Preacher's Slaughter

by William W. Johnstone

  “If Preacher is alive, he’ll be coming after us, too.”

  Stahlmaske’s frown deepened.

  “Preacher,” he said, his disdain for the mountain man obvious in his voice. “People seem to think the man can work miracles, but as far as I can tell, he’s only one step above a savage himself!”

  “Sometimes that’s exactly what’s needed,” Gretchen said.

  Preacher sent Russell and the other men back to fetch the horses, all except for Allingham, who begged to stay behind with Preacher and Dog.

  “I want to stay here, closer to Margaret and Sarah,” he explained. His voice was determined but also ragged with fear for his wife and daughter’s safety.

  Preacher considered the request for a moment, then said, “If you think you can keep a cool head, you can stay. You got to do everything I tell you, though.”

  “Of course. I just want to get them back safely, Preacher. Nothing else really means anything to me. Following your orders is the best way I can do that.”

  The senator was showing some sense. He and Preacher went back to the hill overlooking the camp while the other men headed back the way they had come.

  The two of them watched as the kidnappers got ready to break camp. Roderick Stahlmaske was still giving orders. The four Englishmen didn’t seem to have much respect for him, but they did what he told them to do, Preacher noted. More than likely they had been ordered by their real boss to go along with whatever Roderick wanted.

  Preacher knew it was difficult for Allingham when he had to watch Margaret and Sarah crying in fear and clutching each other. To watch a loved one in danger like that and not be able to do anything about it had to be pure hell.

  Allingham bit his lip and stayed quiet, though, as the sky lightened even more and the sun finally came up. He and Preacher had taken their hats off, and they kept their heads down so they wouldn’t be spotted in the tall grass.

  After the group had eaten breakfast, they got ready to move out. Allingham whispered to Preacher, “When will our men be back with the horses?”

  “It’ll probably be another hour, anyway,” the mountain man replied.

  “And during that time, those men will build up another lead on us.”

  “It’ll be all right,” Preacher assured him. “We’ll be able to follow them. From the sound of what they said earlier, they don’t really want to lose us. That’s why they ain’t goin’ to any trouble to cover their trail.”

  “Because they’re luring us into that trap you mentioned.”

  “Yep.”

  Earlier, he and Allingham and Russell had discussed what they would do when they caught up with the kidnappers. Preacher intended for Allingham and the other men, except for him and Russell, to approach openly. While they were doing that, the two frontiersmen would circle around and get behind the kidnappers to search for a way to free the prisoners. Those were all the details that could be worked out until they had gotten a look at wherever the group was bound and seen the lay of the land.

  Once the kidnappers and their captives were gone, Preacher and Allingham could talk more freely. Allingham asked, “What was that about a trading post Roderick mentioned? Wouldn’t any trading posts out here belong to the American Fur Company?”

  “All the ones I know about do,” Preacher agreed, “but I’ve been thinkin’ about those fellas who are workin’ with Roderick. A while back I tangled with some British government agents who were tryin’ to ruin the American fur trade so that the Hudson’s Bay Company and other English fur tradin’ companies could get a better foothold down here. As long as there’s been fur trappin’ in the Rockies, the British have wanted to come down here from Canada and take over. Could be this is just their latest attempt.”

  “Stir up trouble between the United States and Prussia, eh? Maybe even start a war to keep Washington distracted?”

  “I don’t see how we’re supposed to fight them dang Prussians when they’re all the way around on the other side of the world.”

  “Our marines fought the Barbary pirates,” Allingham pointed out. “That’s a long way from here, too, and it’s on the other side of an ocean. I suppose the United States and Prussia could attack each other if they wanted to badly enough. We could certainly make war on each other’s shipping.”

  “Would the count gettin’ killed make the Prussians mad enough to start a ruckus like that?”

  “If it was made to appear that a United States senator was to blame for his death? Quite likely.” Allingham let out a disgusted groan. “God, we all really played right into Roderick’s hands, didn’t we? The count by seducing my wife, Margaret by going along with it, and me by attacking him on the riverboat. Now everyone will believe whatever story Roderick’s friends want to spread.”

  “He ain’t got away with it yet,” Preacher pointed out. “He still has to kill you and the count, remember, and we don’t aim to let that happen.”

  A few minutes of silence went by, then Allingham said, “I can almost sympathize with him, you know.”

  “The count?”

  “Roderick.”

  Preacher squinted at Allingham and asked, “How in blazes do you figure that?”

  “Well, if you had to spend your whole life with Albert Stahlmaske as your brother . . . wouldn’t you feel like killing him, too?”

  Preacher laughed and said, “Now that you mention it, I reckon I might’ve done it a long time before now!”

  They were chuckling over that when Dog growled. Dog’s instincts warned the mountain man at the same time. He and Allingham were lying at the top of the hill on their bellies, peering in the direction the kidnappers had gone. Preacher rolled over fast and snatched his rifle from the ground just as something whipped past his ear.

  He glanced over and saw a Pawnee arrow sticking in the ground where he had been only a second earlier. As he sat up he saw one of the painted warriors standing several yards away, drawing back his bowstring for another shot.

  CHAPTER 29

  Preacher fired the rifle without bringing it to his shoulder to aim, but the shot was true anyway. The ball punched into the warrior’s belly and doubled him over. When he loosed the arrow as he died, it flew into the ground just a few feet in front of him, well short of Preacher and the senator.

  The Pawnee wasn’t alone. Several more warriors had crawled through the grass and closed in on the two white men. Now that there was no longer any need for stealth, they leaped to their feet and charged toward Preacher with shrill war cries.

  The mountain man barely had time to drop his empty rifle and snatch the two pistols from behind his belt. He cocked the weapons as he brought them up and then pressed the triggers.

  Smoke and flame geysered from the muzzles as the pistols roared. The shots drove two more of the Pawnee off their feet as blood spouted from the holes the balls ripped in their torsos. They hit the ground and stayed down.

  That left two of the warriors still alive and in the fight, however. Allingham fired his rifle at one of them, but in his inexperience he rushed his shot and missed.

  Fortunately for him, neither of the Indians paid any attention to him. Their efforts were focused on killing Preacher. The one in the lead dived toward the mountain man with the tomahawk in his hand streaking toward Preacher’s head.

  Preacher blocked the tomahawk stroke with the empty pistol in his left hand and crashed the one in his right against the side of the Indian’s head with bone-shattering force. The warrior collapsed on top of Preacher with his body spasming in its death throes.

  That left one of the Pawnee still in the fight. He drew back his bowstring and aimed an arrow past his dying companion’s head at Preacher.

  Before the man could loose the missile, Allingham surged up off the ground and threw his empty rifle in the warrior’s face. It struck the Indian with enough force to throw off his aim. The arrow sailed harmlessly over the hilltop.

  Preacher rolled the dead warrior to the side and came up with his tomahawk in hand. He th
rew it with blinding speed. The head caught the last Pawnee between the eyes, splitting his skull and killing him instantly. The dead man dropped to the ground as if all his bones had suddenly turned to liquid.

  “Good Lord!” Allingham exclaimed in a shaky voice. “You just killed five men in a matter of seconds, Preacher!”

  “Seemed like the thing to do at the time,” Preacher drawled. “Other wise they were gonna kill me.” He shot a speculative glance at Allingham and added, “But not you, Senator.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Preacher prodded one of the corpses with the toe of his boot and said, “If they wanted you dead, they had their chances. That fella who fired the first arrow could’ve put it right in the middle of your back, instead of aimin’ it at me. They figured on killin’ me and takin’ you prisoner, so they could deliver you to Roderick.”

  “So you think these men were part of the group working for him?”

  “Nothin’ else makes sense,” Preacher said.

  “I thought the rest of the Indians went back to their village.”

  Preacher ran a thumbnail along his grizzled jaw and frowned in thought for a moment before saying, “I reckon that’s what they wanted us to think. These men headed south with the others, then split off and doubled back. It was their job to trail Roderick and the others at a distance and deal with any pursuers.” The mountain man’s bushy black eyebrows drew down as his frown deepened. “Makes me wonder if Russell and the others didn’t head right back into an ambush.”

  “You mean they may not be coming to join us after all.” The words from the senator were a flat, worried statement, not a question.

  “Could be,” Preacher said. “Could be you and me are the only ones left to rescue those prisoners. That’ll make it harder, sure enough. But I ain’t in the habit of givin’ up as long as I’m still breathin’.”

  “How long do we wait before starting after Roderick and the others on foot?”

  Preacher glanced at the sky. The sun was still fairly low, meaning it was early in the morning.

  “We’ll give ’em another hour or so,” he decided. “If they’re not back by then . . . well, I reckon we’ll have a long walk in front of us, Senator.”

  Stahlmaske had never been so exhausted, not even when he had been in combat for hours on end. Every time the party stopped to rest the horses, the count’s legs were weak and wobbly when he dismounted. He had to hang on to the saddle for a moment until he regained some of his strength and equilibrium.

  It was humiliating having Gretchen see him this way. Even worse was the smug expression that appeared on Roderick’s face. His perfect older brother wasn’t so perfect after all, and Roderick was taking great pleasure in that fact even though he was exhausted himself.

  They all were. The four Englishmen had kept the group moving at a grueling pace all day, showing consideration only for the horses and then only occasionally.

  The man with the rust-colored mustache seemed to be the leader of the quartet. Stahlmaske had overheard enough conversation between the Englishmen to know that the man’s name was Battersby. He was big and brawny, with knobby-knuckled fists that showed he was no stranger to trouble.

  The short, stout man with the bushy side whiskers was called Trout. Stahlmaske hadn’t heard the names of the other two mentioned. Not that it mattered what their names were.

  They would all die, by Stahlmaske’s own hand if possible.

  Then he would deal with Roderick.

  Difficult as it was to believe, the group didn’t even stop when night fell but rather pressed on to the north as the sky began to darken from blue to black and stars appeared here and there.

  “How much farther are we going?” Stahlmaske demanded wearily. “You can’t expect these ladies to keep riding indefinitely.”

  Roderick laughed.

  “You mean you can’t keep going, Albert,” he said.

  Stahlmaske couldn’t control his anger. He said, “Damn you, look at them!”

  It was true. Margaret and Sarah Allingham both looked like they were about to pass out. They would have fallen off their mounts if they hadn’t been tied on. Gretchen was holding up somewhat better, but it was obvious she was nearing the end of her strength, too.

  Roderick turned to Battersby and asked, “How much farther is it?”

  “We’ll be there in less than an hour,” the Englishman replied.

  “Danke.” Roderick looked at Stahlmaske and said, “You and the ladies will just have to hold on for a short while longer, Albert.”

  “And then what?” Stahlmaske asked sharply. “You’ll kill us?”

  “Oh, no. We’ll be waiting until the senator joins us. We have to make sure, you see, that everything is arranged precisely the way it should be. That’s why we had to get all of you out here away from everyone else. I’m going to be the sole survivor of this debacle. After I’ve made my heroic trek through the wilderness, survived a myriad of hardships, and found the riverboat at last, no one will doubt the tale I tell.”

  “You’re a real bastard,” the count said. His voice was icy.

  “I believe that would make you one as well,” Roderick replied with a chuckle.

  “I’m beginning to wonder about that. I don’t see how I could have sprung from the same pair of loins as a treacherous cur such as yourself.”

  “Just shut up and ride,” Roderick snapped. “We’ll be there soon.”

  The journey seemed never-ending, but finally it did. Stahlmaske spotted a spot of light glowing far ahead of them. Slowly but surely, it grew brighter until he could discern that it was the glow of lamplight through a window. Under normal circumstances the warm yellow illumination would have seemed welcoming as it beckoned to them after a long, hard day in the saddle.

  Instead, if Roderick had his way the light marked the place where the count and the three women would die, along with Senator Allingham.

  Stahlmaske didn’t care a whit about the boorish politician, but Allingham’s death would mean that Roderick had succeeded, and Stahlmaske would do everything in his power to prevent that from happening.

  The window was in a long, low building that sat on a low bluff next to a wide, slow-moving river. That was the Missouri, Stahlmaske realized. They had cut across country to intercept the stream again after it curved. He vaguely remembered the Missouri’s serpentine course from a map he had studied back in Washington before embarking on this ill-fated expedition. As a military man, the count had always been interested in maps.

  A couple of hounds heard them coming and ran out to bay at them. A door opened, spilling more light on the ground in front of the building. No one emerged, though, or even stepped into the doorway. The men inside were being careful.

  “Is that you, Battersby?” someone called from inside. Stahlmaske suspected that rifles were already thrust through loopholes. If the answer wasn’t to the liking of the defenders, they would open fire in a crashing volley that would sweep all the riders out of their saddles.

  Well, except for the ones like him who were tied in place, Stahlmaske amended. They would die right where they were, on horseback.

  “Of course it’s me, Rothfuss, you bloody scoundrel. Who’d you think it would be?”

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “I know I’m bloody well not in Trafalgar Square!”

  Stahlmaske recognized the exchange as a signal to let the men inside the cabin know that everything was all right. If Battersby hadn’t mentioned Trafalgar Square, chances were the defenders would have opened fire.

  As it was, one of them finally stepped into the doorway and waved an arm beckoningly.

  “Come on in,” he called. “Everything’s fine here.”

  “Let’s go,” Roderick said. “I hope you enjoy the accommodations, Albert. The place isn’t nearly as luxurious as you’re accustomed to, I’m afraid. But it’ll do to die in.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Allingham’s anxiety grew worse as the minutes dra
gged by that morning. Preacher could understand why. If more warriors from the Pawnee band had massacred Simon Russell and the other members of the rescue party and taken the horses, it would take days for Preacher and Allingham to catch up to their quarry on foot. Preacher didn’t know if the senator was even up to such a trek, although he was sure Allingham would insist on going forward.

  With the lives of his wife and daughter at stake, he couldn’t really do anything else.

  So it was with great relief that Preacher spotted the riders approaching in the distance. Allingham didn’t seem to notice them, and Preacher didn’t say anything until the men on horseback were close enough for him to recognize Simon Russell in the lead. Everything appeared to be fine.

  “Here they come, Senator,” the mountain man said.

  Allingham had been sitting on the ground, looking depressed. Animated by Preacher’s comment, he leaped to his feet and peered to the south, exclaiming, “Where—Oh, thank God! That’s Russell, isn’t it?”

  “Yep,” Preacher agreed. He took off his broad-brimmed hat and waved it over his head. He knew Russell was almost as keen-eyed as he was and would see the signal letting him know it was all right to come on in.

  “We have a chance to save them now,” Allingham said.

  “We always had a chance. But we’ve got a better one with the horses, that’s for sure.”

  Dog ran to meet the newcomers and then led them in, wagging his bushy tail as he did so because he was happy to be reunited with Horse. The two animals had been trail partners and genuine friends for a long time.

  As they rode up with the rest of the rescue party, Heinrich Ritter and the two servants, Ludwig and Egon, stared at the Pawnee corpses. Russell didn’t look particularly shocked to see the dead Indians.

  “Looks like you had a little trouble here,” he commented to Preacher as he dismounted.

  “Not much to speak of,” Preacher said. “Just a few varmints coverin’ the rear. I was worried that you might run into more of ’em, though.”

  Russell shook his head and said, “We didn’t see hide nor hair of any Pawnee.”