“At least we know we’re on the right trail now,” Allingham said. “That’s a huge relief.”
The senator was right about that, Preacher thought as he swung up into the saddle. But they still had a big chore facing them. They were outnumbered two to one and had to worry about the safety of the prisoners, to boot. They couldn’t just charge in with all guns blazing.
The sun dropped lower and lower toward the horizon. Allingham got worried again and asked, “Can we keep on trailing them once it gets dark?”
Preacher shook his head.
“No, there’s too big a risk of losin’ the trail. Not only that, if they make camp we might ride right into the big middle of ’em without any warnin’.”
“But what about the kidnappers? Will they push on through the night?”
“They might,” Preacher answered honestly. “Especially if they know where they’re goin’.”
“That means they’ll be even farther ahead of us by morning!”
“It can’t be helped, Senator. We’ll catch up to ’em, even if it takes several days.”
The rescue party had brought along some meager supplies, in case the pursuit lasted for days, and Preacher knew he could always catch a rabbit or a prairie chicken with a snare if he needed to. They might get hungry, but they wouldn’t starve.
The problem was that the longer those women were held prisoner, the greater the chance they might be molested. Preacher didn’t know if that was what the kidnappers had in mind, but with women as attractive as Margaret, Sarah, and Gretchen, that idea had to be in their thoughts.
He put Allingham’s mind at ease the best he could, telling him, “Anyway, Senator, when I say that we’ll have to stop for the night, that doesn’t mean all of us will stop.”
“You mean . . . ?”
“Dog and me might go on the scout,” Preacher said.
They would have a cold camp tonight, Preacher informed the others an hour later as they were unsaddling their horses and picketing the animals so they could graze. The men they were pursuing were bound to know they were back here, but there was no point in announcing their position to the varmints with a fire.
The campsite the mountain man had chosen was beside a tiny creek that flowed through a shallow wash. Once everybody was settled in, Preacher said, “You’ll want to keep a guard posted all night. It ain’t likely any of that bunch we’re after would double back and try to ambush us, but somebody should stay awake all the time anyway.”
“I’ll take the first watch,” one of the crewmen volunteered. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man named Warburton.
“And I’ll take the second,” Russell said. With three shifts, the middle was the most difficult and needed the most experienced man. Softened by town living or not, Russell could still handle it, Preacher was confident of that.
“Allow me to take the third watch,” Egon said. “I am accustomed to rising early. There was always much to do for the count, ja, Ludwig?”
“Jawohl,” Ludwig agreed emphatically, bringing a faint smile to Preacher’s face. He figured working for Count Stahlmaske was pretty close to hell on earth.
“I’ll leave it up to you fellas to work out the details,” Preacher said. “As soon as it gets a little darker, Dog and me are gonna take a look at what’s ahead of us. Keep your eyes open for us, and don’t shoot us when we come back. Simon, I’ll do a whippoorwill call so you’ll know it’s me.”
“All right, Preacher,” Russell acknowledged with a nod.
Preacher hunkered on his heels next to the creek, ate a biscuit he had brought along from the riverboat’s kitchen, washed it down with a couple of handfuls of water he scooped from the stream. It wasn’t much of a meal, but living on the frontier had taught him how to survive on short rations when he needed to.
By the time he was finished, the last glow of sundown had faded from the western sky. The stars were out but the moon wasn’t up yet, so the night was pretty dark, just the way Preacher wanted it. He picked up his rifle, rose to his feet, and said quietly, “See you boys later.”
He trotted off to the north with Dog padding along beside him, going on foot instead of taking Horse because it would be quieter and he didn’t know how far ahead of them their quarry might be.
Like the Indians, Preacher could travel this way for hours without stopping to rest. He kept track of the time by glancing at the stars now and then. He didn’t want to get so far ahead of the rest of his party that he couldn’t rejoin them by morning.
After a couple of hours, he slowed and then came to a stop as a faint scent of smoke drifted to his nose. He dropped to one knee and put a hand on Dog, who had also halted. He felt as much as heard the big cur’s growl, so he knew Dog had smelled something, too.
“That’s a campfire not far away, I reckon,” he said in a half whisper. “Guess they figured they’re far enough ahead there was no need to push on all night.”
Preacher’s keen eyes scanned the darkness in front of them but didn’t see any sign of a fire. That was no surprise. They were in the southern edge of the sandy, grass-covered hills that stretched on north toward the Missouri River, so there were plenty of little depressions where someone could build a campfire without it being seen very far away.
It didn’t matter whether he could see the fire. He and Dog could follow their noses right to it.
“Come on,” he breathed to the big cur, “but take it slow and easy.”
As they stalked forward carefully, the smell of smoke grew stronger. Preacher went to hands and knees to climb up a rise, and as he did he saw a faint glow on the other side that had to be coming from the campfire.
He bellied down and took off his hat for the last couple of feet. When he reached the crest he lifted his head so he could look over it, down into the shallow valley before the next hill rose.
The fire was small, fueled by dried buffalo chips so it gave off almost no smoke—but almost wasn’t the same as none, so Preacher had been able to smell the fire.
The flames didn’t give off much light, either, but enough for the mountain man to see the figures huddled on the ground nearby. He recognized the count, Roderick, and the three women. From the way they were lying, he knew their hands were tied behind their backs. That had to be pretty uncomfortable, but at least they were all still alive.
One of the white men stood near the prisoners, a long-barreled rifle cradled in his left arm. He was watching over the captives to make sure none of them got loose or tried anything else. The other three whites were on the far side of the fire, talking quietly among themselves.
The Pawnee were off to the left, keeping to themselves. The horses were over there, too, moving around a little on picket ropes as they grazed.
Preacher knew that Dog could stampede the horses without much trouble. He could shoot down the guard next to the prisoners before the man knew what was happened, then kill at least two of the other white men with his pistols. At worst that would leave the fourth man to be disposed of with knife or tomahawk. Preacher was confident he could do that.
And then the Pawnee would kill him and probably slaughter the prisoners, since whatever plan the white men had would collapse with them dead. As strong as the urge was to bust in there and commence to killin’, Preacher knew he couldn’t do it without risking the lives of the people he had come to rescue. Like it or not, he had to bide his time.
Dog rumbled deep in his throat, so quietly that the sound couldn’t have been heard more than a foot or two away. Preacher heard it, though, and recognized it as a warning. At the same time, he counted the Pawnee warriors he could see.
Eleven.
There was a dozen Indian ponies.
That meant one of the warriors was somewhere out here in the darkness with him, and Preacher had no doubt the man was searching for anyone who would be daring enough to sneak up on the camp.
Judging by Dog’s reaction, the Pawnee was close by, too.
CHAPTER 26
Preacher didn’
t move. He listened intently instead, and after a moment he heard the soft whisper of someone moving through the grass. The mountain man turned his head maybe an inch and watched from the corner of his eye as an indistinct shape moved through the starlight about twenty yards away.
Dog was pressed close against him. Preacher felt the vibration in the big cur’s torso as Dog tried not to growl. Not a sound came from the animal. Preacher knew it was a real struggle for Dog not to leap up with a snarl and launch himself at the enemy.
The Pawnee scout moved on up the hill and disappeared over it. Preacher dared to breathe again. He and Dog hadn’t been seen where they lay in the tall grass.
A few minutes later the scout completed his circuit of the camp and rejoined the other Pawnee. Preacher crawled backward from the hilltop and took Dog with him.
When he was far enough away, he stood up and put his hat on. The urge to go back and try to rescue the prisoners was strong inside him, but he controlled it and turned to head back to where he had left the others. At least he could report to them that the captives were alive and seemed to be unharmed.
Tirelessly, Preacher trotted across the prairie, and his unerring instincts led him straight to the rest of the search party a couple of hours later. The moon had risen by now, and its silvery illumination spilling over the plains revealed the dark line of brush that followed the course of the creek. Preacher paused and imitated the cry of the whippoorwill so Russell would know he was coming in.
A moment later Preacher heard the return cry signaling that everything was all right. He jogged on into the camp.
They were all awake and on their feet. Before Preacher could say anything, Senator Allingham asked anxiously, “Did you find them? Are they all right?”
“Yeah, I found ’em, and as far as I can tell they’re all fine, Senator. They were tied up, so they’ll probably be pretty stiff and sore in the mornin’, but they’ll get over that.”
“Thank the Lord!” Allingham said. “Where are they?”
“About seven, eight miles ahead of us. I can lead the way, if you fellas are up for the march.”
“Just try and stop us,” Russell said. “I want to get those varmints in my sights more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.”
“Ja,” Heinrich agreed. “For their crimes they must pay.”
The others all nodded, obviously eager to catch up to the kidnappers. Egon asked, “We will be there by morning?”
“We should be,” Preacher said, “and with any luck, that’ll be the best time to hit ’em.”
Roderick had complained until exhaustion finally overcame him and he fell asleep. His brother actually felt some relief at that development. Listening to Roderick had been tiresome.
At least Gretchen had been relatively calm about their whole ordeal. Stahlmaske admired her. He still hoped that eventually he would have the chance to show his admiration by marrying her—and also by putting himself in charge of the fortune she stood to inherit someday.
Margaret and Sarah had done nothing but snivel and weep, of course. Precisely what he would have expected of soft American women.
They were asleep now, too, claimed by exhaustion as Roderick had been. Stahlmaske was the only one of the captives still awake. He watched through slitted eyes as the three Englishmen on the other side of the fire rolled up in their blankets and went to sleep. The savages had bedded down for the night, too.
That left only one man on guard, a florid-faced individual with a sandy mustache. He stood about ten feet from Stahlmaske, holding a rifle and looking around at the darkness.
“Englishman!” Stahlmaske whispered. “Englishman, do you hear me?”
The guard ignored him for a minute, but Stahlmaske was persistent. Finally the man turned to him and asked in a quiet voice, “What do you want?”
“Earlier your companion said that I was going to make you all rich men. I can make one man even richer—you.”
“What is it you’re going to do? Bribe me to let you loose?”
“That’s right. Free me, my brother, and my fiancée, and I’ll see to it that you’re paid whatever you want.”
“What about those other two women?” the guard asked.
“I care nothing about them. They can remain here with you. Do with them as you will.”
The man said nothing, which made Stahlmaske believe that he was considering the offer. But then he laughed quietly and shook his head.
“What are you going to pay me with?” the Englishman demanded. “We know you don’t have any money of your own. That’s why you were going to marry that good-looking redhead!”
Stahlmaske’s eyes widened as he lay there trying to conceal his astonishment. How had the man known about the perilous state of the family finances? Was such a thing common knowledge in England? He didn’t see how that could be possible.
“Maybe you should just shut up and try to go to sleep,” the guard went on. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow. You’ll need your rest.”
Stahlmaske tried to reclaim some of his bravado by saying, “You and your fellows will regret this. I intend to see to it that you’re all hanged. That is, if I don’t take you back to Prussia with me.” He smiled. “I have a castle, you know. And there’s a dungeon in that castle where suitable punishment for the likes of you can be arranged.”
“You just go on thinking that, Count,” the man said, clearly not worried.
Stahlmaske’s teeth ground together in anger. It was bad enough that he was miserably uncomfortable, lying on the ground with his hands and feet tied. Now he had a maddening conundrum to plague him as well.
Just what sort of game were these damned Englishmen playing?
Once Preacher had been over a piece of ground he never forgot it. That natural ability had saved his life and the lives of others countless times in the past. He could only hope that tonight it would again.
The rescue party rode on horseback part of the way, but he knew how well sound could carry at night so after a while he called a halt and told the men to dismount.
“We’ll go the rest of the way on foot,” he explained. “We don’t want them to hear us comin’. When we get close enough, we’ll leave one man with the horses and the rest of us will crawl up to the edge of their camp.”
“We’re still outnumbered two to one,” Russell pointed out. “How do you plan to hit them?”
“You and me will take care of the four white men, Simon. Everybody else pour as much lead as you can into those Pawnee while they’re asleep.”
Allingham sounded shocked as he said, “But . . . but that’s murder! To shoot sleeping, defenseless men—”
“It’s the best way of tryin’ to get your wife and daughter out of there with whole skins,” Preacher finished for him in a flat, grim voice. “I understand what you’re sayin’, Senator, but those varmints killed Heinrich’s brother and several members of the crew. They did their damnedest to kill a bunch more of us. There’s a good chance I know some of those warriors. I’m sorry to have to fight ’em. But the lines are drawn and we don’t have any choice.”
Heinrich said, “I can shoot them, Herr Preacher. For Hobart.”
Preacher nodded and clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
Allingham sighed and said, “I understand. I just wish there were some other way to do it. But of course I’ll do whatever is necessary to save Margaret and Sarah.”
The eastern sky was tinged faintly with gray as Preacher and the other men approached the kidnappers’ campsite. The sun would be up in another hour. This was the time when men slept the soundest, when those who were standing guard had the most difficulty staying awake and alert.
When Preacher called a halt again, he considered the men he had with him, then said, “Ludwig, I got a special job for you.”
“Anything you wish me to attempt, Herr Preacher, I will do my very best,” the servant vowed.
“I know you will. That’s why I’m gi
vin’ you the job of stayin’ here with the horses.”
Ludwig’s face fell in the moonlight.
“You do not wish me to come with you to fight those men?”
“There’s a good chance we’re gonna be leavin’ outta there in a hurry,” Preacher explained. “That means we’ll need these horses to be right here waitin’ for us. If they ain’t, I reckon that means we’re all plumb out of luck. So if you ain’t up to the job of handlin’ the horses and havin’ ’em ready, I’ll give it to somebody else.”
“No, no,” Ludwig said hastily. “I can do it. I did not understand.”
“Well, now you do.”
“Yes, of course. I will let nothing happen to the horses.”
Preacher turned to the others and went on, “The rest of you will be comin’ with me. You know what to do. There’s a little hill overlookin’ their camp. When Simon and I start down it after those white men, the rest of you open up on the Pawnee.”
He got grim nods all around in response.
“Check your guns, and then we’ll get started.”
Preacher knew he was asking a lot of these men. None of them had any real experience in matters like this except him and Simon Russell. Whether that would be enough to allow the rescue party to succeed, only time would tell.
A few minutes later they set off toward the hills, leaving a nervous Ludwig behind them holding the horses.
Stahlmaske finally dozed off sometime during the night, but his sleep was restless and did nothing to improve his mood. When he awoke, however, his thoughts were clearer than they had been at any time since he’d been knocked unconscious during the attack on the riverboat.
What was happening to him still made no sense, but at least he finally knew who was responsible for it.
A different Englishman was standing guard now, a short, stocky man with fuzzy whiskers on the sides of his face. He had a shotgun tucked under his arm.
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