The kidnappers’ response to Preacher’s shout was swift as well. They pivoted toward him, and pistols and rifles roared. A veritable storm of lead whipped around the mountain man, who stood there coolly and pressed the trigger of his rifle.
The tall man who had been doing the talking for the Englishmen jerked back as the ball from Preacher’s flintlock smashed into the center of his forehead and bored deep into his brain. He fell, dead before he hit the ground.
More shots blasted from the rest of the rescue party hidden in the trees. One of the British agents howled in pain and collapsed as a rifle ball broke his right thigh bone and knocked the leg out from under him, but the others managed to scramble back inside to what they considered safety.
But Simon Russell was already in there, and he was about to have help. Preacher didn’t bother reloading his rifle. He dropped the empty weapon, whirled toward the nearest window, and called, “Now, Dog!”
The big cur had been waiting for the order. He leaped through the open window and disappeared inside.
While the kidnappers were forcing Margaret and Sarah Allingham outside, Count Stahlmaske scooted over closer to Gretchen, who looked calm but frightened.
“I can only tell you again how sorry I am that you became involved in this ridiculous situation, my dear,” he said.
“I really thought Preacher would be here by now,” Gretchen said. “If the senator is out there by himself, he’s not going to be any match for these men.”
“If only I were free—”
“Turn a little,” Gretchen suggested. “They’re not watching us very closely. Maybe I can untie your wrists.”
Stahlmaske was about to tell her he had already tried that, but then he decided it couldn’t hurt anything. Gretchen’s fingers were slender and more supple than his, plus she had longer nails with which to work. He twisted his body so she could reach his hands bound behind his back, and she went to work.
He heard her mutter under her breath as she strained to free him. To his great surprise, it seemed to him that after only a few minutes the ropes around his wrists were a bit looser. She continued her efforts as shouting came from outside. Allingham was trying to talk the kidnappers into turning his wife and daughter loose.
Gretchen’s breath suddenly hissed between her teeth in alarm. Stahlmaske turned his head and saw Roderick coming toward them.
“Don’t the two of you look cozy, all huddled together that way?” he jeered. “Have you been thinking, Gretchen dear? Have you relented in your decision? I might be willing to allow you to live if you made it worth my while.”
Gretchen pressed herself against Stahlmaske as if searching for sanctuary, but in reality she had increased her efforts to untie him. She said, “I would never have anything to do with you, Roderick, you know that. And if I did, it would only be so I could get close enough to cut your throat some night while you slept.”
Roderick sighed and said, “Yes, I suppose that’s exactly what you would do. Such a pity. I always thought that you and I—” He leaned forward suddenly and frowned. “What are you doing there? Are you trying to—”
Before he could finish the question, someone shouted outside and a great volley of gunfire crashed. At the same time, Stahlmaske felt the ropes around his wrists fall away. His hands and arms were free, but they were numb and useless from being pulled back into such an awkward position for so long.
He did the only thing he could. He jerked his legs up and then lashed out with them, driving his bound feet into Roderick’s stomach with so much force it sent the younger man flying backward.
Stahlmaske waved his arms and flexed his fingers, trying to force feeling back into the limbs. He reached up, grabbed hold of the top of the counter against which they had been leaning, and pulled himself up. From the corner of his eye he saw a roughly clad man climbing in through a window and recognized Simon Russell from the riverboat.
Awkwardly because his ankles were still bound and he didn’t have full use of his arms yet, Stahlmaske hopped around the counter and lunged toward several hatchets that lay on a shelf. He grabbed one, bent over, and chopped at the ropes around his ankles, heedless of any injury he might do to himself in his haste. The thick leather of his high boots turned aside the blade when his strokes missed.
Half a dozen British agents were still inside the trading post. When the shooting started outside, they had rushed toward the door, but one of the men spotted Russell and shouted a warning. As some of them whirled to meet this new threat, Russell fired his rifle, the report echoing deafeningly from the low ceiling. One of the Englishmen went down with a smashed shoulder.
Russell flung his empty rifle at the others and pulled the pistol from behind his belt. He raced forward to put himself in front of Gretchen as he raised the pistol and cocked it. A rifle ball ripped across his side as the British agents opened fire. The impact twisted him halfway around, but he stayed on his feet and squeezed the pistol’s trigger. It boomed and sent a ball into the chest of another Englishman.
Stahlmaske’s feet were free now, the severed ropes having dropped away from them. He snatched another hatchet from the shelf and rolled across the counter. A rifle ball chewed splinters from the planks as he did so. As he landed on his feet in front of the counter next to Russell, his arms whipped forward and the two hatchets flew through the air. Each of them struck one of the British agents. One went down with blood spouting from his throat where the hatchet had lodged, but the other man received only a minor injury.
That changed a second later when a gray, furry form slammed into him and knocked him off his feet. The man didn’t even have time to scream before Dog’s powerful jaws locked on his throat and ripped it out.
More of the kidnappers dashed back through the open door, fleeing from whatever was happening outside. Stahlmaske heard a lot of shooting and knew that a full-fledged rescue party must have arrived.
Preacher was probably out there somewhere, too, he thought.
The rifle fire from the rescue party hidden in the trees had driven the kidnappers back inside the trading post, but those left outside still had other problems. As Preacher ran toward the Allingham family, he glanced at the Pawnee camp and saw the warriors scrambling this way to get in on the fight.
He reached the Allinghams and bent down to take hold of the senator’s arm.
“Head for the trading post, now!” he barked.
“But . . . but the rest of the kidnappers are in there,” Allingham said as he pushed himself up on hands and knees, still hovering over his wife and daughter.
“Yeah, but the Pawnee are out here. Now move!”
Allingham scrambled to his feet and helped Margaret and Sarah up. As they broke into a run toward the trading post, Preacher pulled his other pistol from behind his belt and used it to wave the others out of the woods.
“Come on!” he shouted. “Into the trading post!”
Heinrich Ritter, Egon, Ludwig, Warburton, and the other crewman from the Sentinel burst out of the trees and dashed toward the building. Arrows began to fly through the air around them as Roderick’s Pawnee allies opened fire.
Preacher had one loaded pistol, a tomahawk, and a knife to hold off a dozen bloodthirsty warriors.
Shouldn’t be that hard, he thought with a grim smile on his face.
Probably all it would cost him was his life.
CHAPTER 34
Inside the trading post, Stahlmaske looked around for something else he could grab and use as a weapon. Russell had dropped to one knee, bleeding from the wound in his side, as he tried to reload his pistol. He knelt in front of Gretchen and shielded her with his own body.
Dog attacked like a whirlwind, dashing among the British agents, ripping and tearing with his fangs. Some of the men shot at him or tried to strike him with their rifles, but they were always a little too slow. The big cur kept them stalemated for a moment, and that was long enough for the situation to change again.
Allingham appeared in the doorway, h
erding his wife and daughter along with him. He steered them to cover behind some barrels and then thrust a pistol at the Englishmen. When the gun roared and smoke spouted from the muzzle, Rothfuss spun around from the impact of the ball and collapsed.
Heinrich Ritter burst through the doorway, shrieking incoherently in vengeful rage. He lunged at the kidnappers and swung his empty rifle like a club.
Egon and Ludwig were right behind Heinrich. They had loaded pistols that they fired into the mass of Englishmen. Two brawny crewmen from the riverboat lunged into the trading post as well and instantly were locked in hand-to-hand combat with the enemy. Rock-hard fists thudded against flesh and bone.
Chaos reigned inside the trading post as the melee surged back and forth. All the guns were empty now, but they could still be used as bludgeons. Stahlmaske jerked one of the hatchets he had thrown from the throat of a dead man and waded in swinging with it.
With all this going on, no one spared a glance for Roderick, who had fallen in a corner after Stahlmaske kicked him. Curled in a ball around the pain in his belly, he crawled behind some kegs to take shelter from the battle.
Outside, Preacher fired his remaining loaded pistol toward the Pawnee warriors charging toward him. The weapon was double-shotted, as usual, and the distance was far enough for the balls to spread out a little as they flew through the air.
One of them struck a warrior in the jaw, ripping away a large chuck of it. The man stumbled forward with blood sheeting down his chest from the gruesome wound but collapsed after a few steps and pitched forward onto his ruined face.
The other ball punched into a warrior’s chest and ripped through his right lung. He hit the ground, too, unable to go on as he began to drown in his own blood.
Preacher shoved the empty pistol behind his belt and jerked out his tomahawk and knife. The Pawnee probably could have riddled him with arrows as he stood there, but the defiance that showed in every tense line of his body was too much of a challenge to them. Several of the warriors yipped war cries and charged forward to take him on hand to hand.
Preacher had counted on them reacting like that. He met the attack with blinding speed, whirling, twisting, striking out faster than the eye could follow. His tomahawk crushed the skull of one warrior. His knife slashed deeply into the throat of another. He kicked a Pawnee in the belly, spun and shattered another’s jaw with a swing of the tomahawk. Bodies littered the ground around him as more of the Indians closed in around him.
With blood dripping from the hatchet in his hand, Stahlmaske realized that none of the British agents were on their feet anymore. Caught up in the fever of battle like he was, for a second it was hard not to continue lashing out. He dragged in a deep breath, controlled his rampaging emotions, and took stock of himself.
He had several small wounds but nothing serious. Satisfied of that, he turned toward the counter to see if Gretchen was all right.
She was on her feet, having been freed by Simon Russell, who leaned on the counter and pressed a hand to his bloody side.
As Russell met the count’s gaze, he said, “Preacher’s still out there! Somebody needs to go help him!”
Stahlmaske nodded. He turned and started for the door, but as he did he bumped shoulders with Senator Allingham. The two men paused to glare at each other for a second, then Allingham said, “We should go give Preacher a hand.”
Stahlmaske jerked his head in a nod and said, “Ja.”
They rushed out the door, Stahlmaske slightly in the lead.
At first he couldn’t see Preacher, then he realized that the mountain man must be in the middle of the group of Pawnee warriors. He and Allingham charged the Indians and hit them from behind. Stahlmaske’s hatchet rose and fell, chopping brutally, while Allingham wielded a broken rifle like a deadly club, smashing skulls and knocking warriors to the ground.
It took only a few seconds of bloody violence for Stahlmaske and Allingham to fight their way to Preacher’s side. When they reached the mountain man, he didn’t seem surprised to see them. The three of them stood back to back and continued battling the remaining warriors.
The combat didn’t last long, however, and when it was over, Preacher, Stahlmaske, and Allingham were the only ones left on their feet. Blood smeared their hands and had splattered on their faces, but none of them were hurt seriously.
“Josiah!”
The cry made all three men turn quickly toward the trading post. Margaret and Sarah emerged from the building and ran toward them. They threw their arms around Allingham and hugged him tightly as they sobbed. He returned the embrace with a look of huge relief on his face.
“You’re all right,” he said as if he couldn’t believe it. “You’re both all right.”
Gretchen was the next one out the door. She hurried to Stahlmaske and looked like she was going to hug him, too, but she stopped short and rested a hand on his arm instead.
“You’re injured,” she said.
He shrugged and told her, “Nothing to be concerned about. There is something I must tell you, though.”
“What is it, Albert?”
“I was . . . wrong about you,” Stahlmaske said, and clearly it cost him an effort to make that admission. “I thought you to be only a spoiled girl with a rich father. I see now that nothing could be farther from the truth.”
Coolly, she said, “You think I didn’t know you were marrying me in hopes of one day controlling my father’s fortune?”
“If you wish to end our betrothal—”
“I didn’t say that.” She moved closer to him. Now her arms went around his waist. “I didn’t say that at all.”
Stahlmaske lifted a hand, rested it lightly on her hair. It was an uncharacteristically tender gesture for him, but he thought he might grow to enjoy such things.
Heinrich Ritter came up to them to check on his sister. Stahlmaske kept his left arm around Gretchen’s shoulders as he extended his right hand to the younger man.
“I saw you doing battle with the enemy,” the count said. “You fought well, my friend.”
Heinrich looked surprised but pleased by Stahlmaske’s praise. He clasped his future brother-in-law’s hand and said, “I fought to avenge poor Hobart. I could not let his memory down.”
“You didn’t,” Stahlmaske told him. “I’m sure he is very proud of you.”
Gretchen put her arms around her brother and hugged him.
“I know you would come after me, Heinrich,” she told him. “I never lost faith in you.”
Despite the grief over his twin’s death that he obviously still felt, Heinrich beamed with pleasure at this reunion.
A few feet away, Simon Russell came up to Preacher with Egon and Ludwig on either side of him, helping hold him up. The mountain man said, “Blast it, Simon, you’re hurt. Somebody needs to tend to that before you lose too much blood.”
“I know, but I wanted to make sure you were all right first,” Russell replied.
“Just banged up a mite,” Preacher said with a smile. “I’ll be fine. Now let’s get you back inside and see if we can patch up that hole in your side.”
They turned toward the trading post, and as they started in that direction, Egon frowned and asked, “What happened to Herr Roderick? I did not see him inside.”
Preacher frowned and said, “I reckon he’s got to be in there. There’s no place he could’ve—”
He stopped short as a disheveled figure appeared in the doorway. Roderick stood there swaying a little, his eyes unnaturally wide and shining with an insane hatred. He held a keg in his hands and as he stumbled forward he raised it above his head.
“Albert!” he screamed hysterically. “Albert, you’re not going to win again!”
Sparks sputtered from a length of fuse that disappeared into one end of the keg. Preacher realized there had to be black powder in there, and if Roderick succeeded in throwing it among them, the explosion might send them all flying into the air in pieces.
He reached over to Simon Russell
and pulled the pistol from behind Russell’s belt.
“Loaded?” he snapped.
Russell nodded.
Preacher pivoted smoothly, raised the pistol as he pulled back the hammer, and fired. The ball tore through Roderick’s right arm, shattering the elbow. Roderick howled in pain and dropped the keg, which fell to the ground behind him. He collapsed, clutching his wounded arm as he screamed in agony. He landed almost on top of the keg.
“Everybody down!” Preacher shouted as he dived to the ground.
The blast shook the earth underneath him. The thunder of the explosion was like a physical blow, stunning the mountain man for several seconds and making his ears ring. As that sensation faded, he lifted his head. Dirt and rocks pattered down around him. Some of the debris struck him in the back, but not hard enough to do any damage.
There was only a smoking crater in the ground where Roderick had been. Preacher looked but didn’t see any of the young man left.
Gradually he became aware that he heard crying. He pushed himself up and looked around. All the others seemed to be all right as far as he could tell, but Margaret and Sarah were both sobbing, probably from the horror of what had happened. Allingham tried to comfort them.
Gretchen was pale and clearly shaken, too, although no tears ran down her face as she sat up from the ground. Stahlmaske was beside her, and his aristocratic features might as well have been carved from stone. Preacher didn’t figure the count would grieve much for his brother.
As for Preacher, though, he was sorry for the fate that had overtaken Roderick Stahlmaske. He’d had to stop the crazed young man from killing all of them, so he didn’t regret what he’d done, but it was a damned shame Roderick’s jealousy and resentment had brought them all to this point and caused not only his own death but so many others. If things had been different, Roderick might have really been the likable young man he had pretended to be.
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