Captain Warner came up to him as he was saddling Horse and said, “I can come along with you, Preacher. I’m not wounded, and I can shoot.”
“You can also handle that dang riverboat,” the mountain man said. “You’re gonna be in charge here, Cap’n. If anything else happens, you’ll have to deal with it.”
“You think that’s possible?” Warner asked with a frown. “You mean those Indians might come back?”
“They acted like they got what they were after. But there’s no tellin’ what else might come along. You have enough crewmen to get up steam if you need to?”
Warner nodded.
“Yeah, some of them are hurt, of course, but we can get the boat moving. We can’t go on upriver, though, because then you wouldn’t know where to find us when you get back with those folks.”
Preacher liked the way the captain just assumed he would succeed in freeing the prisoners. He hoped Warner was right about that.
“If you have to leave, you can always turn around and come back later. And if you’re gone when we get back here, we’ll just follow the river north until we catch up with you.”
“All right. But I plan on being right here,” Warner said with a determined nod.
A short time later, the horses were saddled. The members of the rescue party, some with bloody bandages tied here and there, came ashore with rifles, pistols, and all the powder and shot they could carry. Enough weapons and ammunition had been left on the Sentinel so the crewmen who were staying behind could put up a fight if they needed to.
“We’ll take care of burying those who were killed,” Warner promised as the men mounted up. “Good luck to you.”
“We’ll see you when we get back,” Preacher said. He lifted a hand and waved the rescue party into motion.
Since the terrain was generally flat in this region, it wasn’t long before they could no longer see the river behind them, just a low line of green that marked the vegetation along the stream. The prairie was covered with thick grass that waved slightly in the breeze blowing across it.
Preacher had no trouble following the trail left by the Indians and their white companions. Other people might not see the signs, but they were clear as a map to his experienced eyes. Broken stalks of grass lying in a different direction than the others around them, overturned rocks, the occasional partial print of the unshod hoof of an Indian pony . . . and the tracks of some shod horses as well, further proof that the mountain man’s eyes hadn’t deceived him. There really had been white men working with the Indians.
The rescue party had Dog with them, too, and no creature on the face of the earth was better at following a scent than the big cur. He bounded ahead of the group, nose to the ground.
As they rode, Allingham asked Preacher, “Did I hear you say that the Indians who did this are normally peaceful?” He sounded like he couldn’t believe that, and with plenty of justification for feeling that way, thought Preacher.
“More often than not they are. The Pawnee have fought many a war against other tribes, usually the Sioux, but mostly they get along with the whites. They farm as much as they hunt and they live in permanent villages they don’t leave except to go on buffalo hunts every year. Then they come back to the same place. In a lot of ways they’re like white folks, so I guess that’s how come they get along.” Preacher shook his head. “When they get their dander up about somethin’, though, you don’t want to cross ’em. I reckon you saw that today.”
“You sound almost as though you admire them.”
“I admire most of the tribes in one way or another,” Preacher said. “They live their lives in the way that suits ’em, and they’re happy about it. Now, there are a few bunches that are too ornery even for me to get along with, mind you. Me and the Blackfeet won’t never see eye to eye about nothin’, I don’t expect. They’ve tried to kill me a heap of times, and I’ve returned the favor. Never lost any sleep over it, neither.” He rubbed his bristly jaw and frowned. “Can’t say the same about the Pawnee. I’m sorry for those warriors I had to kill today. I want to know what drove ’em to it.”
“They’re savages,” Allingham said. “Isn’t that a good enough reason?”
“No, sir, it’s not.” Preacher told the senator the same thing he had discussed with Russell. “There were white men among ’em. Somehow, they convinced the Pawnee to help them do their dirty work.”
Allingham stared at Preacher.
“That’s insane. Who would do such a thing?”
“They grabbed the count and his brother. That’s got to have something to do with it. Can you think of any reason somebody would want to kidnap Stahlmaske? Maybe something to do with the negotiations he came over here to carry on with our government?”
Allingham looked baffled. He said, “All the count is doing is discussing a minor trade agreement between the United States and the Kingdom of Prussia. The agreement is important to a number of people in Washington because they’ve come out in favor of it, so they want everything to go smoothly. But in the big scheme of things, I can’t see that it’ll really make that much difference. As much as anything else, I think this whole trip and its diplomatic trappings were just an excuse for Count Stahlmaske to come over here to America and have an adventure. He’s a great favorite of King Friedrich Wilhelm.”
“I reckon he’s probably havin’ more of an adventure than he ever wanted,” Preacher said.
Most of the Indians had peeled away from the group when they were several miles away from the river, leaving the prisoners in the custody of about a dozen warriors and the four white men who obviously had masterminded the attack on the Sentinel. Albert Stahlmaske had never seen any of those men before, but their accents when they spoke among themselves told him they were Englishmen.
Stahlmaske’s head ached abominably from the blow that had struck him down. He had been in the salon when the attack began, but he had rushed out on deck when he heard gunshots, shouts from the crewmen, and war cries from the savages. He seldom went anywhere without being armed, so there was a pistol in the pocket of his coat. He had pulled it out, waited patiently at the railing even though arrows were flying through the air around him, and when one of the canoes had come within range of his weapon, he had shot down the Indian crouched in the front of the craft.
Then, still cool in the face of danger, he had reloaded twice and killed two more of the howling savages before they swarmed onto the passenger deck and overran him. One of them had carried a war club of some kind. Stahlmaske had tried to take the bludgeon away from him, but the Indian had struck him instead, knocking him out.
As consciousness slipped away from him, he had assumed the savages would kill him, probably by cutting his throat. He would never wake up.
A shame he hadn’t had the chance—or hadn’t taken the chances he’d had—to tell Gretchen that he really did feel some honest affection for her. As much as he could feel for anyone, he supposed. He had never been given to any emotions other than pride and an overwhelming sense of his own superiority.
He hadn’t come to until he was on the back of this horse, tied to a saddle. Leaning forward over the animal’s neck the way he was, he couldn’t see much. To his right his brother Roderick rode another horse, lashed onto the beast’s back in much the same way Stahlmaske was. Roderick was awake, his eyes so wide with terror it seemed they might pop right out of their sockets.
“Albert!” Roderick exclaimed in a high-pitched voice that reminded Stahlmaske of a mouse’s frightened squeak. “Thank God you’re alive!”
Stahlmaske didn’t respond to that. He lifted his head and looked around as best he could. He could see that a white man on horseback was leading Roderick’s mount. He assumed the same was true for his horse.
That was . . . interesting. What were such men doing riding with Indians?
Thinking that their captors were probably Americans, Stahlmaske called, “You there! Leading my brother’s horse! Let us go and I’ll see to it that you’re handsomely pai
d.”
The man turned his head and let out a harsh laugh, but that was his only response.
Being laughed at like that angered Stahlmaske, but tied hand and foot the way he was, there was nothing he could do about it. Not now, anyway.
But somehow he would have his revenge on these men, if it was the last thing he ever did.
Since then some of the Indians had gone their separate ways, and the group had moved around enough for Stahlmaske to see that he and Roderick weren’t the only prisoners. Gretchen had been captured as well, along with the two Allingham women.
Stahlmaske was sorry to see that. He didn’t want Gretchen to come to any harm. He didn’t care as much about Margaret and Sarah, although the senator’s wife certainly had been pleasant enough in bed.
Stahlmaske had given some thought to seducing the younger Allingham as well before this journey was over. Sarah was quite attractive, just the sort who needed an older man with a firm hand to initiate her into womanhood.
Now it was unlikely that would ever happen. The ladies might not survive very long in the hands of these primitive savages. He included the white men in that description. They were Americans, after all.
Only they weren’t, he discovered. When they spoke to each other, the count recognized their accents as British. That made them somewhat more civilized than their former colonists, he supposed . . . but not much.
After what seemed like ages, the group came to a stop in the late afternoon. Up ahead, still a good distance away, was a line of low hills. Stahlmaske wondered if that was their destination.
The Englishman who’d been leading Stahlmaske’s horse dismounted and came back alongside the animal. He was a red-faced man with a sweeping, rust-colored mustache. He pulled a knife from a sheath at his belt.
Stahlmaske waited calmly. If all these men wanted to do was murder him, they would have done it before now.
“If I cut you loose, do you promise not to cause trouble?” the man demanded.
“I promise nothing except to kill you and all your associates as soon as I get the chance,” Stahlmaske said, putting as much cold hatred into his reply as he could.
“That’s what I figured. That’s why we’re not going to give you that chance.”
The Indians had dismounted as well. Several of them nocked arrows to bowstrings and pulled them back, aiming the weapons at the count.
The Englishman cut him loose. Stahlmaske slid to the ground. His balance deserted him for a second when he landed, but he caught hold of the saddle and braced himself until his strength returned.
“You’re not going to allow those savages to kill me,” he told his captor. “If you wanted me dead, I would be already.”
“Maybe so, Count,” the man said, “but don’t push your luck.”
The other prisoners were freed as well. Roderick stumbled over to his brother and threw his arms around him in a clumsy embrace.
“Thank God we’re both still alive!”
Stahlmaske pushed him away, his only concession to fraternity being that he wasn’t too rough about it.
“Are you injured, Roderick?” he asked.
“N-no, I’m all right.”
Stahlmaske turned to Gretchen and took the beautiful auburn-haired woman in his arms.
“My dear,” he said. “I regret that you were abducted along with the rest of us.”
She swallowed hard and said, “The savages . . . they killed my maid, Albert. It was terrible.”
“I’m sure it was.”
Stahlmaske glanced at the Allingham women, who huddled together clutching each other in their fear. There was no comfort he could offer them.
So he turned to their captors instead and demanded, “What is it you want of us?”
“It’s simple, really,” the man with the rust-colored mustache replied. “You’re going to make us all rich men.”
CHAPTER 25
Preacher called a halt after the rescue party had traveled several miles from the Missouri River.
“Why are we stopping?” Allingham wanted to know. “We can’t afford to let them get any farther ahead of us, can we?”
“I got to take a look at this,” Preacher said. He swung down from the saddle and walked around on the prairie for a few minutes, hunkering on his heels now and then to study the ground more closely.
Simon Russell said, “I think I’m seeing the same thing you are, Preacher. They split up, didn’t they?”
Preacher straightened and nodded.
“Yeah. The biggest bunch headed that way.” He pointed south. “The rest of ’em kept goin’ northwest.”
“Why would they do that?” Allingham asked. “And how will we know which group the prisoners are with?” He groaned briefly in dismay. “For that matter, how will we know that the prisoners weren’t separated, too?”
Preacher waved a hand toward the south and said, “The ones who went that way are all on Indian ponies. There’s a Pawnee village ten, fifteen miles in that direction, I recollect. I visited it once and smoked a pipe with ’em. All the shod horses went the other way, along with about a dozen of the Pawnee. My guess is that those white men and all the captives are with that bunch.”
“You can’t know that for sure,” Allingham said.
Preacher shook his head.
“No, sir, I can’t. You’re right. But I’m convinced of it.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Russell said. “I’d trust my own life to Preacher’s instincts, Senator.”
“I may well be trusting the lives of my wife and daughter to you, Preacher,” Allingham said. “They mean more to me than my own life.”
“I understand,” the mountain man said. “If they went to all the trouble to take those prisoners, though, it makes sense that the men behind the raid would want to keep them with ’em.”
Allingham sighed and nodded.
“You’re right. Besides, we have a much better chance of rescuing them from a smaller group, don’t we?”
“Yep. We might still be able to get ’em out of a Pawnee town, if that’s where they were, but I’m hopin’ this’ll be easier.”
Preacher mounted up and heeled Horse into motion again. Dog ran ahead of him through the tall grass. Russell and Allingham flanked the mountain man, while the other five men trailed out behind.
Preacher could tell that the group they were pursuing was moving pretty fast, not wasting any time in putting some distance between themselves and the Big Muddy. If they kept going in the same direction, eventually they would come to the river again after it took its big curve to the west.
Before that they would have to cross a range of low, sandy hills. Those hills weren’t rugged enough to slow anybody down very much, but they provided lots of good places for an ambush. Preacher knew he would have to keep that in mind if they hadn’t caught up to the kidnappers before then.
Kidnappers was how he had come to think of them. The attack on the boat wasn’t just a raid to do as much damage to the white men as the Pawnee could. Preacher’s instincts told him it had been aimed specifically at grabbing the count. They had probably taken Roderick along thinking that they could use him as leverage against Stahlmaske if necessary.
Obviously, they weren’t aware of just how cold and arrogant Albert Stahlmaske really was. Preacher wasn’t sure if threatening his brother would have any effect on the count.
The possibility that he was ignoring something nagged at him. He said, “Senator, earlier I asked you if there was any reason for somebody to kidnap Count Stahlmaske. What about your wife and daughter? Could somebody with a grudge against you be tryin’ to get back at you through them?”
“Good Lord, I have political enemies, of course, but no one who would do such a thing as that!”
“Are you sure? There’ve been duels fought over what happened in Congress, and fistfights on the floor of the Capitol, too, I recollect.”
“Well, it’s true that things have gotten out of hand at times,” Allingham admitted, “but I
still say no one in Washington would have done this. Not over politics.”
“Are you a rich man? Maybe somebody figures on makin’ you pay a big ransom to get Mrs. Allingham and Sarah back.”
“If they are, they’re going to be disappointed.” Allingham’s voice choked a little on the words as he went on, “I could raise some money, I suppose, but not enough to make it worthwhile threatening my family.”
“That brings us back to the count—and his lady.”
“Fraulein Ritter,” the senator mused. “Her father actually is quite wealthy. He has a number of shipping interests. Not to be cynical, but I think that was the main reason behind the count’s impending marriage to her. He comes from an old family—Castle Stahlmaske goes back to the Middle Ages, you know—but I don’t think they have as much money as they once did.”
“Well, there you go. Something else to think about.”
“I’m sure we’ll find out the motivation behind this atrocity . . . after we’ve recovered the prisoners and returned them to safety.”
Preacher knew that, but one reason he’d voiced his speculations to Allingham was to take the senator’s mind off the danger his wife and daughter might be in. Brooding about that wouldn’t help anything in the long run.
After a while Preacher held up his hand to signal another halt. Once again he dismounted to take a closer look at the ground. Russell joined him, and after a few minutes he said, “They stopped here for a little while.”
“Yep,” Preacher agreed. He pointed to the footprints he had spotted. “Looks like several folks wearin’ boots and shoes. And from the looks of those tracks, some of ’em were women.”
“Thank God!” Allingham exclaimed. “That proves we’re following the right group, doesn’t it?”
“I reckon it does.”
“Why do you think they stopped?” Russell asked. “Just to let the prisoners stretch their legs?”
“Or maybe to have a talk about somethin’. Hard to say.” Preacher gazed off to the north. “But after a while they mounted up and headed on that way, so I reckon we will, too.”
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