Jamie feinted to his right. O’Connor jerked and swung the saber that way. Jamie lunged in and got his left hand on O’Connor’s wrist as the sergeant tried to recover and launch a backhand. Jamie thrust up and forced the blade away from him.
At the same time, his right hand shot out and closed around O’Connor’s throat. His fingers clamped down hard to shut off the man’s breath. O’Connor stumbled backward a couple of steps, Jamie going with him. If he could hold off that saber long enough, he could choke O’Connor into unconsciousness . . .
O’Connor tried to hammer punches into Jamie’s head with his left fist. Jamie hunched his right shoulder and took most of the force of the blows on it. He kept up the pressure on O’Connor’s throat and heard the man start to make desperate little squeaking sounds as he struggled for air that couldn’t get through his windpipe.
O’Connor started to sag in Jamie’s grip. Jamie thought the sergeant was on the verge of passing out, but it was just a ploy. The next second, O’Connor’s right foot shot between Jamie’s legs, hooked behind his right ankle, and jerked hard. O’Connor threw himself forward at the same time. His chest rammed into Jamie’s, and that, combined with Jamie’s leg being pulled out from under him, was enough to knock Jamie over backward.
Jamie landed with O’Connor on top of him. That knocked the breath out of him and made red streaks shoot through the darkness all around them, at least in Jamie’s mind. O’Connor yanked loose the hand holding the saber and raised the blade high.
“Now I’ll skewer ye,” he growled.
Jamie didn’t have his full faculties back yet, but instincts honed during a lot of years of surviving a dangerous life pulled his head to the side just in time. The blade came down, whispering past his ear, and buried half a foot of itself in the sod. Before O’Connor could pull it free, Jamie clubbed both hands together and swung them in a sledgehammer blow to the side of O’Connor’s head. The terrific impact knocked O’Connor off him. O’Conner lost his grip on the saber and rolled on the grass.
Jamie snatched the saber from the sod and went after O’Connor. He dug a knee into O’Connor’s midsection, pinning him to the ground. As O’Connor gasped, Jamie put the saber’s edge against his throat and pressed hard enough for the blade to cut slightly into the skin.
“It’s over, O’Connor,” Jamie said. “One way or another. Stop fighting or I’ll slice your throat wide open.”
Instead of O’Connor answering, it was a higher-pitched voice that responded to Jamie’s words.
“If that man does not surrender immediately, shoot him!”
Jamie heard rifles being cocked all around him. It was a sound that would get a man’s attention.
He lifted his head and looked around. United States Army dragoons, in various states of undress but all holding rifles, surrounded him and pointed the weapons at him. A few feet away stood Lieutenant Edgar Davidson, in his uniform now and fairly quivering with indignation.
“You might want to reconsider that order, Lieutenant,” drawled Jamie. “Standing the way those boys are, if they open fire on me, some of them are liable to shoot each other. And O’Connor will wind up as full of lead as I am, I can guarantee that.” He paused, then added, “Of course, he won’t feel it for long, because I figure on cutting his throat before I die.”
For a long, tense moment, Davidson didn’t say anything. Then he told the troopers, “Step back and spread out, all of you, but keep MacCallister covered. And if he harms Sergeant O’Connor, you may fire at will.”
Jamie took the saber away from O’Connor’s throat. Under the circumstances, there was nothing else he could do. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped back.
“Surrender that saber,” Davidson ordered.
Instead of dropping the saber as his feet, Jamie shifted his grip, drew it back, and flung it like a spear. The blade drove into the ground just in front of Davidson, making him flinch slightly. The saber swayed back and forth a little from the force of Jamie’s throw.
“Take this man into custody,” Davidson went on. “You’ve defied the will of the United States Army long enough, MacCallister. You have to learn that you can’t attack my men and get away with it.”
O’Connor clambered to his feet and held a couple of fingers to his throat where the saber had nicked him. He frowned at the dark blood visible on his fingertips and then said, “You should go ahead and have him shot, Lieutenant! A court-martial would just be a waste of time. Put the bastard in front of a firing squad now!”
Davidson clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin.
“I understand that you’re upset, Sergeant, and with good reason,” he said. “But we will follow the proper protocol. In the meantime . . .” The lieutenant’s voice hardened. “I believe I gave an order. MacCallister is to be taken into custody immediately. I want this man in irons so he can’t cause any more trouble.”
With some reluctance, several of the troopers moved closer to Jamie. One of them was Corporal Mackey. He said, “I’m sorry about this, Mr. MacCallister, but I guess it’ll be easier all around if you just cooperate with what the lieutenant wants.”
Jamie said harshly, “Why don’t you ask the lieutenant about how he ordered O’Connor to kidnap a woman from that Crow village?”
“That’s a damned lie!” O’Connor exclaimed. “Lieutenant Davidson didn’t do any such thing.”
With his chin still jutting out defiantly, Davidson said, “Not that I have any need to answer to the likes of you, MacCallister, but I merely sent Sergeant O’Connor and a few of the men to reconnoiter the surrounding area and make certain that the savages weren’t trying to sneak up on us for some sort of surprise attack. I’m aware of how craven and cowardly they are.”
Rage burned brightly inside Jamie, but he realized he had no way of proving that Davidson was lying. The only ones who knew the truth about the attempt to kidnap Butterfly were back in the Crow village . . . and the soldiers might not believe them, anyway.
Surrounded by nervous, inexperienced, rifle-toting dragoons as he was, Jamie didn’t see any options other than cooperating, as Corporal Mackey had asked him to do. He was about to let the troopers take him back to the camp, when Davidson said to O’Connor, “Where are the rest of the men from your detail, Sergeant?”
“Dead, sir,” O’Connor answered without hesitation. “Murdered by the heathens. They attacked us, just like you thought they might.”
Davidson drew in a sharp, deep breath, and said, “My God! That’s the last straw. Tell the bugler to blow assembly! We’re going to attack that village and wipe it off the face of the earth! Those savages will pay for their crimes!”
Horror filled Jamie. With the failure of O’Connor and the others to steal Butterfly away, Davidson’s ambition had been thwarted again, and the resulting fury seemed to have tipped him over into madness.
“Lieutenant, you can’t do that,” Jamie said. “You’ve got no cause. You’re talking about a massacre—”
“I’m talking about avenging the deaths of American soldiers! Don’t you think that’s a worthy cause, MacCallister?”
“But they were trying to kidnap an innocent woman—”
“There are no innocent Indians!” Davidson practically screamed at him. “They’re all guilty! Men, women, and children! And we’re going to kill them all.” Davidson’s head jerked from side to side as he looked around at the troopers. “Carry out my orders! Now! And if MacCallister causes any trouble, shoot to kill!”
Jamie was going to cause trouble, all right. He was through trying to find peaceful solutions. With Davidson in command of the troop, that just wasn’t possible. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing while the dragoons attacked the Crow village. Even though the warriors were better fighting men, the soldiers outnumbered them and were better armed. In all likelihood, such a battle would wind up being a slaughter on both sides.
Jamie turned suddenly. He grabbed a rifle barrel and thrust hard on it so the st
ock slammed into the midsection of the trooper holding the gun. He gasped, doubled over, and let go of the rifle. Jamie whirled, still holding the barrel. He slammed the rifle across the chests of two more men and knocked them down.
Then he darted through the gap he had created in the circle of soldiers around him. Behind him, Davidson screeched, “Shoot him! Shoot him!”
Most of the troopers hesitated when it came to pulling the trigger, though. A couple of rifles boomed, but that was all. As Jamie raced away, he heard O’Connor yell, “Give me that rifle, damn it!”
A second later, another shot roared out, but Jamie had already put some distance between himself and the startled troopers. He heard the rifle ball hum past his head. Too close for comfort, he thought . . . but not close enough to stop him.
He whistled shrilly, knowing that his stallion would have stopped somewhere close by. Tyler’s horse, the one O’Connor had grabbed, must have galloped on into the camp, alerting the soldiers that something was going on. That was why they had been able to surround him and O’Connor while they were fighting.
Shouts made him glance back over his shoulder. The troopers were giving chase, streaming over the prairie in a dark, irregular mass in the moonlight. Orange muzzle flashes began to wink. Some of the men were trying to follow Davidson’s order to kill him.
Hoofbeats suddenly pounded close by. The stallion’s dark shape loomed up abruptly. The horse reared up, pawed at the air, and let out a whinny of greeting. As the front hooves came down to the earth again, Jamie vaulted into the saddle.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down, old son,” he said as he grabbed the reins and wheeled the horse toward the river and the Crow village. “Let’s go!”
Once again, the stallion flashed over the plains as Jamie leaned forward in the saddle. Preacher, Hawk, Broken Pine, and the others must have heard the shots back there, but they wouldn’t know what the gunfire meant.
They didn’t know they were about to come under attack from troops commanded by a madman determined to see all of them dead.
CHAPTER 28
Hawk went into his lodge with Butterfly, Eagle Feather, and Bright Moon to comfort his family, but Preacher remained behind to talk with Broken Pine as the rest of the Crow drifted back to their lodges.
“I don’t know if Davidson will try anything else tonight, but it might be a good idea to post some extra guards,” Preacher suggested to the chief.
Broken Pine nodded solemnly and said, “I had already thought the same thing, Preacher.”
Lieutenant Hayden Tyler and Private Berriman, the trooper who had surrendered, had been placed in an empty lodge for the night, with a guard posted just outside the entrance. Preacher knew that Tyler wasn’t going to cause any trouble and figured Berriman was too scared to get up to any mischief, but the Crow felt better having them under guard. Tyler had gone along with it without complaining.
The troopers who had been killed in the kidnapping attempt still lay where they had fallen.
Broken Pine was thinking about them now as he asked, “What should we do with the bodies of the slain soldiers? I know some of our warriors believe they should be dragged out of the village and left for the scavengers.”
Preacher shook his head.
“No, that would just make things worse. Treat them with respect, wrap them in blankets and put them in that lodge with Tyler and Berriman, and then in the morning we can see about returnin’ them. They’ll need to be buried soldier-fashion, with a flag and a bugler and military honors.”
Broken Pine grunted in consternation and said, “It sounds strange, using the word honor when talking about the whites.”
“Most of ’em are just folks who want to get along, like the Crow,” said Preacher. “Davidson and O’Connor are the ones who keep causin’ the trouble.”
“They believe we should be wiped out.” Broken Pine crossed his arms over his chest. “Can you honestly say there are not many of your people who feel the same way, Preacher?”
The mountain man’s jaw tightened. He said, “No, I don’t reckon I can. But that’s because they don’t know you. If they did, some of ’em would feel different about it.”
“But not all.”
“Nope, not all,” Preacher admitted. “Some of ’em are like the Blackfeet. Too filled with hate to ever get over it . . .”
His voice trailed away as he lifted his head and listened to the sudden crackle of gunfire in the distance.
Broken Pine heard it, too. He said, “That came from the soldier camp.”
“Yeah,” Preacher said. “I wonder if Jamie caught up to O’Connor. I’ve been sorta worried about that since he didn’t come back.”
Hawk emerged from the nearby lodge and said, “I thought I heard more shots.”
“You did,” Preacher told him. “We’d best walk down to the river and see if we can tell what’s goin’ on.”
He had already reloaded the chambers he had fired in his Colts. He rested his hands on the gun butts now as he turned toward the stream, as did Hawk and Broken Pine.
A groan came from Big Thunder, who still lay on the ground where he had fallen when O’Connor knocked him out. Preacher looked around and saw the massive warrior trying to sit up. He said, “Hawk, let’s give Big Thunder a hand.”
It took both of them to assist Big Thunder to his feet, just as Preacher expected. Big Thunder shook his head ponderously and asked, “What happened? Big Thunder was fighting with bad soldier. That is the last thing Big Thunder remembers.”
“Well, I hate to say it, but he beat you, old friend. Knocked you plumb cold.”
“No!” Big Thunder exclaimed. “No one defeats Big Thunder!”
“He did this time,” Preacher said. “That doesn’t mean he would again, if there was ever another fight between the two of you.”
Big Thunder raised both giant fists and shook them.
“There will be another fight,” he declared. “Big Thunder will win next time!”
Preacher didn’t know if there would be another fight, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that came about. Every instinct in his body told him the trouble with the soldiers was far from over.
“Come on,” he said to his two companions. “Let’s catch up with Broken Pine.”
The chief had gone on to the outskirts of the village while Preacher and Hawk gave Big Thunder a hand as he regained consciousness. As the three of them came up to him, he turned his head and said, “There have been no more shots. But I believe I hear a horse coming in this direction.”
“You’re right about that,” Preacher said. His keen ears had detected the approaching hoofbeats, as well. As he pulled the revolvers from their holsters, he went on, “Sounds like just one man, but we’re gonna be ready if he’s lookin’ for trouble.”
“What else could be abroad this night?” muttered Broken Pine.
Preacher didn’t have an answer for that.
A moment later, he stiffened as he detected another sound in the darkness. A rumble that came from the hooves of many horses, not just one. That made alarm race through Preacher, as there could be only one cause for that rising wave of noise.
“The soldiers are coming,” he said as he holstered the left-hand gun and gripped Broken Pine’s arm. “They wouldn’t be chargin’ like that unless they planned to fight!”
Broken Pine reacted instantly to the danger. He raised his voice in a shout of warning, his powerful tone reaching to all parts of the village. Other warriors took up the cry as they scrambled out of their lodges in response to the urgent summons.
Broken Pine turned to Hawk and said, “Get the women and children to the canyon.”
“I will stay and fight!” protested Hawk.
“You will do as I say!” Broken Pine’s voice didn’t allow for any arguments. “The women and the young ones must be protected.”
“What’s this canyon?” asked Preacher. In all his visits to the Crow village, he hadn’t heard about it.
“A blind canyon
about a mile deeper in the foothills,” Hawk explained quickly. “The women and children know to go there in case of an attack, so that they can be protected more easily. We always thought it would be the Blackfeet we might have to fight off—”
“But now it’s army troops instead,” Preacher said. “Broken Pine’s right. Somebody’s got to be in charge of gettin’ those folks to safety—and keepin’ ’em safe. That’s a good job for you, Hawk.”
Hawk didn’t like it, but he didn’t waste any more time objecting. Already the sound of the riders heading for the village had grown louder. Hawk hurried off to organize the retreat of the women and children to the canyon.
The hoofbeats of the single horse they had first noticed were close now. The animal splashed across the shallow stream as Jamie MacCallister hailed, “Hello, the village!”
“Jamie!” Preacher called. “Over here!”
Jamie slowed the stallion and turned toward them. He brought the horse to a halt and slipped to the ground.
“I hate to tell you this—” he began.
“You don’t have to,” Preacher said. “We can hear them horses. Davidson’s on his way to attack the village with his whole command, ain’t he?”
“I’m afraid so,” Jamie answered grimly. “O’Connor told him the Crow murdered those troopers who were killed, and of course that’s exactly what Davidson wants to believe. He failed at bringing back Broken Pine for those treaty negotiations, failed at rescuing a so-called white captive, and now he figures the only thing he can do to salvage any glory out of this mess is to wipe out Broken Pine and his people.”
“We’re not gonna let that happen,” Preacher vowed.
The Crow warriors began to gather on the riverbank. Broken Pine directed their preparations to defend their home. The warriors, all with bows and full quivers of arrows, used every bit of cover they could find. They spread out along the stream, nocked arrows, and waited. An eerie silence hung over the river, broken only by the rumble of hoofbeats as the soldiers approached. The moon reflected wavily on the water’s surface.
Preacher knelt behind a log with Broken Pine on his left and Jamie on his right. He glanced over at the big frontiersman and asked, “Are you plannin’ to fight on our side, Jamie? If you ain’t, you’d best get outta here while you still can.”
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