Preacher jerked a thumb toward the Crow. “I ain’t heard Nighthawk do more’n grunt all day, but you seem to know what he means when he does it.”
“Well, of course. We’ve been partners for a good while.... Oh, I see.”
“Ummm,” Nighthawk said, and Preacher thought he saw a faint suggestion of a grin on the warrior’s hawklike face.
“Let’s get down and walk a ways,” Preacher suggested. He swung out of the saddle and Audie and Nighthawk did likewise. With rifles in one hand and their reins in the other, the men started forward. Dusk had settled down over the rugged terrain, and the stars were coming out overhead. The moon was not yet up, though, and wouldn’t be for a while. This was actually one of the worst times of the day for seeing clearly. Often a man could make out more even by starlight than he could in such a thick dusk.
But even if he couldn’t see very well at the moment, Preacher’s nose worked just fine. He stopped abruptly, and so did his two companions. Preacher sniffed and then looked at Audie and Nighthawk, both of whom nodded. All three men had smelled the same thing: wood smoke. Dog growled, indicating that he had caught the scent, too.
“They’ve made camp,” Audie whispered.
“Yeah, I reckon,” Preacher agreed, “and not too far off. Let’s leave the horses here and see how close we can get.”
They tied the reins to some saplings and cat-footed forward through the gathering darkness. Nighthawk was the best at moving silently, but Preacher was almost as good and Audie was no slouch. It would have taken a mighty keen set of eyes and ears to notice the trio of grim-faced men moving through the woods.
Evidently sensing that they were close to their quarry, all three stopped at the same time and crouched behind some brush on a bluff overlooking the river. Down below was a stretch of level, relatively treeless ground next to the stream, and that was where Cobey and his men had made camp. Preacher could hear their voices as they talked among themselves. Stretching out on the ground, he crawled forward, pushing the brush aside until he could see down the steep slope in front of him. Audie and Nighthawk followed his example. Even Dog got down on his belly and crawled up next to Preacher.
Preacher parted the brush again and studied the camp through the narrow gap. The men had placed rocks in a circle and built a small fire within it. Preacher smelled food cooking and coffee brewing. The tantalizing aromas made his belly contract a little. He was more interested in checking on the welfare of the prisoners, though, than he was in being hungry.
Esteban and Juanita sat side by side on a log, looking tired and miserable. Their faces were drawn and haggard in the dim, reddish firelight. Juanita leaned exhaustedly against her brother’s shoulder. One of the men, a tall, lanky gent in buckskin trousers, homespun shirt, and coonskin cap, stood near them with a rifle tucked under his arm. He was guarding them, that much was obvious. Across the camp, Cobey, Arnie, and Professor Chambers stood together, talking quietly. The stocky man called Stilson who had been with Chambers at the mission was at the fire, tending to the food.
Preacher wondered where the giant was. From his vantage point, he could see the entire camp, and there was no sign of Wick Jimpson. Had something happened to him? Had the others left him behind for some reason?
A sudden crashing of brush from behind Preacher, Audie, and Nighthawk, much like the sound a grizzly bear would make tramping through the underbrush, seemed to answer that question.
Wick was behind them, and he was coming their way.
Juanita hadn’t known that muscles could hurt so bad. In fact, she ached where she hadn’t even known it was possible for a person to ache. Esteban had ridden more than she ever had in the past, so he wasn’t in quite as bad a shape as she was, but he was utterly exhausted, too.
The one good thing about the way Cobey had pushed them all day was that there hadn’t been time during any of their brief rest stops for him to make advances toward her. It was bad enough that she had felt his hands on her body as they rode and had been forced to listen to his occasional crude comments. However, he now seemed less interested in her as a woman. Thoughts of the treasure consumed him, and most of the time he regarded her more as a potential hostage and bargaining chip than he did as an attractive young female.
Surely he had figured out by now that Father Hortensio didn’t care what happened to her and Esteban. If the priest had cared, he never would have gone off and left them behind the way he had. While she wasn’t really surprised, and while they couldn’t have expected Father Hortensio to do anything else under the circumstances, as she had pointed out to Esteban, still his betrayal hurt her. She had thought that the good padre felt more affection for them than that. After all, was it not the two of them who had made it possible for the treasure to be recovered in the first place?
But that meant nothing when weighed against the needs of the Church. Juanita just had to accept that.
Bert McDermott was guarding them now. Evidently Cobey no longer trusted Wick to do that job. That might make things more difficult later on. Juanita hadn’t given up on the idea of turning Wick against his companions. He might not remember what had happened the night before, but he was still vulnerable to her charms. More than once during the day, she had caught the big man gazing at her in open adoration. Surely there would be a way to make use of that when the proper time came. At the moment, though, Wick had wandered off somewhere, perhaps to relieve himself in the woods.
Stilson brought over some fried salt pork and a couple of tortillas. He handed the plate to Juanita and said, “Here you go. You’ll have to share with your brother. We ain’t got a lot of supplies.”
“These are tortillas you took from the provisions in the wagons, before you lost them,” Esteban said.
Stilson sneered. “So what? You’re lucky to be gettin’ anything to eat at all. If’n it was up to me, I’d put a pistol ball through your head and then have me some fun with that sister o’ yours, greaser.”
Esteban stiffened and might have tried to get up, but Juanita told him quietly in Spanish to let it go. They had more to worry about than coarse insults. Reluctantly, Esteban nodded.
Bert jerked a thumb toward the fire. “Go on about your business, Chuck,” he said to Stilson. “You ain’t accom-plishin’ anything by harassin’ these folks.”
“Who appointed you their protector?” Stilson shot back.
“Cobey told me to guard ’em. I reckon that’s sort of the same thing.”
“The hell it is. He just don’t want ’em to get away. That’s all you’re supposed to stop.”
“I just don’t want to listen to it,” Bert said with a sigh.
“Fine, fine, I’m goin’.” Stilson couldn’t resist adding a parting shot. “You just want that señorita’s pepper pot for yourself, Bert. I know what’s goin’ on.”
Bert snorted in disgust but didn’t say anything else.
On the log, Esteban tore off a small strip of the tortilla Juanita had given him. He put it in his mouth and chewed deliberately for a long moment before swallowing. When he had, he said quietly, “I am sorry, Juanita.”
“For what?” she asked.
“For bringing you along with me on this accursed journey. You should be safely in our home in Mexico City.”
“Do you not remember, Esteban, that it was I who insisted on accompanying you?”
He shrugged. “I am your brother, your protector. I should have said no, regardless of any argument you made.” He tore off another bit of tortilla and ate it.
“I do not blame you,” Juanita said. “I knew there might be danger. I knew it was likely there would be.”
An uneasy silence settled over the siblings. Neither of them really knew what Cobey intended to do when he caught up with Father Hortensio and the Yaquis. If it was possible, he would probably just slaughter them and take the treasure. In that case, Esteban would probably die a quick death, as he would no longer be of any possible use to the thieves.
Juanita, on the other hand, would
take much longer to die, and she knew it.
They were just finishing their skimpy meal when Cobey sauntered toward them. Juanita saw the look in his eyes and caught her breath. She was in for trouble again.
And this time, Wick wasn’t here to protect her.
THIRTY-ONE
“Don’t move,” Preacher hissed at Audie and Nighthawk as Wick came toward them. “Maybe he won’t see us.”
The three men lay utterly still and silent as Wick approached. His footsteps were heavy, and he thrust brush aside with a great deal of crackling and snapping. But as he came closer, it grew apparent that he was going to miss them. He was about twenty feet to their left as he walked to the edge of the bluff and looked down at the camp.
Preacher glanced in that direction, too, and saw that Cobey had walked over to stand in front of Esteban and Juanita. Preacher wasn’t sure what was going on, but as he watched, Wick began to wave an arm above his head and called down to those in the camp below, “Hey, Cobey! Hey, Arnie! Look at me! I’m gonna jump off this cliff and see if I can fly!”
If he jumped, he sure wouldn’t fly. He would drop like a rock instead, and the bluff was about thirty feet tall. Such a fall might not kill him, but he would probably wind up with a busted leg or arm, at best. If he landed wrong, the drop might even prove fatal. Preacher didn’t really care what happened to Wick—he still remembered the way the giant had wanted to molest Lupita Ojeida back at the trading post—but he didn’t much like the idea of watching the behemoth throw himself off the bluff, either, simply because he was too dim-witted to know what he was doing.
But of course, he and Audie and Nighthawk couldn’t try to stop Wick, either. That would mean revealing their presence and giving up any element of surprise.
Wick spread his arms like they were wings and perched on the edge of the bluff. Down below, Cobey ripped out a curse and shouted, “Damn it, Wick, stop! Don’t jump!”
Wick hesitated. “But Cobey,” he said, “I seen a eagle earlier, and it looked so nice, the way he was flyin’ around. I done tried flappin’ my arms, but I can’t get off the ground. I figured I ought to jump off some high place to get in the air first, and then flap my arms.”
Cobey thrust out a hand toward him, motioning him back away from the edge. “Just stay there!” he yelled. “I’ll come up and get you!”
Preacher wasn’t worried about Wick noticing them, but Cobey was a different story. He was a lot smarter and a lot more alert than the big man. Preacher whispered to Audie and Nighthawk, “We’d best fade away ’fore Cobey gets up here.”
“Ummm,” Nighthawk said, and damned if it didn’t sound like a grunt of agreement, Preacher thought.
Staying on their bellies, they crawled backward until they were well away from the edge of the bluff. They could hear Cobey cussing as he made his way into the woods and circled around toward the spot where Wick waited for him. When Preacher and his two companions got to their feet, they slipped back in the other direction, working away from Cobey and Wick. Preacher had to hold onto Dog’s ruff and practically drag the big cur along with them. No growls came from Dog’s throat now, but Preacher could tell how eager he was to get at Cobey and rip him to pieces. Ol’ Dog had always been a good judge of character.
When they could risk talking again, Audie whispered, “That was a near thing.”
“It sure was,” Preacher agreed. They had taken a circuitous route, but they were back at the spot where they had left their horses.
“What are we going to do now?”
“There’s not enough cover around that camp to let us slip in and get close enough to grab Esteban and Juanita. I reckon we’d best just bide our time and wait for a better chance.” Preacher frowned and rubbed his bearded jaw. “Waitin’ sure as hell gnaws at my innards, but I don’t see as we’ve got a choice.”
Audie nodded. “Perhaps tomorrow will bring a better opportunity.”
“I hope so,” Preacher said. “Dog here is itchin’ to tear into them sons o’ bitches, and I know just how he feels.”
Juanita felt like she had been given a reprieve. Cobey had not had time to do much more than walk up to her and Esteban when the giant had appeared at the top of the bluff, shouting about jumping off and flying. Cobey had been forced to go up there and bring him down, and once again—although inadvertently this time—Wick had saved her from the man’s unwanted attentions.
By the time Cobey had talked Wick into giving up the idea of flying and brought him back down to the camp, Juanita had been stretched out on the ground with Esteban lying next to her, and they had both pretended to be sound asleep. Through one eye opened a mere slit, Juanita saw Cobey looking at them for a moment, and then he had turned away with an irritated shrug. The ruse had worked, and once again she was safe.
But how long, she wondered, could she keep dodging that particular fate?
Morning came much too early. It seemed to Juanita that she had just closed her eyes and gone to sleep for real when Bert McDermott said, “Time to get up, Señorita.” At the same time, Bert prodded Esteban’s shoulder with his boot.
Juanita let out an unladylike groan as she sat up. Her muscles were almost too stiff and sore to let her move. Esteban sat up without quite as much trouble, but he still looked tired, too. He managed to stand up and then said to Bert, “Help my sister to her feet, please.”
Bert smiled. “Sure. I never mind helpin’ a pretty lady.” He bent to take hold of Juanita’s arms.
As he did so, Esteban reached out quickly with his bound hands and plucked the pistol from behind Bert’s belt. Stepping back quickly, he raised the gun and cocked the hammer.
“Esteban, no!” Juanita gasped.
Bert let go of her. He had lifted her about a foot from the ground, and when he released her she sat down hard, the impact jarring her. Wide-eyed with fear, Bert stared at Esteban and said quickly, “Be careful with that pistol, kid. The trigger’s mighty touchy.”
“Then you are the one who should be careful, Señor,” Esteban grated. “I have nothing to lose.”
“What about your sister?”
“I would rather she die quickly than suffer at the hands of you and your friends.”
Bert licked his lips. “Listen, kid, I ain’t done nothin’ to you or her. Fact is, I been tryin’ to look out for the two o’ you—”
“Damn it!” The exclamation came from the other side of the camp, where Arnie Ross had just rolled out of his blankets. “The kid’s got a gun!”
That got the attention of everyone else. Cobey came running out of the trees where he had gone to empty his bladder. He had his rifle with him, and he pointed it at Esteban as he slid to a stop.
“Drop the pistol,” he ordered tersely, “or I’ll blow your brains out.”
“Not before I pull the trigger and kill your man,” Esteban said.
“Better listen to him, Cobey,” Bert said. “I think he’s crazy enough to do it.”
“Yeah, I reckon you’re right.” Cobey shifted his aim a little. “I’ll give you to the count of three, Alvarez, and then I’m puttin’ a ball through your sister’s head.”
“Esteban . . .” Juanita said.
“One.”
“Give it up, kid,” Bert said. “There’s no way you can win this one.”
“Two,” Cobey said.
Esteban swallowed hard. His eyes flicked toward Juanita and took in her drawn, pale features. He sighed.
Cobey had just opened his mouth for the count of three when Esteban lowered the pistol. With the barrel pointing at the ground, he eased the hammer off cock. Bert reached out with a hand that shook just slightly and took the gun out of Esteban’s grip.
As soon as Esteban was disarmed, Cobey stepped forward, reversing the rifle in his hands. He drove the butt of the weapon into Esteban’s stomach in a brutal blow that made the young man cry out and double over. Cobey lifted the rifle and brought the butt down on the back of Esteban’s neck, sending him to the ground. Juanita screamed.
“You little greaser bastard,” Cobey said. “I think I’ll go ahead and kill you right now.”
Preacher, Audie, and Nighthawk had withdrawn about half a mile the night before and made a cold camp high on the side of a hill. They had taken turns standing watch, just to make sure no one discovered them. They’d drawn lots to determine the order, and Preacher wound up with the third watch. So Audie and Nighthawk were still asleep when the sky turned gray with the approach of dawn, but Preacher was wide awake. Telling Dog to stay there, he started down toward the river, curious to see what was going on in the enemy camp.
He was about a hundred yards away from the edge of the bluff, about to belly down and crawl the rest of the way as he and his newfound friends had done the night before, when he heard Juanita scream.
The terrified sound shot through Preacher’s brain, and in that instant, he knew what he had been doing wrong for days now—he had been thinking too damned much. Trying to outguess, outfigure, and outtrick his enemies hadn’t accomplished anything except to get those two young’uns captured. There was a time for thought and a time for action, and as Juanita’s scream died away, Preacher knew the time for action had come.
He lunged forward, gliding through the brush like the great gray wolf he sometimes resembled. His long legs covered the ground in a hurry, and as he reached the edge of the bluff, he looked down and saw that Esteban was on the ground, with Cobey standing over him and pointing a rifle at his head. Preacher snapped his own rifle to his shoulder, drew a bead in less than the blink of an eye, and pressed the trigger.
The rifle roared and kicked against his shoulder, and the heavy ball that it launched should have smashed right through Cobey Larson’s evil brain. Instead, just as Preacher pressed the trigger, Arnie spotted him on the bluff and yelled, “Cobey! Look out!”
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