“That’s good. Roderick and the rest of that bunch pulled out a little after sunup. We’ll let the horses rest a while and then get started after them.”
Preacher could tell that Allingham wanted to mount up and gallop after the kidnappers right away. He would just have to figure out a way to be patient, though. A lot depended on those horses, and they had to be taken care of.
After a half-hour that probably seemed a lot longer to Allingham, the men swung up into their saddles and Preacher led the party northward on the trail of the kidnappers. They were several hours behind their quarry and likely wouldn’t catch up before the sun went down.
Roderick had said that he wanted to reach their destination by that night, however, and when they did they would stop. Preacher and his men would push on. A showdown was coming, and the sooner the better as far as Preacher was concerned.
The inside of the British post was as primitive and crudely furnished as Stahlmaske would have expected here in this American wilderness. The floor was made of tree trunks split in half and roughly fitted together. The tables and benches were equally rough-hewn. Shelves loaded with trade goods—rifles, pistols, knives, axes, powder horns, shot pouches, food staples—lined the walls of the main room. In the back was a counter where trappers could barter with the man running the post, and to one side was a rough-and-ready bar made of splintery planks laid across whiskey barrels.
At gunpoint, the prisoners were herded in on legs shaky from fatigue. Rothfuss, the man who seemed to be in charge here at the post, was tall and almost painfully thin, with a pair of pince-nez perched on his nose.
“This is the lot you were after, then, eh?” he said as he looked at the captives.
“That’s right,” Battersby replied.
Rothfuss counted, pointing to each of the prisoners in turn, and then said, “There are only four of them. There were supposed to be five.”
Roderick stepped forward and said, “There’s no longer any need for the masquerade, my friend. My own role in this is now common knowledge.”
“You’re him, then,” Rothfuss said. “The Prussian turncoat.”
Roderick’s face flushed angrily at the description. Stahlmaske let out a scornful laugh.
“I see that this man is well acquainted with you, brother,” he said.
Roderick snapped, “I’m simply doing what’s best for everyone concerned.”
“Except those of us who are going to be murdered. Face it, Roderick. You’re doing this to further your own cause, and no other reason. You’re going to be responsible for the deaths of three women and your own brother because you’re nothing more than a spiteful, greedy little swine.”
Roderick’s face twisted. He stepped closer to Stahlmaske and swung a vicious backhand that cracked across the count’s face. It was an awkwardly thrown blow, but it landed with enough power to snap Stahlmaske’s head to the side.
“I don’t have to take your arrogant abuse anymore,” Roderick said, panting a little from the rage that possessed him. “I’m in charge now, Albert, not you. You’ll never run roughshod over me or anyone else, ever again.”
Stahlmaske held up his bound hands and said, “It would be very, very different if I were free, eh? Then you wouldn’t be so brave. You’d be a mouse again, instead of a bear.”
“You think so, do you? I should—” Roderick stopped short, frowned at his brother for a second, and then shook his head. “No, you won’t trick me into setting you free, even for a moment. You’re going to remain helpless for the rest of your life . . . however long that may be.”
“Speaking of which,” Rothfuss said, “how do we know that senator fellow will actually show up the way we’re counting on?”
“We have his wife and daughter. He’ll come after us.”
“Plus we made arrangements to have some of the Indians watch our back trail as well,” Battersby added. “If they see a good opportunity, they’ll capture Senator Allingham, kill whoever is with him, and bring him straight to us.”
Gretchen spoke for the first time in hours, saying, “You’re forgetting something, all of you.”
“What would that be, my dear?” Roderick asked her.
“If he’s alive, Preacher will be with the senator.”
“A minister?” Rothfuss said as he frowned in confusion. “Why should we be worried about a minister?”
“He’s not that sort of preacher,” Roderick said, and now he was frowning, too.
Not in confusion, though, thought Stahlmaske. His brother was worried.
And as much as Stahlmaske might despise Preacher personally, he found himself hoping that Gretchen was right.
That uncivilized, unwashed mountain man might be their only real hope for survival.
Preacher pushed the party as fast as he dared without wearing out the horses. He could tell from the sign left behind by the men they were trailing that the kidnappers weren’t hurrying. Preacher knew that his group had cut into their lead.
He didn’t want to catch up to them in broad daylight, though, so he called a halt from time to time even though those delays chafed at Allingham.
He would probably feel the same way if a couple of women he loved were in the hands of that bunch.
As the sun began to go down and Preacher stopped again, Allingham finally burst out, “We have to keep going! We should have caught them by now!”
“We don’t want them to see us comin’, Senator,” Preacher explained. “The darkness is our only chance of takin’ ’em by surprise.”
“We can’t surprise them. You heard Roderick. They want us to find them. They’ll be expecting us no matter when we attack them.”
“The surprise will be in the way we attack ’em.”
Allingham took off his hat and ran his hand over his head before he sighed in exasperation.
“I know. You’ve gone over the plan. And I hope it works. This waiting is just dreadfully hard. I wish we’d never left Washington. Margaret and Sarah would be safe now if we were still there.”
Preacher had seen more bad things happen in cities than he had out here on the frontier, but he didn’t figure the senator wanted to hear anything like that right now. So he just ambled over to the three Prussians and asked, “Are you boys doin’ all right?”
Ludwig grimaced and said, “I did not know that riding horses would cause one to hurt so much.” He reached down and rubbed the insides of his thighs.
Preacher chuckled. He said, “Yeah, it’ll get to you after a while if you ain’t used to it. You fellas will be good riders by the time this is over.”
“If we survive,” Egon said.
Heinrich Ritter said, “Nothing will stop me from freeing my sister and avenging poor Hobart’s death. I would pursue those men all the way to the very gates of hell.”
“Well, we shouldn’t have to go quite that far,” Preacher told him. “But it’s good that you feel that way, Heinrich. Just keep your head and do what you’re told when the time comes, and you’ll be all right.”
“I do not care about myself,” Heinrich said with a shake of his head. “Only Gretchen and Hobart.”
Preacher clapped a hand on his shoulder for a second and then moved on to Simon Russell. The former trapper had taken his hat off and hunkered on his heels, peering northward over the prairie in the fading light.
Preacher knelt beside him and said quietly, “They ain’t far ahead of us now.”
“I know. I can still read signs, even after spending too much time in town the past couple of years.” Russell looked back over his shoulder at the others. “Still plan on using the senator as a distraction while you and I get in amongst the enemy?”
“Unless you have a better idea.”
Russell shook his head.
“No, that stands more of a chance of working than anything else. But the odds are still going to be stacked pretty high against us, Preacher.”
“I know.”
Russell narrowed his eyes and asked, “If it comes down to i
t, do we save the women or the count?”
“I reckon you know the answer to that.”
“If anything happens to the count, it could mean war between the United States and Prussia.”
“We’ll just have to risk it,” Preacher said. “But we’re gettin’ those women out safe and sound, no matter what else happens.”
Russell nodded and said, “All right, then. For what it’s worth, I see things the same way.”
“Never doubted it,” Preacher said.
The other man chuckled, then said, “You know, I started to say that I was sorry I asked you to come along and got you mixed up in this mess. But I’m not sorry, Preacher. Hell, if it wasn’t for you, we never would’ve stood a chance in the first place. So it’s a good thing I decided to ask you for a favor. For old time’s sake, you know.”
Preacher nodded and told him, “Believe it or not, I’m glad I’m here, too, Simon.” He grinned and added, “Shoot, if I hadn’t come along, I probably never would’ve had the chance to have a swordfight with a Prussian count!”
CHAPTER 31
Lamplight glowed in the windows of the log and sod building on the bluff overlooking the river. The silvery moonlight revealed that the Pawnee warriors were camped about fifty yards to the left of the so-called trading post. A peeled-pole corral to the right held the horses.
“How many men do you reckon are in there?” Russell asked in a whisper as he and Preacher lay on their bellies about two hundred yards away, studying the place.
“Judgin’ by the number of horses in that corral, probably about a dozen,” Preacher replied.
“And there are a dozen of those Pawnee. That means we’re outnumbered three to one.”
“Hell, the odds are practically even, then,” Preacher said with a grin.
Russell snorted and said, “I should’ve known you’d see it that way. You’ve always liked a good scrap better than anything else, haven’t you?”
“Me?” Preacher said dryly. “I’m a peaceable man.”
He grew more serious as Russell asked, “How are we gonna get in there? They’re bound to have sentries posted.”
“And some of those Pawnee could be out scoutin’ around, too,” Preacher said. “But I’ve got a hunch they won’t be watchin’ the river all that much.”
Russell didn’t respond for a moment as he was clearly lost in thought. Then he asked, “How do you figure to do it? We don’t have any canoes.”
“We’ll head upstream, find some cottonwoods, and build us a raft so we can float back down behind them. It won’t have to be anything fancy, just something that’ll float and be big enough to carry you, me, and Dog.”
Russell nodded slowly.
“How will we time it so we make our move at the same time as the others?” he asked.
“We ought to be able to get back here by dawn,” Preacher said. “Allingham can wait until then.”
“If we’re not ready, they’ll be serving themselves up on a platter,” Russell cautioned.
“Maybe, maybe not. Those fellas may not have any experience, but I’ve got a hunch they’ll fight hard.”
“Whether they fight hard or not, they’ll all get killed in the end,” Russell said sourly.
“That just means we’d best hold up our end of the bargain.” Preacher motioned with a jerk of his head for the two of them to withdraw.
They crawled backward on their bellies until they were out of sight of the British post, then stood up and trotted toward the spot where they had left the others. Dark shapes up ahead became men and horses.
Allingham greeted them with an anxious question, asking, “What did you find?”
Quickly, Preacher describe the layout, then added, “Simon and I are gonna see if we can’t get into the place from the back. That way we can protect the prisoners and maybe even get them out of there before all hell breaks loose.”
“In order to do that, you’ll need something to distract Roderick and the others,” Allingham said grimly.
“That’s where you come in, Senator. Their whole plan falls apart if you’re still alive to tell what really happened. So it’s gonna be mighty important for them to get their hands on you.”
“I’m going to dangle myself like bait, you mean.”
“Hate to say it, but that’s our best chance. It’ll be pretty dangerous.”
“With the lives of my wife and daughter at stake, I don’t care how dangerous it is,” Allingham declared. “I’ll give up my own life for them if I have to.”
Preacher didn’t doubt it for a second. If they all got out of this alive, he didn’t figure Josiah Allingham had much chance of ever being president or vice president. In fact, his career in Washington probably wouldn’t last too long. The fella was just too decent and honorable to be much good as a politician.
They spent a few minutes going over the details of the plan, then Preacher and Russell departed on foot, leaving Horse and Russell’s mount with the others. Dog bounded ahead of them as they trotted northwest, following a course that would bring them to the Missouri River a couple of miles upstream from the British post.
They traveled in silence now. The time for talking was over, unless one of them had something to say that was vital.
Preacher figured the time was after midnight when he and Russell reached the Big Muddy. They scouted along the river until they found a grove of cottonwood saplings. Hatchets and knives made short work of chopping down enough of the slender trees to build a raft. They trimmed the branches and then lashed the poles together with rawhide, carrying out the task with the smooth, practiced efficiency of men accustomed to surviving in the wilderness.
As they worked, Preacher said, “You should come back to the mountains and stay, Simon. Forget about livin’ in town. You’re still as good a man as you ever were.”
“I don’t know about that,” Russell said. “I’ve gotten too used to having a feather bed under me and a roof over my head at night. Once a man turns his back on the mountains, I don’t know if he can ever go back for good.”
“Why’d you ever leave in the first place?” Preacher asked bluntly. He knew it was none of his business, but if Russell felt like that, he could say so.
Russell shrugged and said, “The company offered me good money to help run their operation out here. I was just foolish enough to think that it might be nice to have some more comfortable surroundings for a while. The ground gets mighty cold and hard at night as you get older.”
“You ain’t that much older than I am,” Preacher pointed out. “We’re practically the same age.”
“Yeah, but you were born for this life. You’ll still be going off to see the elephant when you’re eighty years old, if you live that long!”
Preacher chuckled and said, “You’re probably right about that. I hope so, anyway.”
He finished tying the last bit of rawhide in place. When they put the raft in the river, the water would shrink the rawhide even more and make the bonds tight and unbreakable. Preacher nodded in satisfaction.
They carried the raft into the Missouri. It floated without any signs of a problem. Preacher wouldn’t have wanted to travel for hundreds of miles on it—it was barely big enough for him, Russell, and Dog to sit—but it would do fine for floating a couple of miles back downstream.
Preacher held the raft in place while Russell fetched their rifles and the rest of their gear they had left on the shore. When Russell was on board, Preacher said, “All right, Dog, it’s your turn.”
The big cur looked skeptically at the raft and whined. He was a strong swimmer, but evidently he wasn’t sure about climbing onto the floating platform.
“It’ll be all right,” Preacher assured him. “Go ahead. Get your mangy carcass up here.”
Stubbornly, Dog barked at him.
“All right, you can follow us along the shore, I reckon,” Preacher said. “Just don’t get lost.”
Dog turned and ran off along the bank.
Russell said in an am
azed tone, “It’s like he understands every word you say to him.”
“Well, why wouldn’t he? We been together for a long time. Horse is the same way.”
“You know, Preacher,” Russell mused, “sometimes I think you don’t realize just how special you really are.”
Preacher snorted and pulled himself onto the raft. He picked up one of the long, slender poles they had cut to help them steer and avoid any obstacles in the river and used it to push the raft into deeper water. Preacher felt the current catch the makeshift craft and tug it along.
The raft began to go faster. Except in a few places, the Missouri had a reputation for flowing leisurely, but even that current felt fairly rapid when you were sitting on a tiny raft in the middle of the broad expanse of river. The raft tried to switch ends a few times, but Preacher and Russell stuck the cottonwood poles in the water and righted it.
In some places the terrain was almost flat where the land came down and joined the river. In others, sandstone bluffs twenty to thirty feet tall loomed over the water.
The British outpost sat on just such a bluff, Preacher recalled. He hoped he and Russell would be able to see it from the river so they would know they were in the right place.
That minor worry was unfounded. Preacher spotted the lights in the trading post’s windows while the raft was still several hundred yards upstream. He pointed them out to Russell, and the two men began poling the raft closer to that shore.
Preacher looked at the eastern sky. The gray tinge he saw there told him that dawn was an hour, maybe a little more, away. He and Russell had plenty of time to get in position.
The face of the bluff looked dark, smooth, and sheer. Preacher knew that in reality it was rougher than it appeared and likely would have enough cracks, knobs, and projections to provide handholds and footholds as he and Russell climbed it.
As they angled toward shore, the bluff rose and cut off their view of the lights from the trading post. That didn’t matter. Preacher knew they were in the right place.
They had already rigged slings for their rifles, so their hands would be free for climbing. They wouldn’t be able to tie up the raft and keep it from drifting away, but that didn’t really matter. One way or another, after what happened in the next couple of hours they wouldn’t need it anymore.
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