the crates of rifles strapped to their backs. The animals were tired. They all were, Deaver thought. He had been pushing everyone hard since they left Canada, including himself.

  “Anyway,” Manning went on, “we’re liable to get lost. I don’t know this area that well. Do you?”

  “I’m not gonna get lost,” Deaver said. “You can stop worryin’ about that.”

  Manning shrugged.

  “I just don’t want us wanderin’ around in circles until we starve or freeze to death.”

  Anger welled up inside Deaver. Manning had been a good lieutenant, but he got a little cocky sometimes. Deaver didn’t like anybody challenging him, not even the man he considered closer to a friend than anybody else in the world.

  Friend or not, Deaver wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in Manning if it became necessary.

  He waved a hand at their surroundings, which were rapidly becoming covered with snow.

  “You see any place around here to hole up?”

  “No, but—” Manning abruptly fell silent. He sniffed the air. “Smell that, Willie?” he asked with excitement in his voice. “Smoke!”

  Deaver lifted his head and tested the air with his nose. Manning was right. The unmistakable tang of woodsmoke drifted on the wind along with millions of snowflakes.

  “Smoke means a cabin,” Manning went on.

  “Or at least a campfire,” Deaver said. “It might be in a cave or something like that.”

  “Right now even a cave would look good if it was warm inside and out of the storm.”

  Manning had a point there, Deaver had to admit.

  “We’ll follow the smoke,” he said. “It’s comin’ from the direction we want to go anyway, so if we see there’s too big a bunch for us to jump, we’ll just go around ’em. No harm done and nothin’ lost.”

  Manning nodded.

  “Sounds good to me, Willie.”

  Deaver reined in and signaled for the others to do likewise. He explained what was going on to Plunkett, Jordan, and Heath.

  “If the smoke is coming from a cabin, we’ll just make ourselves at home, eh?” Plunkett suggested.

  “What if the folks stayin’ there object to that?” Heath asked.

  With his usual grin, Jordan answered, “Then it’ll just be too bad for them, right, Willie?”

  Deaver grunted.

  “Right. Let’s go.”

  They rode on, following the smoke through the increasingly heavy storm. The wind whipped around some, causing Deaver to worry that they would lose the scent. Without the trail of the smoke, they might wander around in this white maelstrom for hours, even days, never finding what they were looking for.

  The smoke smell just grew stronger, though, telling Deaver that they were getting closer to its source. He felt excitement building inside him, along with a little anger.

  Chances were, violence was in the offing, and that always made him go a little crazy. His head was like the boiler of a steam engine. All that pressure built up, and if he didn’t let it out some way, he was sure he would explode.

  A few minutes later, still riding in the lead, Deaver caught a glimpse of something through the swirling curtains of snow. It was dark against the whitening ground and trees.

  A cabin, all right. It was small, more than likely just a single room. It probably belonged to a fur trapper who had built it so he could hole up here in the winter, instead of havi
ng to go back to St. Louis or spend the cold months with a bunch of filthy redskins.

  The cabin was occupied, no doubt about that, because smoke coiled up from the stone chimney at one end of the rough log structure.

  One man, maybe two, no more than that, Deaver thought. And some of those old fur trappers had plenty of bark on them. But even two men wouldn’t be a match for him and his companions, no matter how tough they were.

  He didn’t see a barn or corral, but there might be a lean-to shed around back of the cabin, that is, if the trapper even owned a mule or a horse. They could investigate that later, after they had made … arrangements … to stay here and wait out the storm.

  Deaver stopped and waved Manning up beside him. He pointed out the cabin.

  “I knew it!” Manning said. “I knew we’d find a good place to stay.”

  It was sheer luck and Deaver knew that, but he didn’t say anything about it to Manning. Let him think whatever he wanted to.

  “We’ll leave all the horses here,” he said. “Make sure those pack animals are tied securely to trees. I don’t want them wandering off with those guns on their backs.”

  Manning nodded.

  “I’ll see to it, Willie.”

  “Then we’ll slip up on the place. I’ll kick the door open, and you go in first.”

  Manning looked like he wanted to ask why didn’t they reverse those chores, but he didn’t say anything. He was a smart man, at least part of the time, thought Deaver as they all dismounted.

  “I’ll be right behind you, and Cy, Darwin, and Fred will be just outside in case we need their help. Got it?”

  Manning nodded.

  “Yeah. We gonna go ahead and kill whoever’s in there?”

  “You’ll be in front,” Deaver said with a grin. “Use your own judgment. Let’s go.”

  After tying the horses’ reins to saplings, the five men started forward with Deaver and Manning in the lead. The cabin had some rifle slits in its walls but no windows, so there wasn’t much chance of anybody looking out and seeing them coming. The rifle slits were probably covered up inside to keep the cold wind from blowing into the cabin.