Frontier America

by William W. Johnstone

  “Corporal Mackey,” Tyler said, “are all the men in camp?”

  Mackey looked up, puzzled, and said, “Beg your pardon, Lieutenant? What do you mean?”

  “You just fed the men. Are some of them missing?”

  Mackey scratched his jaw and said, “I don’t rightly know, sir. I didn’t count everybody as they came through the line.”

  “But what’s your impression? Did it seem like fewer than usual?”

  “Well . . . maybe. But I’m not sure.”

  Jamie asked, “What about Sergeant O’Connor? Did he eat supper?”

  Mackey was more animated and decisive as he replied, “No, he didn’t, Mr. MacCallister. And I am sure of that. I noticed he wasn’t here, because he always eats more than anybody else and gets mad at me when I don’t want to give him even more. I thought maybe he was standing guard.”

  “O’Connor wouldn’t do that,” Tyler said. “And I’m certain he was missing before supper.”

  Mackey’s eyes widened as he said, “Deserted, sir? Is that what you think?”

  Before Tyler could answer, Jamie gripped the lieutenant’s arm and asked, “Does O’Connor have any particular friends among the troops?”

  “I’m not sure. I never paid that much attention to him, as long as he wasn’t causing trouble.”

  “I can tell you, Mr. MacCallister,” Mackey said. “There are half a dozen men Sergeant O’Connor gets along with very well. They gamble together sometimes. Berriman, Cowan, Mitchener, Page, Prentice, and Delahanty.” The corporal shook his head. “And none of them were here for supper, either.”

  “Something’s wrong, Jamie,” Tyler snapped. “It’s no coincidence that O’Connor and half a dozen of his friends are missing.”

  “It’s sure not,” Jamie agreed grimly.

  “But where could they have gone?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Jamie, “but the one possibility I can think of worries the hell out of me.”

  CHAPTER 25

  After supper that evening with Hawk, Butterfly, and the children, Preacher took a walk around the Crow village. It was a warm, pleasant night, the air full of the smells of food coming from the lodges mixed with the tang of the pines, spruce, and juniper that covered the slopes above the village. He heard children laughing. Dogs barked here and there.

  A soft step behind him made him turn, not in alarm but in curiosity. His hand drifted to the butt of the Colt holstered on his right hip anyway, just out of habit.

  He relaxed when he recognized the shape of the man who had come up to him.

  “Shouldn’t you be back in the lodge with your family, Hawk?”

  “They are your family as well,” Hawk pointed out. “And yet you wander the night.”

  That brought a chuckle from Preacher. There was no denying what the young warrior said.

  “I was just gettin’ a breath of fresh air. It’s a nice night.”

  “It is,” Hawk agreed, “but I believe there is more to it than that, Preacher.”

  “Oh? What do you think is goin’ on, then?”

  “I believe the restlessness is growing inside you. Now that your old friend Jamie MacCallister is gone, it will grow even faster. Soon there will come a morning when you saddle your horse and ride away.”

  “Well, we both knew that, didn’t we?” Preacher asked. “I just came for a visit. I ain’t one of those old fellas who shows up at his boy’s place, stakes a claim on the front porch rockin’ chair, and never leaves.”

  “No, I cannot imagine you ever doing that. And yet . . . Butterfly and the children are happy to have you here. You have many friends in the village. Broken Pine, Big Thunder . . . all would be happy to have you stay.”

  “Aw, hell, I’d just be one more mouth to feed,” Preacher said. “And you folks have already been havin’ trouble with that, remember?”

  “The meat we brought back from the hunt has helped a great deal. No one will go hungry for a time. And I believe the game has already started to return to the area in greater numbers. Besides,” added Hawk, “if you stayed here, you could continue to hunt with us, and I am sure you would bring in more fresh meat for the others than you would ever consume yourself.”

  Preacher knew that was right. Still, he wasn’t going to let Hawk’s arguments sway him. He had made up his mind.

  “I’ll be movin’ on,” he said. “Not right away, since I wouldn’t mind visitin’ more, but it won’t be too much longer, I reckon.” He paused. “For another thing, I want to make sure them soldiers are long gone on their way back to Fort Kearny before I light a shuck. I just never did trust that Lieutenant Davidson.”

  “He is not a good man,” Hawk said without hesitation. “You believe he will try to trick the Crow somehow?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him. I’m just not sure what he would try . . .”

  Preacher’s words had just trailed off when a frightened cry suddenly shattered the peaceful night.

  Preacher and Hawk both whirled toward the sound, recognizing it for what it was. The young warrior cried, “Butterfly!”

  They raced toward Hawk’s lodge, their familiarity with the village allowing them to dash through the darkness without tripping or running into anything. As they approached the lodge, Preacher spotted several figures just outside the dwelling. One of them exclaimed, “Look out!” and moonlight glinted on a couple of objects that rose swiftly.

  Preacher didn’t have to think about what was going on. He had observed enough for his keen brain to put it all together automatically. The man had cried out in English, and unaccented English, at that, which made him white. And those glints of light were the moon reflecting off rifle barrels . . .

  “Down!” Preacher barked at Hawk. He grabbed his son’s arm as he dived forward, throwing them both to the ground. In that same instant, the two rifles fired. Tongues of flame spurted out almost a foot from their muzzles. The lead balls passed harmlessly above Preacher and Hawk.

  Preacher had filled his hands with the Colts as soon as he hit the ground. Now, stretched out on his belly, he triggered the revolvers. Their heavy boom echoed through the whole village and along the river. The two men who had tried to kill Preacher and Hawk dropped their rifles, staggered back a couple of steps, and collapsed.

  Another man remained outside the lodge. He shouted, “O’Connor, come on!”

  If Preacher needed any more proof of what was going on here, that was more than enough. He scrambled to his feet and was about to drill the frantic soldier who stood at the lodge’s entrance, but before that could happen, a hulking figure pushed past the flap and emerged with a struggling captive writhing in his arms.

  “Better hold your fire, mister,” he warned, “or this squaw will die!”

  “Butterfly,” Hawk rasped from where he stood beside Preacher.

  “Take it easy, son,” Preacher warned. He could tell that Hawk was about to dash forward. “Don’t give that bastard any excuse to hurt her.”

  Sergeant Liam O’Connor stepped farther away from the lodge, taking Butterfly with him. He held her so her feet dangled off the ground. She kicked her legs, but the effort didn’t do any good. O’Connor had one arm clamped around her waist, the other looped around her neck.

  To Preacher’s horror, two more troopers came out of the lodge, each with a prisoner. His grandchildren had been snatched up out of sleep and were now hostages like their mother.

  The gunshots and the shouting had roused the entire village by now. Warriors emerged from lodges holding weapons and shouting questions. Dogs barked madly.

  At the center of the commotion, Preacher moved slowly forward with the pair of leveled revolvers held rock-steady in his fists.

  “Back off!” O’Connor ordered. “I don’t want to hurt this woman, but I’m not that worried about the kids. Nobody cares about a couple of little half-breed bastards.”

  “I will kill you,” Hawk said, his voice low and hard as flint.

  O’Connor laughed and said, “You may want
to, redskin, but I got your squaw here—and you better not forget it.”

  Preacher could see O’Connor’s head just past Butterfly’s shoulder. If the light had been better, he would have fired a shot past her ear, right into the middle of O’Connor’s forehead. In these shadows, he couldn’t risk that.

  Preacher didn’t lower his guns as he said, “Davidson sent you to kidnap Butterfly so he can take her back with him, didn’t he? He’s still bound and determined to rescue her, ain’t he?”

  “She’s white,” O’Connor snapped back at him. “No matter how long she’s been here, she doesn’t belong with these savages. And think how happy her real family will be once they have her back.”

  Preacher knew better than that. If Butterfly—Caroline—did have any family back east, they wouldn’t be pleased to be reunited with her. They would believe that her life among the Indians had degraded her to the point that she wasn’t really human anymore. They would never accept her. Preacher had seen it happen time and time again.

  “I am not white!” gasped Butterfly. “I am Crow! Leave me alone! Do not hurt my chil—”

  O’Connor tightened the arm around her neck, cutting off her protest.

  “Shut up, squaw,” he said. “Listen, mountain man, you’d better tell all your redskin friends to stay back. We’re leavin’, and if you don’t try to stop us, we’ll let the kids go once we get back to camp. Nobody has to get hurt.”

  “Reckon it’s gone past that,” Preacher said. “Somebody’s gonna get hurt. But if you let Butterfly and the little ones go, I think maybe I can keep you from gettin’ killed.”

  Another trooper had come out of the lodge following the men who held Eagle Feather and Bright Moon. With the two armed soldiers flanking them, O’Connor and the other two troopers began sidling away from the lodge as they held the hostages in front of them.

  Preacher laughed suddenly. He said, “I can’t believe Davidson thought he could send a bunch of fellas like you here to do this job. Sneakin’ into a Crow village, grabbin’ prisoners, and makin’ off with ’em without anybody knowin’ about it until it was too late . . . Good Lord, Sergeant, there ain’t no way you could have done that.”

  “We almost did,” O’Connor said, his lips twisting in a snarl as he glared over Butterfly’s shoulder at Preacher. “We would have if this bitch hadn’t managed to yell.”

  Again, Hawk snarled and leaned forward, ready to attack, but Preacher put out a hand to stop him. The way O’Connor was holding Butterfly, he could break her neck without much trouble. That would ruin Davidson’s plans, of course, but O’Connor might not think that all the way through if he was pushed too hard.

  “You don’t really think you’re gonna walk outta here with Butterfly and those young’uns, do you? Even if you do, you’ll never make it all the way back to your camp. I tell you, you fellas are gonna be a lot better off if you just give up right now. That’s the only way you live through this.”

  “If we don’t live through it,” said O’Connor, “then these three don’t live through it. And that’s a promise, you son of a—”

  A huge figure loomed out of the darkness behind O’Connor like a moving mountain, and it landed on the sergeant like an avalanche. Only one person around here was that massive, Preacher realized.

  Big Thunder was taking a hand.

  The collision’s impact was enough to slam O’Connor forward and jolt Butterfly out of his grasp. As he dropped her, she cried out and landed hard on the ground. For a second, Preacher thought O’Connor and Big Thunder were going to come down on top of her, and their combined weight might have crushed her.

  She managed to roll aside just in time to avoid the two men falling like trees. Big Thunder had his arms wrapped around O’Connor, but the sergeant was strong enough to writhe around and slam his elbow into Big Thunder’s face.

  “Kill those kids!” O’Connor roared at the other soldiers.

  The troopers hesitated instead of carrying out that command. They might be O’Connor’s cronies, as well as being used to him giving them orders, but murdering children was something they couldn’t do lightly. That moment of delay was enough to allow Preacher and Hawk to reach them.

  The man holding Eagle Feather cried out in fear and tried to lift the boy higher to shield himself. He was too late. The tomahawk in the young warrior’s hand rose and fell with swift, deadly speed. With a loud thunk! followed by a crunching sound, the weapon struck the man in the head and bit deep into his brain. Spasming as he died, he let go of Eagle Feather and dropped the boy at his feet. Hawk wrenched the tomahawk free and gave the soldier a contemptuous shove away from him. The man was dead by the time he hit the ground.

  A few feet away, Preacher struck with the gun he still held in his right hand. The barrel swiped across the face of the trooper holding Bright Moon, opening up a cut that welled dark blood down the man’s face. Even as he was leaping forward, Preacher had holstered his left-hand gun. He used that hand now to grab his granddaughter and jerk her away from her captor. Bright Moon clutched desperately at Preacher as the mountain man pistol-whipped the soldier again and knocked him sprawling on the ground.

  The prisoners were all free now, and O’Connor had his hands full with Big Thunder, but the other two armed soldiers were still a threat. One of them swung his rifle toward Preacher, but before he could pull the trigger, he grunted and arched his back. The rifle slipped from suddenly nerveless hands. The man stumbled forward and then pitched onto his face, revealing Broken Pine standing there with blood dripping from the point of the knife he had just thrust into the soldier’s back.

  The other trooper suddenly threw his rifle to the ground in front of him and thrust his empty hands out in front of him.

  “Don’t kill me!” he cried. “Please don’t kill me!”

  Hawk picked up Eagle Feather from the ground and hugged the boy tightly to him for a second. Then Preacher said, “Here, take the girl,” and Hawk set Eagle Feather down in order to take Bright Moon from the mountain man. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and clung to him as if she would never let go.

  Eagle Feather wasn’t neglected, though. Butterfly was back on her feet by now. She drew her son into her arms and held him with fierce determination.

  Preacher turned to the battle between O’Connor and Big Thunder. The Crow had drawn back to give the two titans room. Big Thunder, like most Indians, was primarily a wrestler. O’Connor had enough experience in that form of combat to hold his own, Preacher saw, but in addition he was a slugger. He hammered punches at Big Thunder’s face, and the warrior wasn’t skillful enough to block many of them. Dark blood from the cuts O’Connor’s fists opened up streaked across Big Thunder’s features.

  Big Thunder could absorb a tremendous amount of punishment, though, before it had much effect on him. He shrugged off the blows O’Connor dealt out and continued trying to get his tree trunk arms around the sergeant. If he ever caught O’Connor in a bear hug, that would be the end of the fight.

  O’Connor had to know how overwhelming the odds were against him. Even if he defeated Big Thunder, he would still be surrounded by an entire village full of Crow warriors who were angry at him. He had been caught trying to kidnap Butterfly and the two children, and nothing he could do now would change that. He would have to pay for that transgression.

  But that didn’t mean he was going to quit. As much as Preacher disliked the man, it was clear he didn’t have any give-up in him. O’Conner kept slamming punches to Big Thunder’s head and torso and breaking free every time the huge warrior tried to grapple with him.

  It was too much for Big Thunder. He began to sway and seemed to be half-unconscious even though he was still on his feet. His head jerked to the side and blood flew from his lips as O’Connor landed another roundhouse punch. O’Connor slugged him in the belly hard enough to make Big Thunder bend over. That put the huge slab of a jaw in perfect position for the uppercut that O’Connor brought whistling up from the g
round. The punch landed with a sound like an ax splitting a chunk of wood. Big Thunder weighed too much for the blow to lift him off his feet, but he stood up straight with his head tilted far back.

  Then, slowly, he began to topple backward, picking up speed until he crashed to the ground with such an impact that it seemed as if the whole world should have shuddered . . . even though it actually didn’t, of course.

  That left O’Connor standing there with his chest heaving. His fists were bruised, swollen, and bleeding from all the damage he had done by pounding them against Big Thunder. Preacher could tell that Sergeant O’Connor didn’t have any fight left in him.

  That didn’t stop the man’s lip from curling in a snarl as he peered at the Indians surrounding him. Several warriors had arrows nocked and drawn back on their bows, ready to fire. O’Connor glared at them and yelled, “Go ahead! Shoot and be damned to you! Ye can kill me, but you’ll still be filthy savages and I’ll still be a white man!”

  “There’s been enough killin’,” Preacher said as he stepped forward. “I reckon the army’s gonna deal with you.”

  “No!” Hawk protested. “He threatened my family. He must pay!”

  “He will—” Preacher started to say as he turned toward his son.

  But before he could go on, hoofbeats suddenly pounded close by, and riders loomed up out of the night.

  CHAPTER 26

  Lieutenant Hayden Tyler had to break into a trot to keep up with Jamie as the big frontiersman strode toward Lieutenant Davidson’s tent.

  “You don’t really believe the lieutenant sent O’Connor after that woman, do you?” Tyler asked, panting a little from his efforts. “That’s insane!”

  “Are you saying Davidson wouldn’t risk it? Broken Pine turned him down flat about the treaty. There’s no way Davidson can successfully complete the mission he was sent on. The only thing he can do to maybe salvage things is bring back a white captive he rescued and hope that’ll cover him with enough glory to make people forget his failure.”

  “But to risk war with the Crow—”